Thread: The Crow: Unforeseen Duet (Alvis Alendran & darkangel76)

Sergeant Ike Tramen sighed as he rubbed his face. Hey Ike, what's the good word? Another officer asked as they walked past him. There aren't any good words. I've got Lucy's shoot out to figure out. Ike bit back. THe other officer winced. That cluster-fuck? Any kind of leads? It's been a week, and there is not a damn thing. Fire took out most of the evidence, except that poor bastard that they ventilated outside of the fire. That journalist that was catching the eye of the city, you remember? Yeah, he was a good guy. Always had information for us if we asked. Good poker player too. Damn shame to lose him like that. Yeah. Morgue still has him, looking for some kind of connection to what happened. The other officer shook his head and moved on. All anyone would say with any surety was that a good man was gone now. And the world was just a little poorer for it. It was all still dark. stifling, oppressive, but there. Breath ripping through his body, hands shooting up, only to find some kind of material blocking him, and cold metal after that. An inhuman shriek ripped through the air, panic scrabbling as fingers tore at the material, finding a metal stripe that slid down. Feet hammering into a barrier that finally gave way, swinging open. Light, sweet, but harsh, blanketing the air, the voice crying out once more as it stabbed into his eyes. The draweer shot out, slamming to a halt at full extension. Gasping breaths, sitting up, hands gripping his torso savagely, ghost flickers of pain, memories that couldn't be real, couldn't be, but were all so terribly real. Pain and fire and blood, and...death. His own, his brothers, his girlfriends, so much death, so much... The howl ripped the air once more, hands gripping the sides of his head, pressure there, pain, shrp and present, telling him that he was trying to press right through the skull to get at the images in his mind, playing back over and over, the fire, the pain in his hands, his brother spending the lasty of his strength making signs on the glass... Jacob fell off of the shelf, hitting the floor with a shuddering breath. His palms pressed to the floor, he found some kind of center. He looked up, saw where he was. Empty morgue. he was in the morgue. He'd been in a drawer. He had been...gone. He shook his head, tears in his eyes, knowing that it was happening, that it was here. He wasn't finished. It wasn't over. Teeth grit, he gripped the drawer and used that to lever himself to his feet. Clad in nothing more than a spare set of medical scrubs he found on hand. He stumbled out fo the morgue, into the night. His steps were staggering, hard to keep his bearing, his balance. It was an uphill struggle to keep moving, and more than one person saw him and wrote him off right away to some kind of drug-addled homeless person. But that wasn't the truth. He had purpose, he had drive. A cry, but not a human one split the air, and Jacob looked shakily up. On a street light, head cocked, looking down at him. The largest, darkest crow he'd ever seen was there, watching him. He blinked a moment, a flicker of blurred vision hitting him, and for a moment, he didn't see the crow. he saw the crow seeing him, saw how ragged he seemed, how the man he was looked to be on the verge of tears or violence, whichever might be fastest to the fore. The crow spoke again, a simple sound to split the night. It fluttered off fo the light, adn swept down an alley. Jacob followed, not knowing what else he might do. A thousand petty tragedies happened in alleys like this every night, and he saw one had happened. An older man, homeless, dead now, beaten for what looked like a handful of change. His gorge rising as he did it, Jacob took the boots from the man. He'd not need them any longer. The pile of rubbish that he lay on revealed more, jeans, a ragged shirt, and even an old cost. All of the clothes had seen better days, but they provded him with raiment, adn that was the important thing. Jacob stood, feeling more secure now in his presence. He looked skyward to see the moon hanging in the sky. He blinked through tears, knowing that he was along in a world that he didn't belong in. He was dead. He was gone. And somehow he lingered on. There had to be purpose, something that he was here for. He needed to find that, set it right, find something that would let him go. It was supposed to be over. He wanted it to be over. He would end it, one way or another, the end had to come soon.