The Manged Beast

Chicago's a fucked up city. Murders occur as often as rainfall here, maybe even more often. Me and the boys at the police department are just waiting for the day the city takes on a kinder personality, but that's just wishful thinking. I'm not too far from getting my promotion to detective, so I'm willing to take whatever homicide case I can get. When you live here, you develop a stomach for seeing some fucked up shit. A couple of bullets here and there on a corpse really isn't even that noteworthy. 
But what I saw that day... I'll never forget it.
It was on a warm day in august when we got a call to a relatively nice neighborhood right on the city's limits. It's not a bad beat, honestly. Clean streets, and plenty of places for kids to play. But I digress. Some soccer mom was loading her car for taking her kids back to school when she saw her neighbor's door wide open, with blood and a severed head just sitting on the patio for the world to admire. When we got there, she was scowling at us from the relative safety of her kitchen window. The city's faith in us has been dwindling, but my faith in the city is virtually non-existent.
"Not your usual gang murder case, eh, Vince?"
"What?" Vince was a short, stocky man. He always smelled of cigarettes and cheap cologne. He had an affinity for the color cyan. He'd always wear a cyan shirt, and his piece-of-shit Chevy Cruze wore the same color. Just Vince's luck, he'd buy the one lemon model.
"I'm just saying... This neighborhood, y'know? It's not a bad place. Whoever did this ain't some punk on the streets."
"I just handle the blood spatter, man. You know they don't pay me enough to think."
They also don't pay him enough to wear something besides Axe. Unfortunately, it's looking like another pay cut come winter. 
We were just sitting on our asses, twiddling our thumbs like children until we got the go-ahead to investigate the house. Vince and I have been good friends for a while. We don't like this city, and we especially don't like our department, but we both share an enjoyment for investigating a homicide case. Sounds weird, I know, but that's nowhere near as weird as what we saw in the house.
Nothing.
There was nothing out of the ordinary. No blood, no signs of a struggle, just nothing. Well, except for the poor bastard's antique watch collection. I get the feeling somebody's gonna seize that for 'evidence'. Even the officers in this city are just a bunch of damn punks. The house wasn't much to look at, just a two-story house with one bathroom, three bedrooms. Maybe his room-mate butchered him for a turn on the shitter. But, unfortunately, there wasn't anything in there. No blood for Vince, which annoyed him to no end.
Until this point, we didn't really speak to each other. Vince and I always had a sort of unspoken bond. We both just observed the house and I could tell we were thinking the same thing. Vince broke the silence, "They called me in for no fucking reason. You can secure a crime scene, but you can't do me the favor of looking around before you waste my time?" I chuckled. "It's not like you have anything better to do, man." Vince wasn't so happy about that comment, but he just shrugged and we walked out of the house.
After I gave a report to officers, they called in HQ and Vince and I had a smoke. He must have been REALLY annoyed, because he took on a pretty bad attitude. I asked him, "How long do you think until the geeks in Forensics get an MO on our suspect?" He just stared at the street for a moment and responded, "I don't fucking know man. I don't feel like answering your dumb questions right now." I was sort of surprised, but I guess the only way to put Vince in a good mood is to give him some booze. "I'm a cop, Vince. You know it's my job to ask these questions. And I'm gonna be asking even more once I become a detective." 
Vince stood up. "You're a cop, sure. But do you honestly feel like a hero? Not you or any of these fucking idiots is gonna catch this guy, you know. You just don't give a shit." 
I didn't know how to respond, so I just didn't. The awkward silence was interrupted by one of my fellow officers. HQ wanted Vince and I to do a second sweep of the house. I didn't really care, I just wanted to get this done and go home. The air in the house felt different the second time we walked in. I didn't know why at the time, but I had a really bad feeling, like my fight or flight instinct was about to kick in. Once again, our sweep ended in the bathroom, but something was different.
Where we last found nothing, there is now blood and viscera caking the walls and floor. A badge and a couple of fingers were on the floor. The realization hit me in the chest like a brick. The killer was still in the house. My mind was racing. How could we have missed a fucking person hiding in here? How the hell did we not see him? Once we got to the living room downstairs, I screamed at the top of my lungs, "HE'S STILL IN HERE! GET YOUR ASSES IN HERE! HURRY!" 
I heard banging. I turned around and saw something horrible and twisted dash down the stairs. It was almost too fast to see. It bolted straight through me, knocking me on my back, and pounced Vince. He didn't even scream... All I heard was that rough gargle of a throat being pierced. It was too late to help him. I got back on my feet and bolted before I got pounced like Vince did. I guess the only reason I was still alive was because Vince was smaller, and thus, easier prey. I ran into the back yard patio and slammed the screen door shut. I couldn't see a single thing inside at first.
The beast came into my line of sight, dragging Vince's brutalized corpse behind him. But not even the horribly mangled body could compare to the sheer ferocity that was the beast. It had the body of a mangy, muscular hyena. And, oh God, it had the face of a man. Or at least, something similar to a man. Its canine teeth stuck from under its top lip, and they were still coated in Vince's blood. It had dead eyes. Not just like a corpse's, though. These eyes lacked any gleam of life, any spark of personality or individuality, and any wonder of a creature capable of thought. 
And yet it spoke.
"Do you feel like a hero?"
No. I don't.
It kept echoing those words... Its voice was mind-numbing. As if the voice didn't come from its mouth, but from inside my own skull. Its gaze was intense, as if I could feel the creature's hatred for me from just it looking at me. It didn't blink, it didn't break its focus on me. It didn't even look like it was breathing. I had to break eye contact, and the only other thing to look at was Vince's body. Come to think of it, there wasn't anything around at all, just blackness. Vince's body was horribly brutalized. He was eviscerated, the blood staining his once cyan shirt a deep scarlet, his skull was smashed to bits like a watermelon, and his arms were nowhere to be found. His jeans were still soaked with urine. Vince did not die well. 
"Do you feel like a hero?"
 NO. I DON'T.
I wanted to scream! But no sound could escape my mouth. The only thing I could do freely was cry. The tears blurred my vision, but the creature was still crystal clear. Its gaze was like an intense gravity on a distant planet. It crushed me, it exhausted me, each second felt like an eternity, and I just wanted it to stop. I ran towards the creature, partially out of some attempt to kill it, partially out of some attempt to end my own life. But it just disappeared. The world around me came back to reality, and I was sitting there, next to Vince's horrible body, covered in his blood, tears and snot dripping out of my face, shivering like I was in the arctic. 
I didn't understand what was happening, but the officers sure had a good idea of what went down. I didn't exactly look like an innocent bystander in that position. They cuffed me and took me back to the department. The lieutenant didn't want to believe I killed Vince, and I didn't want to believe it, either. But what was I supposed to say? Some hyena-man came and murdered him, and mentally tortured me? The blood was literally on my hands. They stuck me with Vince's and that other cop's murder. I didn't have a case to stand on...
I was shamed. I was on my way to becoming detective, and now that dream will never be. Faces around the department that I recognized were in the courtroom on that day they condemned me. I wanted them to know what really happened, but now I don't even know what really happened. It felt like some fever dream, but it had to have happened. I would never hurt Vince, he was my friend. But alas, the words couldn't even escape my mouth. I was found guilty, and they sent me to prison. 
I didn't belong there. An ex-cop turned convict? They ate me alive. Every waking moment in that place was hell. Beatings in the shower, beatings in the cafeteria, beatings in the yards. I was so used to being beaten I didn't even pay it any mind when it was happening. I didn't have time to focus on that, anyways. The beast was around every corner. I always saw him, dashing around or staring at me on the edge of my vision. He was playing with me. 
"Do you feel like a hero?" 
No... I don't. I don't.
I don't. I don't want to feel like anything anymore. I just want it all to end. I can't take it anymore. I sat down on my knees in my cell in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of my lungs. 
"END IT! KILL ME, YOU FUCKING MONSTER! DO IT! PLEASE!" 
The only audience my begging had was my cell block, and they didn't appreciate me interrupting their sleep. I heard shouting, promises to gut me, sexual remarks. It didn't matter. I was sick of it. They wanted me to be a killer? Fine. I'll play along. I'll make these bastards pay for even being in here. Chicago's such a fucked up city, and once these bastards make it out, they'll just keep the city in the toilet. I'll make sure they never have freedom again.
"Do you feel like a hero?"
Yes. Yes, I do.
Category:Beings