Good Girl

Who did he leave with?

*Benjamin*

The following morning hits me like a freight train. I barely slept, the events of last night replaying in my mind like a relentless loop. The broken window, the scent of lilies, and that unsettling warmth linger in the corners of my thoughts as I pull myself out of bed. I splash cold water on my face, trying to shake off the remnants of unease. I need to focus. I just got the call there’s another murder case on my plate, and it’s a grim one.

As I slip into my clothes, I mentally prepare for what lies ahead. Clara, my partner, is waiting for me at the precinct. She’s the only person I trust to keep her head in the game when the darkness threatens to seep in. I grab my jacket and head out, the air crisp and biting against my skin.

The drive to the precinct is a blur of asphalt and scattered thoughts. I can't shake the feeling that I’m being watched, that the shadows are closing in. I push the thought aside, convincing myself it's just paranoia… maybe it comes with the job, like you can only see souches darkness before you feel it closing in.

I arrive at the station, the familiar hum of activity grounding me. Officers bustle around, coffee cups in hand, and the faint sound of a radio crackles in the background.

Clara is already in the briefing room when I enter, her brow furrowed as she studies the case files spread out before her. She looks up as I walk in, her expression shifting to a mixture of relief and concern. “You look like hell,” she says, her voice laced with worry.

“Thanks,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Not much. We have a fifth victim, Ben. This one’s different, though. He was found in an alleyway, and the body…” she hesitates, her eyes filled with a grim determination. “It’s worse than the others.”

I nod, my stomach churning at the thought. The previous victims had been fairly young men, all of them found in various apartments around the city, each one castrated and left to rot. The killer was meticulous, almost surgical, and there was a pattern we were still trying to decipher.

“What do we know?” I ask, leaning over the table to study the photos of the latest victim, a man in his late twenties with dark hair and a vacant stare.

“Same M.O. as the others. No signs of struggle, no defensive wounds. It’s like they just let him do it. And the castration," Clara adds, her voice barely above a whisper. “I feel it is a way to masculine them… humiliated them.”

The air thickens with tension as I process the information. “You think it’s definitely the same person?” I murmur, my mind racing.

“Absolutely. We need to connect the dots before the press gets wind of this. They’re already buzzing about the ‘cutter.’” Clara’s eyes are sharp, focused. “We need to find out who these men were connected to. Family, friends, anything that could lead us to the killer.”

“Let’s start with the last victim. I want to know everything about him… social media, work history, relationships. If he had any enemies, we need to know.” I turn to grab my notepad, jotting down a list of tasks. With each name, the dread grows heavier. “And let’s check the security footage from near the alley. Someone must have seen something.”

Clara nods, her expression resolute. “I’ll head to the coroner’s office and see if they can give us a timeline. Maybe we can figure out when he was taken.”

“Good idea. I’ll handle the precinct side. Let’s regroup in a few hours.”

As we move into action, I feel the familiar rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the chase igniting something within me. But the shadow of the lilies hangs over me, a reminder of the unknown lurking just out of sight. I push it down, focusing on the task at hand.

The next few hours blur into a frenzy of phone calls, interviews, and sifting through databases. I can feel the tension in the precinct, the weight of the case pressing down on everyone. The clock ticks mercilessly, and just as I’m about to lose myself in the chaos, Clara bursts through the door, her expression a mix of excitement and urgency.

“I found something,” Clara says, breathless. “The victim was seen at a bar last night right before he was killed.”

“Could he have been targeted?” I ask, intrigued. “Maybe he got into an argument with someone there?”

“Exactly. We need to talk to anyone who was there that night,” she replies.

“Let’s go,” I say, grabbing my jacket. The air feels charged with urgency as we head out, the weight of the case pressing down on us.

The drive to the bar is tense. Clara and I exchange theories, each one more troubling than the last. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re racing against time.

When we arrive, the bar is bustling with patrons. The atmosphere is lively, but I can sense an undercurrent of tension. We approach the bartender, a weary man wiping down the counter.

“Hey,” I say, “we’re investigating a murder. We need to talk to anyone who was here last night.”

He looks up, skepticism etched on his face. “You got a warrant?”

“No, but a man was killed after leaving here. We need survailance… information, anything that can help,” Clara interjects, her voice firm.

“Survailance hasn’t worked for weeks,” The bartender sighs, glancing around before leaning in. “And I can’t help you much. It was a busy night, but feel free to ask around.”

We split up and start talking to patrons, trying to piece together the victim's last moments. Most people are too caught up in their own lives to remember any details, but then I find a guy sitting alone at a table, nursing a drink.

“Hey, you mind if I ask you a few questions?” I say, sitting down across from him.

He looks up, slightly wary. “Sure, but I don’t know much.”

“I hear this guy was here last night. Did you see him leave with anyone?” I show him a picture of the victims face.

The guy thinks for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, I think I Saw him, in one of the boots with two or three friends, they seemed to be celebrating something.”

“Did you catch what they were talking about?” Clara asks, leaning in.

“No idea. I was just trying to enjoy my drink,” he replies, shrugging. “But I remember he left pretty abruptly.”

“Do you remember anything about the others he was with?” I ask, hopeful.

“Not really. Just that they seemed close. But then again, it was loud in there.”

Frustrated but not defeated, Clara and I exchange glances. This is a dead end, but we can’t give up yet.

“Thanks for your time,” I say, and we move on to the next group of patrons, hoping for a break.

As the night wears on, the bar begins to empty, and our chances of finding someone who saw anything diminish. But I know we have to keep digging. There’s something more to uncover, and I won't stop until we find the connections that lead us to the truth.

“Let’s check in with the police again,” Clara suggests. “Maybe they’ve found his friends… they must know who he left with.”

“Yeah,” I agree, feeling the weight of the case more than ever. “We need to follow up. The friends are our best bet.”