Dyno_Isabella

United States of America

An 18 year old girl (INTP-A) currently in university for Computer Engineering. Always had a passion for storytelling from a young age. Not the most girly, more likely to be found outside covered in dirt then in makeup and in a dress to be honest.

Message to Readers

Constructive feedback on anything but basic grammatical issues are welcome and appreciated. Let me know if you're interested in any more stories related to this. Enjoy! Thanks.

Hallucination

January 2, 2019

FREE WRITING

2
It all happened too quickly. We had a case just like usual. The unsub is a psychopath named Morgan Khrushchev. They had several victims before it was recognized to be all the same person. Morgan tortures their victims to the brink of death multiple times over the course of exactly a month from when they were taken. A mangled corpse would then show up in crowded places with no evidence as to who dumped it there. After the first two corpses were found, the third had a note in his pocket. It was a taunting note, not just to the police but also the victim’s family. Morgan signed it with their full name. However, despite knowing exactly who the killer is, we’ve been unable to track them down. That’s how it had been for almost a year, but this time Morgan messed up.

The most recent victim was able contact help from where she was being held. She was being taken to the hospital by the paramedics when Spencer and I arrived on the scene. I wanted to question her, but Spencer immediately chastised me for being insensitive. Instead we investigated the scene. It was a vacant warehouse that the city had built in hopes to attract outside companies to set up locally. There were two nearby buildings that served at the Department of Social Services and a tire factory. No one had any idea that anyone had been in the warehouse until the girl got free and ran to the DSS for help.

“Top floor,” a young officer directed us to the crime scene. “The forensic team is already up there.”

“Those lab freaks always manage to beat us to the scene,” I joked with Spencer as we took the stairs.

“Probably because none of them have to wait on you to get dressed and look pretty before they can get here,” he teased back. It made me smile, but he seemed more distant than usual, like he was worried about something.

“Hey, one of us has to.”

The scene was identical to all the past ones. Even though it had been less than a month, the place was still cleaned the way the other scenes had been when Morgan was done. Investigating gave us no new clues, so we left the forensic team to do their work.

As we’re leaving the crime scene, a van parked in the nearby factory caught Spencer’s attention. We walked over with Spencer in the lead. He made conversation with the driver, learning that she worked at the factory and asked if she had seen anything strange or if she had seen anyone coming and going at odd hours. She was no help. We made our way back to my car when the side doors of the van slammed open and the sound of a gunshot fills the air. I instinctively drew my fire arm and faced the van. Spencer had been shot. He had been slightly behind me and a stranger in a mask was pulling him into the van. I fired three shots at them before racing to get to the door, but it was slammed shut again as I was almost there. The van sped away. That was two weeks ago, the last time I saw Spencer.

The two days after Spencer was taken I found a note on my desk signed by Morgan. They claimed they had Spencer. The police force has been searching everywhere, using every contact we have, to find where Morgan would keep Spencer. Just yesterday they were finally able to track down the woman that had been driving the van for Morgan. It took all night, but she finally told us where she dropped off Morgan with Spencer. There was a lot of protest from higher up about me being too close to this case to be part of the breach team, but my squadron leader fought to let me be a part of this.

Mickey and Alyssa are watching the exits while James and I quickly search the three-floor building. We’ve already been through the first two and there has been no sign of Spencer or Morgan. Top floor. He’s on the top floor. It’ll be fine. I’ll find him on the top floor, I repeat in my head.

“Last floor,” James says as we stop at the top of the stairs at the door. “If Morgan is still here, they will be on this floor.”

“And Spencer,” I add. “Spencer will be here.”

“Beckham, this might not turn out to be the right place. The woman might have been lying to us. You need to remember that,” he tries to be gentle with me, but I can’t bare that thought. I can’t bare not finding Spencer. I need to find him. James lets out a sigh of defeat. “Let’s do this.” He opens the door and I move into the long hallway that is identical to all the other floors.

First doorway. The room is empty. “Clear.”

James moves past me to the next and must find the same thing. “Clear.” We continue down the hall, checking each room as we go, occasionally having to open doors but nothing this there. Suddenly I head a muffled voice on the other side of a closed door. James motions for me to be ready before he quickly opens the door and moves out of the line of sight.

I have my gun at ready, but it droops as I take in the scene before me. The voice doesn’t stop, but I easily recognize it now. “Spence,” I immediately say to the figure lying on their side on a cot mumbling. It’s a white room with only a clear plastic chair in the center and a small cot shoved against the far wall. I risk taking a step closer to the person. It has to be Spencer.

A crash from the hallway makes me jump, but the person on the cot continues to mumble and doesn’t move. “I’ll go check it out. You stay here. Be careful. Watch yourself,” he instructs. I manage a small nod without taking my eyes off of Spencer. I want to run and incase him in a hug, but I stop myself. He’s been here for two weeks. There’s no telling how much he’s been through.

“Definitely something different than last time. Just feels different. Need to get up though, don’t I, Beck?” I can hear as I get closer. His voice is rough and cracks multiple times. I’m caught off guard by my name.

“Spence?” I move closer. When he jumps back, I hold my hands up to show I don’t mean any harm and slowly set my gun on the floor. “It’s me, Spence. It’s Beck.”

“Two? Wow, you’re really pushing it, huh?” Spencer says nonchalantly as he struggles to stand up, clutching his side in pain. He hobbles once on his feet, keeping weight off of his left leg.

“Easy, Spence. You don’t need to push yourself.” I hold my hand out to him as he moves closer to me. I have to make sure I’m not coming off as threatening. “Mickey, I found him,” I say into my radio before returning my attention to Spencer.

Spencer stumbles but before I can reach out to steady him, he collapses onto the chair. “Definitely new medicine. Two Becks and the room is a peachy color now.” He looks around confused and locks eyes with me. “Nope. You weren’t here before. You’re the new one.” Spencer looks back over to the cot. “I know you’re the Beck here to help me. You wouldn’t tell me to stop fighting. New medicine.” He keeps his voice low. I wouldn’t be able to make out what he was saying if I wasn’t only a few feet from him.

“Spence? It’s okay. Look at me. Mickey’s probably already called the paramedics and police. You’re okay.” I try to reach out to touch my partner, but he jerks away.

“Nope. I know: no one to help me but me. ‘Look out for yourself,’ that’s what you say. I made progress with the chair leg last time.” He’s talking to the corner of the room now, like someone’s there. Spencer fumbles to reach down to the chair leg and feels it. Abruptly her screams, “UGH!” He yanks the chair out from under him, making him fall to the floor. “It’s a new fucking chair!” There is a silence as Spencer stares at the corner.

I don’t know what to do. Holding down and forcing him to calm down after what he’s probably suffered through is not a good idea. “Shut up!” Spencer suddenly shouts. He does his best to throw the chair at the corner, but one of the legs catch his head as he swings it around. “Fuck!” he screams in pain as he clutches his head. In his uncoordinated movements, his elbow hits his side, making him scream more.

“Spence!” I don’t care anymore. I rush to Spencer’s side and hold his head with one arm off of the ground.

“You’re touching me,” Spencer mutters in confusion as he stares into my eyes. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here, Spence. You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

Spencer slowly reaches up with one hand and just rests it on my face. Everything about Spencer’s demeanor opens up as he admits, “I’m not okay, Beck. It really hurts. Everything hurts.” He looks completely vulnerable.

I cautiously reach for the bottom of the loose shirt he’s been dressed in. Once it’s raised, a mess of bruises that litter his chest are revealed. Unhealed slash marks and stab wounds hide around his sides, some of which are starting to bleed again from strain and contact. “What did they do to you?”

When he doesn’t answer, I look back up at Spencer. His eyes are slowly staring to close. “Hey! Spence! I need you to keep your eyes open! Stay with me!” My orders seem to have little effect on my partner.
“Mickey said the paramedics should be here any minute,” James speaks up from the doorway.

“Any sight of Morgan?”

“I chased someone up the roof. They jumped and disappeared. Mickey and Alyssa didn’t see any sight of them.” I only nod. I focus on Spence. “There was a note stuck on the ledge. It’s addressed to you.”
I don’t dare move to look at it. I busy myself making sure that Spencer’s pulse is still strong and is still breathing. His hair has fallen over his eyes, so I brush it out of the way. After a moment I ask, “What does it say?”

“’You must be important for him to scream your name so much while I’m having my fun. Shame our fun was cut short. I was saving his face for last. You wouldn’t have been able to recognize him. -Morgan Khrushchev,’” James reads aloud.

Sirens save me from having to respond. He’s safe now, I argue in my head, but I can’t be sure. I just can’t.
I've got some more from this story available. If you want to work on it more, let me know. Some possible plots involving Native American mythology.
_____
Isabella Johnson

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