The Whittier Police Department homicide division was running at full capacity. Inside the conference room, crime scene photos were pinned across the board, the table cluttered with reports, forensic scans, and evidence markers. The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the grotesque images spread before them. The board displaying:
Ryan Garrison, 17 - chest torn open, his heart missing.
Emma Garrison, 15 - her body twisted, head severed.
Sofia Garrison - crushed from the inside out, bones splintered like broken glass.
Detectives, forensic analysts, and crime scene specialists poured over the case details, their expressions grim. The disbelief that something like this could happen in their town loomed over them.
At the head of the room, Detective Evelyn Holt stood, flipping through a case file, her glossy brown eyes scanning each line with clinical precision.
Across from her, the Anaheim PD's Homicide Detective Aiden Vaughn leaned against the table. His arms crossed, his teeth grinding as he studied the evidence.
And standing apart from the rest, Detective Garrison looked like a man seconds from snapping someone's head clean off. His body was rigid, his hands quivered leaving ripples in the cup of coffee he held.
A door swung open.
Chief Gregory Halliday entered scanning the room slowly, his lips pursed. The moment he locked eyes with Garrison, the tension in the room turned lethal.
"Detective Garrison, you know you can't be here!"
Silence.
Then
BANG.
Garrison's fist slammed against the table, sending a stack of crime scene photos skidding across the surface. His coffee scalding his hand.
"You can't be serious," he snarled wiping the spilt coffee away, his voice shredded with grief and barely-contained fury. "That was my family, Halliday."
Halliday's expression didn't falter. Decades in command had made him stronger than stone, but this? He couldn't blame the poor guy. He knew if it was him, he would be doing exactly the same thing.
"And that's exactly why you're off the case," he said. "You're too close. You'll compromise the investigation."
A bitter laugh reverberated from Garrison's throat.
"Too close?" His chest rose and fell unevenly, while his nostrils flared open and closed. "Am I the only one in this damn room who actually wants to find out who did this?"
The only answer was the uncomfortable shuffling of everyone shifting their weight.
Across the table, Detective Malik Carter swiveled in his chair before standing. He was a lean man in his mid-40s, ex-gang unit, built like a damn truck. He sighed crossing his arms.
"Garrison, I get it, man," he said, voice low, measured. "But protocol is protocol. If you stay on this case, you'll wreck yourself. And our chances of catching this perp."
Garrison's feral gaze snapped to him.
"So what? I'm supposed to sit back while my daughter is missing?"
"No, You sit back and trust us to handle it," Carter said, steady, unshakable.
Garrison's jaw clenched. His hands trembled at his sides.
Then, Halliday sighed scratching his head and turned to Aiden.
"Look I was able to call in a favor with Anaheim PD. They allowed Detective Vaughn to assist on the case this time," he said. "He'll work with Holt and the team."
Aiden met Garrison's gaze. Searching for any sign that his friend understood how much his coworkers cared.
Garrison's cheek twitched, his mind clearly struggling to concede.
"Aiden, you clear her name," Garrison said, low, controlled. "Find her I'm begging you."
Aiden nodded. "I will."
Garrison didn't linger.
He turned, shoved open the door, and walked out.
The door clicked shut, leaving the rest of the team rooted in silence.
Holt exhaled sharply, tossing her pen onto the table.
"Alright," she muttered, steeling herself before flipping open the latest forensic reports. "Let's go over everything again."
She tapped the first crime scene photo pinned to the board. The bodies thrown haphazardly, the sheer violence of the scene overwhelming.
"Marisol was in the room that's a fact," she continued. "Her DNA is there. But so far there is no proof she did this."
Aiden studied the images, his hands rubbing his chin as he listened intently. He thought to himself that obviously there would be her DNA there. It was her room after all.
"There had to be someone else in there," he said, voice unreadable. "Someone strong enough to..."
His eyes landed on Sofia's crushed body.
Carter caught what he was implying, his fingers tapping against the table in thought.
"Turn her into a f'in twisted pretzel?" Carter said.
"No," Aiden rejected, uncomfortable with the sudden joke. "This wasn't done with human strength."
Except for carter nodding in agreement, the eyes in the room were filled with disapproval.
Across the table, Dr. Shariff Sharma, the lead forensic analyst didn't look up from his report.
"If you two are suggesting a literal monster," he said dryly, "I'd love to see that in a court affidavit."
Aiden didn't blink. "I'm saying we keep our options open. Maybe a type of machine or something. But either way, I doubt she could of done this."
Shariff looked up with interest, pushing the report toward him.
"Then you better find something that proves she didn't do it," he said. "Because so far, all we have is her DNA in that room. until we find another explanation, the departments going to have no choice but to say she's the only suspect."
Holt ran a hand through her hair, frustration mounting. This was going to be a long night at this rate if she didn't think of something...
"Amber Alert!," she said finally. "We need to put out an Amber Alert. Whether she did this or not, she's a missing minor, and she's in danger."
Carter nodded.
"I'll call it in," he said, standing. "We'll make it official."
The conversation was finally getting somewhere when the Chief's radio crackled to life.
"911 call from a civilian. Reports of multiple suspects seen jumping rooftops downtown. Possible burglary in progress."
Lisa "Red" Owens, the cyber forensics tech, snorted finally speaking up from her from her cubby in the corner of the room. Random wrappers and energy drink cans falling off her desk to the floor.
"Kids playing parkour again?" she muttered picking up the debris. "Why do we care?"
Holt had forgot she was even there. Despite that, they had bigger fish to fry than some kids playing on roofs.
"Let patrol handle it. over," said Halliday to the other end, annoyed by the distraction.
The caller on the other side seemed confused.
"Caller reports that the suspects' eyes were… glowing red. Please advise."
The unified eye roll could be felt amongst all who had heard. This was obviously a prank.
That is everyone but Aiden of coarse.
A shiver ran down his spine.
The glowing red eyes.
For just a second, he was lost in his memories.
His mind flickered back to Capone, standing in that neon-drenched casino, his crimson gaze flashing beneath the brim of his hat while he puffed his cigar. The Sentinel's blood red irises, looming over Amara. His blade ready to cleave her head from her body with ease.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He bit his lip shaking off the feeling, focusing on his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth.
No.
Not possible.
Not here.
Holt's voice brought him back.
"Aiden?"
He blinked.
"It's nothing," he said. "We should do one more pass through the evidence."
She watched him for a second concerned, then nodded.
After some time everyone else agreed to take a small recess, before continuing. It was well deserved but Aiden's first thought as he stepped out was that he must debrief garrison.
Aiden found Garrison in the hallway, halfway to the exit. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him without looking inhuman. Catching him by the shoulder stopping garrison in his tracks.
"Hey where are you going?," Aiden said, moving to block his path. "I thought you were going to leave this to me?"
Garrison's eyes narrowed.
He looked at Aiden with disdain.
"Isn't it obvious?"
Then without another word, Garrison walked past him. The smell of rain wafting in as the door to the precinct slowly closed.