A Mouth Full of Teeth / Stories

A Mouth Full of Teeth Ch.1 Rev. 2 Continued

(continued from here)

Jackson

The door across the street creaked open, spilling light onto the dark street. A broad silhouette filled the frame and casted a giant shadow over the ground. I straightened up as Jackson sauntered out to meet me.

He glanced at the unconscious frog on the ground and then looked up to me. His eyebrow raised in a question.

“What the hell took you so long?” I demanded.
“I had to make sure I got it all.”

He held up thick, packed evidence bag. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about, and one step closer to finding our target. I took the bag from him and began to look through it.

“What happened?” Jackson asked, motioning to my suitor.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. But next time, you can be the lookout.”

A faint smirk tugged at the right side of his mouth; the closest thing to a smile he would ever give. He was the very definition of stoic; serious, steel blue eyes, a square jaw that was always set, and a tendency of walking with his fists clutched.

“I saw the body,” he told me. “Chewed to pieces. Definitely werewolf.”

I found a small baggy with a few strands of dark brown fur inside. Cracking the seal, I put the bag up to my nose and inhaled.

Images of six bloody crime scenes flashed in my memory. This was the same scent I’d picked up in Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Alexandria, White Plains, Boston and Providence. And now in murder number seven: Paris.

Jackson and I were enforcers for the Alliance, the reigning government of the underworld. It served to protect our species from humans, vampires and anything in between. When a werewolf broke the law, it was our job to hunt him down and deliver swift punishment.

A few weeks ago we’d gotten a call to investigate a possible werewolf kill in Ohio. Killing humans was illegal, unless you had a very good reason like preservation of the species to do it. But even when a werewolf did step out of bounds and kill for fun, they knew enough to hunt people who wouldn’t be missed, hide the body and do whatever they could to keep things from looking suspicious.

But in this case a man had been attacked in his garage inside a fancy gated community, with his body left out for anyone to find. It seemed highly unlikely to us both that a werewolf had anything to do with this, but duty had called and we had to answer.

We’d broken into the crime scene at night, slipping in through a window on the top floor of the house. Jackson had kept muttering on about this being a waste of his time. I agreed, until we entered the garage.crime scene

The scent of death nearly overwhelmed me. Blood was splattered everywhere; the walls, the ceiling, the car. It looked like a can of red paint had exploded.

“What happened in here?” I asked.

There were two taped outlines on the ground; one oblong shaped, next to the blood soaked car door; the other was on the far side of the garage against the wall and resembled the outline of a pair of pants.

“Let’s make this fast.” Jackson said.

I approached the outline next to the car. As I bent to examine it closer, the unmistakable scent of werewolf filled my senses. Each little hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Jade,” Jackson called.

Smudged across the garage door in dried blood was an upside down pentagram. Beside it was a giant red paw print. Whoever had done this was deliberately trying to get attention.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I asked.

“Not in a very long time.”

Since then there had been 6 – now 7 – more murders. All extremely violent, all well to do humans, and all in the victim’s homes. The same sort of “signature” had been left in the victim’s blood too, causing quite an uproar in the media.

“It’s him,” I said. “Same killer. What is his deal?”

“I’ll try to remember to ask him before I rip his head off. Oh, and he took the victim’s heart this time. A little cliché in my opinion.”

Jackson was almost one hundred and ten years old. Everything was cliché in his opinion. I on the other hand found that little anecdote rather disturbing.

“Come on,” he drawled, heading up the street. “Our mark would have needed help getting into France. I think I know just the man who’d have done it.”

“Who’s that?”

“Henri Beauchamp.”

(I’ll post more if you guys want. Don’t want to drop too much on y’all at once. What do you think?)

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2 thoughts on “A Mouth Full of Teeth Ch.1 Rev. 2 Continued

  1. Pingback: A Piece of My NaNoWriMo 2 | Spinning Jenni

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