"Requiem" Prologue

By
Christopher A. Kouse

Prologue

           

            The deputy dropped the file in Grissum’s lap.

“The victim’s name was Valen Saint; some twenty-six year old kid. His medical records are there too, apparently he was born blind,” Deputy Baxter said while brushing the doughnut crumbs from his shirt. “Poor kid never saw his attacker, but in some cases I guess that’s a good thing.” He began to reach for another doughnut on top of the dashboard of the police cruiser.

            Sargent Grissum looked once at the file, then back again to the deputy. A look of disgust arose on the police Sargent’s face having noticed the file had been contaminated by the sticky residue of a glazed donut.

“Deputy, if you have a shred of respect for the uniform, you’ll put that donut back,” Grissum sneered.

“Y-yes sir. Sorry sir,” the deputy responded, dropping the freshly plucked donut back into the box.

Grissum tucked the file under his right arm and opened the car door. The first few drops of rain that splattered on his trench coat sleeve revealed a multitude of faces where the rain discolored the cloth. He stopped for a moment to take notice of how much the image’s likeness reminded him of Edvard Munch’s “The Scream” painting. He had taken his two daughters to an art museum about five years back; it just so happened that “The Scream” was the focus piece of the gallery; Grissum hated it. But that was a time when things were happier for the Sargent; before the divorce and technicalities that caused him to lose his family and left him in his currently depressive state.

Grissum disregarded the omen and proceeded to struggle with his umbrella until it finally flicked open. He marched toward the flashing lights atop the police cruisers taking no care to avoid the puddles in the broken pavement. The alley looked like a carnival of men in uniform, except no one was smiling; instead their faces had been replaces with concern, but he didn’t expect much from his department this time of night; they were tired, cold, and struggling to stay focused with the worry that their jobs might be in jeopardy. The newly appointed Mayor had made some budget cuts to their department to secure his last election; half the guys in Grissum’s department were kicking themselves once the fruits of their vote had been tallied.

Some homeless guy had called in the body an hour ago and it only took NYC’s finest forty-five minutes to arrive at the scene. Forty-five minutes seemed like a long time to most, but not this city. Calling in a dead body was not nearly as important as preventing one. The department’s resources were few and sacrifices had to be made; time being the first thing to go. The files of unsolved crimes were stacked by their level of severity, and ones that didn’t involve the threat to human life were usually swept under the rug or placed in the newspaper in hopes that some anonymous tip would call in.

Grissum hated his job; often he would question why he still did it. The worst of it was his dreams; somehow his job had found a way to interfere with the last thing he relied upon the most. He never got used to waking up in the middle of the night, questioning some unsolved case he had worked a year prior. His distress of these nightmares was partly what tore his first marriage apart.

Grissum pressed past the other officers on the scene and proceeded to lift up the freshly stretched yellow crime scene tape. He was greeted by two forensics scientists packing up their tools which signified that it was ok to head in without worry of contaminating evidence. Regrettably, Grissum had investigated too many murders in his lifetime; there was no shock value anymore and he was accustomed to walking into a scene without giving it a second thought; but all the attention this one was getting made him even more anxious than usual. Grissum looked around the scene for only a moment before realizing that there was no body.

“Where’s the body?” he asked, turning to face one of the forensics who was making his way under the police tape.

The forensic looked back at Grissum with a concerned look, and then looked up to signal that he do the same. Grissum returned his attention to the alley and pulled his umbrella to the side allowing the rain to cloud his vision. His eyes grew wide and his jaw arched open as the grisly image began to break through the rain.

“My God.”

 The body of the boy was hanging lifeless from the side of the building. His hands and feet had been pierced through with large railroad spikes embedding him into the concrete wall and his body had been posed with its arms stretched straight out from its sides; it was biblical to look upon. The eyes were dark, completely shrouded by the boys dripping wet hair; he remained lifeless and devoid of a soul that had long already left his body vacant. Upon the boys head rested a strand of barb wire that had been wrapped around several times; the blood from the puncture wounds gave off the appearance that the boy was now crying tears of anguish.

Grissum winced as a bolt of lightning cracked open the sky, and in its light revealed something scrawled upon the wall above the boys head; he only got a glance of the words and reached down in haste for his flashlight. Again he raised his arm with the flashlight’s beam resting upon the etchings. Grissum remembered again why he hated his job; and he knew a year from now he would be waking up somewhere in a cold sweat trying to make sense of this horrific sight. He knew that if the position the boy was in wasn’t enough to disturb him, the writings on the wall would drive him to madness. The passage read:

“Separated by Design,

Unified by Revenge.

Three to Harmonize,

One to Remand”

Grissum pulled his notepad from his pocket and let out a sigh knowing it was going to be another sleepless night.

# 
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