2|Ritual or Not

“Detective Grayson.” A man in his late twenties wearing a Class A uniform approached me as soon as I strolled inside the station the next day.

“Yes, officer...” I replied, straightening my posture.

“Miller.” He offered his hand while his umber eyes raked my appearance.

I know I look a lot younger than my age. Mom told me to tie my hair in a neat ponytail - which I did - to add maturity to my appearance. I don’t think it’s working, though, since Officer Miller is gazing at me with wonder - wondering if I’m old enough to have a driving license.

My brows shoot up questioningly when he blatantly glides his eyes over my body, probably pondering if I’m wearing thongs or boy shorts under my dark jeans. I’m used to police officers like him - the kind that drives my patience to the limit because of their apparent judgment just because I don’t have a dick between my legs.

He cleared his throat, giving me an awkward smile which only made my eyes narrowed to slits.

Jerk.

“I was gonna head out to pick you up from your apartment,” he said, which only deepened my annoyance.

“Why is that?” I huffed, biting down the string of profanities my mind was jotting down to match his name.

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Chief got a case for us, that’s all,” he said, handing over a manila folder.

I guess this is not such a horrible way to start my day; I told myself, but when I opened the files, my heart clenched at the sight of the victim. I’m not lightheaded when it comes to the gruesome deaths of people. Blood doesn’t scare me, but what caught my eyes was the victim.

“Are you alright, Detective?” Miller mumbled, mockery slurring his tone. “I told the Chief not to overwhelm you on your first day. This is not a scene for a beautiful lady detective like you at six in the morning-“

I so badly wanted to go in at Chief Perez’s office, greet him good morning, and ask him for authority to put duct tape over Officer Miller’s mouth. But then again, the Chief probably knew that I could handle loud-mouthed people with small brains.

I turned on my heels, ignoring Officer Miller’s continuous rant, and headed back to my car.

“Wait,” he ran behind me, “let’s take my car.”

“Drive your car,” I’m already comfy in the driver’s seat, “I’ll meet you there.”

He cursed under his breath, unwillingly rounding to the passenger side. He intended for me to hear it, but he had to do more than drool over me and treat me like a bitch to crack me up.

“Do you know where we are headed, Detective?” He asked as soon as I hit the highway.

“Did you do a background check on me, Officer Miller?” Stunned, he pursed his lips, running his fingers through his blond hair. “I’ll take your silence as a yes. I might not be from around here, but I do my homework like a good little girl.”

He groaned in response.

“Glad that we’re liking each other already,” I glanced at him, flashing my toothpaste-commercial worthy beam. “Now be a good partner and tell me more about this case.”

He grabbed the manila folder I threw on the dashboard, flipping back and forth, narrating all that’s written on the paper - all were reports from the people who found the body.

The crime scene wasn’t hard to spot. Police cars, white Salvatore Hills Crime Scene Investigation vans, flashes of media cameras were secured out by the yellow police lines. There were a few civilians in the crowd, probably shaken up by the news of this case. On the other side of the line, the station’s officers and investigation team go back and forth towards the woods. 

As I parked my car, a very familiar Impala had my brows meeting together.

But what’s further confusing is the pungent and rusty scent of blood inside my car.

I shook my head; this must be my job getting into my head.

Oblivious of my current annoyance and confusion, Officer Miller stepped out of the car, the manila folder tucked under his arms, as he greeted his fellow officers.

‘This day just keeps getting better,’ I groaned at seeing Paul Lewis. He knew that I’d be assigned in this case, and I can bet my entire month’s salary that he volunteered for this one.

Fishing out my phone from my pocket, I saw two messages on the locked screen. I should’ve checked Dad’s message before coming into the station.

“Detective,” Paul smirked as I stepped out of my car, ducking under the yellow line, hoping I could get to work without any disturbance, but I guess it’s not my lucky day.

“Detective,” I mimicked his tone, swallowing back the bitterness at seeing him after our breakup.

Paul lowered his aviator sunglasses, blue eyes piercing through my soul. I miss him looking at me with fondness in those eyes, but now all I can see is a man who betrayed me and broke my heart. He’s one of the reasons I accepted this transfer. I wanted to live as far away from him as possible, but I guess what I wished for would never happen.

“What have you got?” I asked, disinclined to let my personal feelings affect our job.

He shook his head, sympathy written all over his face, and I knew right then that what I fear is waiting for me beyond these woods, hence his presence here in Salvatore Hills, a town five hours away from his jurisdiction.

The victim was Pedro Rivera. A big-time drug lord Paul and I had been chasing for the last three years. He was the breakthrough of my rookie career. I was chasing a small-time drug dealer. Apparently, the druggy was in direct contact with Rivera. I stumbled upon their trade, which led to Rivera’s arrest.

However, he had money, paid a good lawyer, and we lost the case against him. But I guess his money couldn’t save him from the cruel death he got.

It was gruesome. The metallic scent of blood got stronger as we came close to the body. It’s a good thing I hadn’t eaten anything yet, or I’ll probably have a hard time stopping myself from vomiting. What’s in the files is a pretty version of his death. In reality, it was like he’d been served in a ritual of some kind.

Rivera’s body lay in a starfish position in a circular clearing by the ground about a hundred yards from the road.

Fear. It was the only emotion I could see in this powerful man’s still open eyes; no clothes, no shoes, and no visible bruises from his ink-covered skin except that his chest - where his heart used to be - was ripped open. It wasn’t a clean execution, as though bare hands ripped his heart out from his body. A carving of hexagram was also present on his forehead. From the burn mark on his skin, the culprits carved it while he was still alive.

“Did you find his heart?” I asked Paul.

All the other officers are wise to stay on the road. This is not a sight for the lighthearted people like officer Miller who followed us earlier. He fainted, and the officers who dragged him back to where the cars were cursed him for his fake bravery.

“No,” Paul mumbled, rounding Rivera’s body.

Paul might be a cheater, but he’s one of the best detectives in the Seattle Police Department. There wasn’t a case he wasn’t able to crack.

While I trailed behind him, the scent of myrrh grabbed my attention. It’s pulling on the side of bitter and astringent to the point that it was nauseating.

“But we found his clothes.” We were already far from the body, about fifty yards from my calculation, and true to what he said, there were neatly piled clothes under a large tree.

“What the hell happened here?” I mumbled, taking pictures of the crime scene with my phone, ignoring the nauseating smell. I dare not speak about it, knowing Paul would blame it on me being a girl.

“This is another big case that will shake the entire state. Rivera’s death will lead to chaos.” A drug lord’s death always does. Probably, right at this moment, his peers are already fighting off like hyenas on who will own his turf. “The governor already released a heightened alert on all departments in preparation for another war on drugs.”

“Off the record, I think this is some kind of ritual,” Paul added, grabbing my full attention. “Do you remember the paper I wrote about the Čuvari Tribe?”

Despite the situation upon us, I snorted, and Paul glared at me. “The Watchers? Come on, Paul, that’s like what, in eleventh grade?”

Still looking annoyed, Paul looked around, checking if any of the officers were within earshot. “They are the original settlers of Salvatore Hills, the city of the savior. I knew you’d make fun of me, but I have a bad feeling about this, Dawnie.”

His use of that pet name added a crack to my already broken heart. I miss him calling me Dawnie. “Don’t call me that.”

He stepped back, like the resignation in my voice burned him.

“I know you know them by heart, Paul. But either way, we cannot put that on record unless we have solid proof that that tribe still exists. What I know is whoever killed Rivera, ritual or not, needs to pay for taking another human’s life.”