Little Red

they had a purpose. Most were bloated with large jackets, the cold weather getting to their bones and chilling them.

‘I got you a room on the third floor, it’s an open account provided by the Met. Just do me a favour and don’t go crazy on the room service!’

‘I promise I’ll behave’

‘Good boy. I also had archives deliver a copy of the Intel we have so far. You’ll find a copy of the Polaroid’s and DVD, the findings from the location of her body and a Psych portfolio pieced together by Doctor William Lime.’

‘Never heard of him’

‘He was brought in by the head shed, nice fella, and a bit eccentric at times. But the portfolio has some interesting details so give it a once over for me. We are holding a conference tomorrow at ten. I’d appreciate your input!’

‘Let’s see what I come up with tonight Jack, I don’t want to be repeating what our doc has already given us.’

The car rolled to a halt at the hotel entrance. The appearance of the building at first glance had shocked him. It was one of the expensive looking hotels, the two tall figures, dressed in matching outfits and standing either side of the double doors. The large red canopy overhead decreased the possibility of guests becoming wet from rain or snow. The entrance had been brushed, de-iced and gritted. He wondered where the red carpet was. Nathan pulled the handle and pushed the door open slowly, avoiding the cluster of pedestrians as they raced in all directions.

‘Nathan’ Jack called as he leant across to the back seat. ‘I appreciate this……we all do!’

‘I know, just don’t go getting your hopes up’ he smiled as the door was closed. The boot had been opened from within the car, the lever pulled by Malcolm once the passenger exited, and Nathan retrieved his bag. The vehicle pulled away as he slammed the lid shut, the indicator flashing wildly to inform the cars behind that he was moving.

Chapter Three

With every step arose a creak. The floorboards were stained with a tacky substance, his shoes peeling free as he walked. Some were cracked clean in half and others were damaged with large scorch marks. He stood still, calming his rate of breathing. The staircase sat ahead of him, the streetlamp outside cast his shadow onto the crooked steps making him appear taller and disfigured. The landing housed a thick darkness and the blackness loomed like a cloud. No sounds could be heard. He listened harder, the beating of his heart filling his ears. This has to be the place………..the van is outside. His eyes had begun to blur slightly as he focused eagerly into his dark surroundings, images appearing before him…..his mind playing tricks.

Deep within his head he yearned to step backwards and exit the abandoned building with speed, but his body was grounded. He closed his eyes and dug a bit deeper for some control, some courage. The clanging of an object connecting with the wooden floor echoed through the house, its origin appeared to be from the second floor. Armed with a flashlight and Wheel Brace he moved cautiously to the first step, his heart thudding, the pace quickened.

The beam of light from his torch showed a dim route, guiding the way. He gave two second bursts to gather his bearings, releasing the switch and standing, once again, in total darkness. He yearned for the element of surprise but also feared being detected and killing his source of light helped him to remain hidden in the shadows. The approach seemed to drag, every step taking more effort than the last. Particles of dust danced before him as the light was turned on and off, swaying from side to side as he passed through, his breath fired them forwards.

The house offered a damp smell, the type that swarmed the nostrils and choked the back of your throat. He wiped a sleeve across his face, attempting to remove the musky odour.

He clung to the wall that followed to the left side of the stair, he noticed scorch marks and faded graffiti in the seconds of light he allowed himself, the writing had faded, difficult to read. He stopped at the top to observe the landing that ran from left to right, cover your arcs Nathan, leave no corner hidden.

The crackle had caused him to freeze his movement, the sound, difficult to place, had come from all directions. He pondered, trying to determine the cause and location. It was followed by a deep howl……… Who’s that I see walking in these woods…….well, it’s little red riding hood……Hey there little red riding hood…..you sure are looking good…….you’re everything a big bad wolf could want……..Hooowwwwwl…

Nathan awoke, his body thrown upright in the bed. Beads of sweat ran from his hair line and mustered upon his eye brows, the salty liquid stung his eyes.

The dream he recognised. He had suffered from a repetition of nightmares for several years, the same one over and over again, little pieces added to them as each one was acted out. But this time was different, the song, it was new to him……he had heard it before….but where?

He swung his long naked legs to the side of the bed and rested his feet upon the carpeted floor. His toes curled against the crimson fabric, strands brushing into the gaps and tickling his skin…….it calmed him, always had. He leaned across the bedside table and searched for the lamp switch, finding it he pressed the button and partially illuminated the room. The red digits on the clock displayed the figures 02:43. He was awake, no chance of getting back to sleep, not after his recent attempt.

Standing, he listened as his joints cracked, thudding within his skin, the pain temporarily aching. His body had withered after the last case he had helped Jack with. He had fallen victim of the killer they hunted, the repercussions of gruelling nightmares and body repair had caused a huge loss in weight. His once toned figure now stood skinny, the overhang of skin around his chest and lower abdomen made him sick, a reminder of the encounter, the huge scar running from his gut to his arm pit. He was reminded of the pain every time his eyes met the line of pale skin; his tanned body amplified the area of healing.

He had drank from the tap in the bathroom and made his way to the box of intelligence that Jack had organised for him, lifting the lid he could smell the all too familiar scent of printer ink and fresh paper, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

The box had a surprising weight as he moved it from the desk and onto the large double bed. He smoothed down the duvet with both hands and began emptying the contents. He placed the documents out evenly covering the bed, the pictures sat to one side and the disc containing the self-filmed footage was moved to the side table under the lamp. Lying at the bottom of the box was a sealed packet of adhesive balls. Jack knew that Nathan liked to stick information on a case upon a large clear wall, enabling him to sit back and scan it or walk to and fro absorbing the details. He smiled realising this. His brown eyes scanned the room for a suitable location to start sticking his new task.

The large mirror with its bold golden frame shimmered, catching the lamp light as he pulled it from the wall, slight wall damage, never mind. He started from the left, placing the Crime Scene Investigators list of finds on first. Four pages in total, not much, he thought, followed by the Analysis by the eccentric Doctor William Lime, more pages than the CSI findings, twelve to his surprise. He had completed a full row, underneath in an individual line he had decided to place the images taken by the killer. Nathan stood emotionless, the picture of her delicate young face starring back at him, nothing was said nor thought……… total silence.

***

Jack had arranged for his driver to collect Nathan from the hotel. The phone call to his room had lasted several seconds as Nathan repeatedly told the driver he would be down as soon as possible. The journey from his current place of rest to the Metropolitan Headquarters at New Scotland Yard was a silent one, his driver never made a peep, absolute silence. Oddly, Nathan welcomed it.

The traffic was back to its normal chaotic behaviour, does this place ever slowdown? They passed the entrance, the large triangle shape block, rotating slowly clockwise, its silver backing glistening under the morning sun, the bold white letters displaying the words New Scotland Yard. The driver manoeuvred the Mercedes to the rear parking area, stopping by the single door entry point, allowing Nathan to climb out and make his way inside.

It had been several years since he had set foot inside the building, the last time, he recalled using the front