Thursday, October 15, 2015

Piecemeal Terror - Pt 5

Dedicated to Silent Hills. Kojima, Del Toro, Reedus

It had been a long day. Dwyer's shoulders slumped as she closed the door behind her. She was finally alone. There had been little rest since the day of Bordeaux's disappearance. Harley and her had locked themselves away from the prying eyes of a precinct, delving further and further into the depths of the archives. 

Old cases, new cases. There had to be something there that could give them that one, precious lead. Harley had lost herself, frenzied and wide eyed, frantically throwing file after file, each as of little use as the first. Her eyes had sunken deep into her cheeks, hollow and dark. There was an air about her that had changed. No longer was she the wise-crack officer. With every day that passed Dwyer watched her descend, withdrawing into herself. She muttered more, sometimes so indistinctly that Dwyer began to wonder if she was really there.

Staring into her lazy dinner, Harley's unconscious uttering swirled about in Dwyer's mind.  After weeks of searching, they still had nothing and yet that had not been the thing to perturb her partner. It was a deeper anxiousness. She remembered Harley's first words the evening Bordeaux was no longer there.

"Fuck! Every single fucking time! I tell her, don't turn round! Every, single, goddamned, motherfucking time!" 

"You mean this isn't the first time the detective has,"


What more could Dwyer say? After a few days, Harley had brought her a sad looking cup of coffee. Despite the harsh bitterness, Dwyer drank it gratefully. Pushing unruly strands behind her ear, Harley stared at Dwyer, not quite seeing her. It was as if she could see something Dwyer could not. It was the same look Bordeaux had given her when she first saw her; gaze intensely picking at her, as if she were a strange mark on her skin that had suddenly caught her attention. One that needed to be investigated, ripped open and put back together in a way that made sense. 

"You got a handle on what we do now?" Harley had asked nonchalantly. Dwyer nodded slowly, unsure of what words to use. 

"You're paranormal investigators." She said at last.

"In a sense. In that we go to crime scenes that appear off. Sometimes they're just weird people doing weird things,"

"And the rest?"

"The rest are like this." Harley looked delighted for a moment, flashing Dwyer a wide grin, amused at her quip. Dwyer could only stare at her blankly, not sure if this was something she should be chuckling at. Their superior had disappeared and Harley was alright with this? But then, this was clearly not the first time.

"The first case I remember freaking out! One second she's there the next she's gone! Of course this was because she was leading some bizarre alien creature down an alleyway. Should have heard her! Sounded like she having the time of her life!"

"An alien?"

"Yeah, I mean fuck I dunno. I didn't get a good glimpse of it,"

"What did you do?"

"I cried in a corner for a good two minutes. Then I gave chase flashing my badge like a maniac but by then they had disappeared. I think about two or three days passed and finally Bordeaux showed up, covered in shit. She had whatever it was, or at least what was left it, in a bag. The chief was off for two weeks after he looked inside."

"Did you...?"

"Nooope. Not going there!" Harley had laughed.

She had barely laughed since. 

As the weeks passed, Harley began to mumble, "... Got to look myself. Can't be sure, can't be sure,"

Harley had stopped responding to Dwyer's questions. Soon Dwyer stopped asking.


Don't trust anyone. 

Don't trust anyone. Don't trust the police. 

Harley laid awake in the dark, eyes unable to shut themselves as the helpful bag repeated itself. 

The gap in the door... it's a separate reality. The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?

Don't trust anyone. Don't trust the police. 

The only me is me. Are you sure the only you is you?

Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Piecemeal Terror - Pt 4

This is a special post. Please read the images. 

“I mentioned to Detective Argent that the picture had been damaged.”
“In what way?”
“I said, ‘The eye of the wife is gouged out. Here look,’”
Dwyer handed the wedding photograph to Bordeaux as she had done before. It was all coming back. The strange noise upstairs. The scraping of heels on a wooden floor. The throbbing of adrenaline in her ears as the sound had come closer. The terrifying silence that had come after she had rounded that corner.
Her body froze, waiting for it to happen again.

“Francine be reasonable!”
“No! No! No! That’s what happened last time! We split up! And he went missing and now he’s…” Dwyer could no longer hold back the searing tears as panic overwhelmed her. There was something here. It had taken Simon. It had ripped out his eye and thrown his insides across the ground like a savage and it, was, still, here. And Bordeaux wanted to split up?
Her vision swam, her head pounded. Dwyer’s blood was frantically pumping through her heart, quickly tightening her chest, the air in her lungs expelling in heavy gasps. Why had they brought her back here?! She couldn’t do it.
God, Simon, I just can’t do it!
Dwyer felt Harley grip her shoulders tightly, holding her still for a time. Ever so slowly, Dwyer’s vision returned enough to spy Bordeaux over and passed her, eyes narrowing.
“Hey! Hey, look at me! Don’t look at crazy over there look at me,” Harley shook Dwyer, catching her attention. “Would you feel better going with me? We’ll stick to the ground floor. I’ll be right next to you yeah? Hell we can even hold hands if that makes you feel better,”
Dwyer nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes, silently, desperately, taking deep breathes.
“Right then,”

“Where the fuck are you you tramp?!” Bordeaux yelled. Despite her tone, Bordeaux stood very still, watching the upstairs balcony with an icy stare.
“You know I fucking saw you! Come out here and fucking face me you murderous piece of shit!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Dwyer hissed, grabbing at the Detective’s arm. The last thing Dwyer wanted was to provoke whatever was about, yet Bordeaux was content to do just that!
She threw Dwyer off, stalking towards her, face contorted in fury. Harley collected Dwyer as she stumbled backwards, eyes wide, mouth agape, “Don’t interrupt me Officer Dwyer,” She hissed, “Don’t you ever interrupt me. I happen to know what this bitch is doing and I do not appreciate it. So if you don’t mind, let me handle it!”

In that moment, she was not sure who she was more terrified of. Bordeaux, or very thing she was provoking.

“There’s been another fatal attack near the crime scene of a recent murder. The incident occurred on the road leading to the Wayne’s residence, where Mr John Wayne brutally murder his wife and two children before being taken into custody. The man found was Detective Simon Argent.”
"What...?" Dwyer’s face paled, her world suspended about her as the reporter’s words sliced her apart.
“Reports said that the detective had been heard repeating numbers over and over again before he finally died, alone in hospital. There were no relatives or friends by his side in his final moments as he slowly died in agony,”
“We’re leaving,” Harley said, grabbing both Dwyer and Bordeaux by the arm.
“Don’t go away now. I know you’re listening,”
The three of them abruptly stopped.
For the briefest of moments the only sound about the room was that of radio static.
Finally, His cut through, crisp, clean and dangerous, “Good evening Bordeaux.”
“Hello there,” Bordeaux greeted the radio, calculating and cold, “I was wondering when you would show up,”
“You’ve made me very angry,” the radio retorted, it’s deep, indistinct voice almost lost amongst the static.
“Good. That was my plan.”
“You made her very angry too,”
And there it was. That sound again. That sound of her heel dragging itself towards them. Dwyer was quaking. She could feel Harley’s fingers tighten, painfully, about her wrist, that sound filling the hall, coming closer and closer. 
Bordeaux was nonplussed, “Oh really?"

“Turn around. Do it. Turn around otherwise she’ll get you. Do it! Turn around!”

“Stay where you are. Whatever you do…”


“Close your eyes,”

“Don’t you look.”

Sunday, August 16, 2015

A Week of Excuses - Day 6

My parents graciously gave us a car to use for a week whilst we begin the moving in process. Today we attempted to do some chores. At the end of the day we came home, tired and a little worn. We did a lot of waiting in traffic, looking around shops and what not. But it's not all bad as the company was lovely and it was nice getting those things done. :)

And I have a new plant Agatha to commemorate the new change!

Saturday, August 15, 2015

A Week of Excuses - Day 5

We are moving. Our little cohort will be growing from four to six in the coming week or so and I am excited/tired/nervous/apprehensive/ready/whatthehelldidIjustdo/thisisgoingtobeawesome! There are so many emotions and thoughts racing through my mind that it's hard to believe that change has come and made itself our guest for the time being.

Today, we signed our lease for our new house.

And I am looking forward to a good rest. :)

Friday, August 14, 2015

A Week of Excuses - Day 4

So I've decided to take the next PT post in a more interesting direction and I have this silly little excuse of a comic to thank. :)

Also, here's a cat I found at a pub. :) Enjoy!

Thursday, August 13, 2015

A Week of Excuses - Day 3

The Hyrule Warriors is strong with this one. In all seriousness... that's all I did tonight.

Wednesday, August 12, 2015

A Week of Excuses - Day 2

Just plain old laziness tonight. Also let's play guess that character! The person who can guess the character I am playing as in panel 2 gets to satisfaction of knowing they're right!

Tuesday, August 11, 2015

A Week of Excuses - Day 1

The new PT post is on its way. Its a bit longer than the past few weeks as I want to cover some more ground character wise. But I do feel bad. So this week and this week only, you'll get to hear all my excuses in a four square format!


Monday, August 3, 2015

Piecemeal Terror - Pt 3

Dedicated to Silent Hills. Kojima, Del Toro, Reedus
“This is special detective Bordeaux. She’ll be conducting the interview alongside me today.”   
“What’s happening? Why am I here?”
 “State for the record your full name and current occupation?”
“Please, Why are you doing this? Where is he?”
“I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”
There’s a pause in the recording.
“My name is Francine Dwyer and I’m an officer at the Central Police Station.”
“Francine, can I call you Francine?”
“Dwyer then. As my friend here stated, I am special detective Emile Bordeaux. Can you confirm that you recently visited a crime scene with Detective Simon Argent on the third of July 2012?”
“Answer the question Dwyer.”
“Now, now, Harley, we’re in no rush here. Dwyer take your time.”
“Please. Where is he?”
The recording again becomes quiet, a soft sniffling noise barely coming through.
“Yes what?”
“Yes I visited the crime scene of case number 35679-F with Detective Simon Argent on the third of July 2012. Now please, I’m begging you, is he okay? Just tell me that! Please!”
There’s a pause.
“Offficer Dwyer, the detective was found last night. He was rushed to the ICU,”
“Please, no, he was right there! I swear it! I just rounded the corridor and then he was gone! But he should have been right there!”
“Officer Dwyer do we need to give you a moment to calm yourself before we continue?”
“Excuse us. Harley? A moment please.”
There is the sound of shuffling as two people leave the room. Sobbing comes through, cracked and indistinct, muffled words too unclear to be deciphered. After two minutes, the sound of a door opening can be heard, the investigators taking their seats again.
“The interview is suspended. Time is 15:37 on the tenth of July 2012.”
There’s a click as the interview comes to a brief end. As it starts up again the first few words are lost.
“… … 17:53 on the tenth of July 2012.”
“Can you confirm that you are Officer Francine Dwyer of the Central Police Station?”
“And you worked with Detective Simon Argent?”
“You were the last reported person to have seen him, can you please confirm that for the record?”
“That is correct.”
“I’m going to be handing over the questioning to special detective Emile Bordeaux.”
“Thank you Harley. Are you alright to continue Officer Dwyer?”
“Officer Dwyer what was your relationship to Detective Argent?”
“I was his partner.”
“For how long?”
“We had been partnered for,” there’s a pause, as the respondent blows her nose, “nearly six months.”
“Why were you at the crime scene?”
Dwyer sighs, “We weren’t getting any information from the suspect. We had been interrogating him for days and all he did was repeat numbers over and over again. We thought maybe we could, I don’t know, find something! Anything!”
“The numbers 924586?”
“I think…”
“Can you confirm this?”
The tape winds itself off.

Bordeaux leaned back into her chair, arms crossed as she considered the distraught officer, frantically glancing about.
  “What’s going on?” Exhaustion had hit the weight of her partner’s death weighing down upon her. Bordeaux tapped her pale lips with a manicured finger, “This is off the record naturally. When we found Detective Argent he was repeating those numbers over and over again.”
“His left eye was missing,”
“There was a deep cut to his abdomen,”
“What!?” Tears poured down the officer’s drawn face, eyes distraught at the new information.
“Before we found the detective the suspect of case 35679-F did indeed begin to talk. Harley the transcript please,” 
“No, no.” Harley begins, voice monotonous.
“Please god, I’m sorry. Whatever it is I’m sorry. Please, where is she? What did you do to her?”
“Where’s Dwyer? No, no, no, no…” 
“Stop! Please...” Dwyer’s arms encased her head as she sobbed bitterly, her body shaking at what were potentially the last words she would ever hear Simon say. He was terrified! Yet at the end of it all, he had been, as he always had, looking out for her. 
“What do you want from me?!”
“You.” Bordeaux’ voice lowered.
“I need you because you are the last lead we have in this case.”
“You’re going back into the field Dwyer,” Harley slapped a manila folder in front of her yet there was no case number.
“Dwyer, you have no real choice in this. You’re going to have to get yourself together because till further notice, you’re assigned to special investigations.”
“And what is it you’re investigating tell me?”
“Well for starters,” Bordeaux smiled, “We’re going to find out what those numbers mean.”