By The_Blind_Artist
Based on the concept �Gray�, by Kiojan

Part 2: The Evils of the Heart.

It�s often said that the greatest thing you have to fear is fear itself. That�s half right. Fear is just where it starts. It builds on the fear, feeding it with hate and terror and self loathing, until it turns to something more than fear, and it starts to consume you, devouring you from within until there is nothing left but a shell of what you were, a place for it to live within, when there is nothing left of you to stop it, when it becomes part of you and you let it because you want it.

In reality, the only thing to fear is yourself, and what lies inside you, bellow the darkness of your soul, deeper than any thought can ever go, the heart of darkness and pain, the black in the back of your mind, soulless and eternal. Darkness that lives forever, feeding and growing on your worries and fears and hate, like a cancer, ready to completely take control of your body, unstoppable, unconquerable, and immeasurably more terrifying than that which sets it off.

Its in the blackest dark, alone and afraid that you can see the real you that lies bellow your beating heart of black anger and fiery hate; the beast that lies within your tiny, terrified form, stronger and more powerful than you could ever become.

I have seen it; I know it; I am it�

* * *

Senior Constable Pearson stood surveying the scene before him, rubbing the back of his head in awe and slight confusion. What lay in front of him was the body of a boy, one of the teenagers from the local high school. He was dead, and had been for a fair few hours at best guess. The most obvious cause of death right now was a massive trauma to the head.

�Fuck me...� He muttered shaking his head. Around him buzzed various other officers from the local police force, the photographer, the scene investigators and supervisors, all of them furiously working over the crime scene. �What a fucking waste.�

�What do you have for us, Pearson?� The local detective, Detective John F. Doyle, said as he climbed out his car. Late as always, it seemed. For a man who did very little besides eating doughnuts and sticking his feet up on the desk, Detective Doyle was always late for everything.

�It�s a body sir.� Pearson said, snapping around.

�Yeah, I gathered that much.� Doyle said walking over. �What do we know about him?�

�err� well, male,� Pearson said still looking down at the body. �Maybe thirteen to fourteen. Umm� cause of death: a sharp blow to the head� The body was found by a couple of teens last night, who were up here making out� We�ve got a couple of guys scouring the area for a murder weapon��

�Call them off.� The detective said, stepping less than carefully over the body. �He hit the wall with his head, here.� The detective pulled on a rubber glove he produced from inside his coat and indicated the small blood splatter across the aging stone wall. �Looks like he hit it pretty hard.� The detective crouched down beside the body. �Anyone bother to search him for ID yet?�

�We figured you�d want to.� Pearson answered.

�Hmm�� The detective began searching the dead boy�s pockets. After a moment he produced a wallet, as well as a set of house keys and a small knife.

�Well,� he said after a moment of looking though the wallet�s contents. �It wasn�t a robbery. There�s about sixty buck in still in here. Ah, here we go. A school issue pass in the name of Martin Walsh. Bag it all and get it to the lockup.� The detective stood up slowly. �Ok, what about the actual scene itself?�

�Not a whole lot here.� The constable answered. �Just the kids-who-found-him�s foot prints in the dirt. That�s all.�

�Not quite correct there, Mike.� One of the other officers spoke up. �Carl Dimarco, CSI division.� The officer introduced himself, not terribly sure whether to shake the detective�s hand or not.

�What did you want?� Doyle asked.

�Well� err, sir, umm� the, err� there�s more than just the two kid�s foot prints here. There�s the victims� over there� and running back over to here�� Carl pointed out the path from around the front of the building. �Then there is a fourth set, smaller� they�re like smudged here and there, so I think who ever it was, was being pulled backwards. And here, someone was in the dirt, but looking at the body, it wasn�t him. At best guess, I say it was this fourth person� who ever they are. But there�s� there�s nothing around the body as such.�

�Alright� Carl?� Doyle said.

�Yeah, yeah.� He nodded.

�Ok, take casts of the foot prints. Who knows, we may find this other person.� The detective said. �Other than that, lets cordon off the area, and get this body to the coroner. I�m going to want to speak to those two kids as well.�

�They are already on their way to the station to have their statements taken.� Pearson replied.

�Ok, wrap this up.� The detective said. �Keep someone watching this place, I don�t want a pile of school kids trekking through here, destroying the place.� With that he headed back to his car.

�Christ what a fucking mess�� Doyle muttered closing the door to his car. One thing he didn�t like to see was dead kids. He had spent six years on the New York police force, serving and protecting teen punks who enjoyed gang wars and leaving their victims sprawled in alleyways. A messy time. There he had worked with one of the better detectives around at the time, Detective Tommy Carpino. Doyle had been his partner for the years he was there, before Carpino was called down to a small town in Iowa to investigate a string of bizarre murders. He hadn�t seen him since.

Word was that Carpino had quit the force after the incident, one of the major reasons being that he came back a very different person, divorced his wife and lost everything from under him. Now the guy had disappeared, and nobody could find him, not that anybody wanted to particularly. From what Doyle had heard, the hardline cop had become edgy, paranoid and trigger-happy, a dangerous combination by anyone�s standards.

This incident almost looked like what Carpino had been dragged into. Doyle frowned at the idea; if someone like Carpino could succumb to that� well, it wasn�t worth imagining things. He decided he was just being paranoid. It was odd how small things like this seemed to conjure up memories of the past.

Doyle started his car and headed back to the station. First he would talk to the kids who found the body, not that he expected much from them, then he�d have a look at the body, and his life. Not that Doyle expected to find anything out about this kid. Things like this rarely got solved, as he had found in his career. It was just another smart-mouth kid who smart-mouthed off at the wrong person and paid the price. Too bad for him. Too bad for Doyle, the paper work was going to be a bitch. He grumbled to himself as he headed for the station.

* * *

Annabelle was alone, huddled in the corner of her room, scared and crying. The full realisation of what she had done had hit her like a brick to the head. She hadn�t meant to kill him; she didn�t want that to happen. She just wanted him to stop. Now he was stopped, permanently.

She wished she understood exactly what had happened. The memory of the event was like a dream, so surreal, so unthinkable of her in reality. It was impossible; she couldn�t have killed him� like that� that wasn�t even possible� was it?

She had run home after she had done it, scared of what would happen if they found out that it was her, scared of what people would say if they found her there, beside his body, scared of herself and what she had done. It numbed her mind to everything. Before she knew where she was, she had been back home, in her room, crying, shaking with fear.

Every time she replayed the incident over again in her mind, she felt sick to her stomach. She had spent the better part of the evening throwing up, now all she could do was dry-reach, which felt even more sickening than the act being portrayed across her mind. She couldn�t imagine it happening, trying to reason it out. Something had happened, she didn�t know what or how. Just that she had changed in that split second before she lost control. All the hate and anger had just erupted from her like volcano, ending in Marty�s death.

Annabelle shuddered and struggled to control the dry-reach at the thought of him lying there, dead. Her stomach muscles hurt, partly from the throwing up, but mostly from where Marty had kicked her; so did her back and everywhere she had scraped herself up the day before.

She hadn�t gone down stairs for dinner or even seen her parents. She had just complained of being unwell when they knocked on her door, not going into details, just insisting that she wanted to be left in peace and was sick. She didn�t know what they were thinking. She prayed that they wouldn�t pry, but it was highly likely that they would eventually.

She lay there, huddled against the wall, praying that it would all just go away, all the feelings, the fears the guilt; that it was all just a dream. She couldn�t think straight anymore, all the worry was building in her head, making her feel even more unwell and guilty. What made her feel guilty the most was that, somewhere, deep down inside, she had enjoyed killing Marty.

�Annie�� The voice, the horrible, musical voice that had driven her into the frenzy, called at her from all around.

Annabelle just stayed where she was, hugging her bear and herself tightly, not wanting to hear it. Hearing voices meant you were going crazy, and she didn�t want to be going crazy as well. She had enough problems now, with guilt and fear. She didn�t need voices in her head making her crazy as well.

�Annie� dearest, Annie.� The voice continued, circling her in its mocking tone. �What�s wrong?�

�Go away.� She sobbed quietly to herself.

�You don�t want me to go away Annie,� The voice continued. �You need me.�

�Please, leave me alone.� She sobbed.

�But Annie, dear sweet Annie, you know you don�t want me to leave�� the voice continued in its musical way. �Or else I wouldn�t be here.�

�Go away!� She yelled into the darkness. �I don�t want any stupid voices in my head telling me what I want. I�m not crazy! I didn�t do it. I didn�t do any of it!� She broke down again, weeping into her arms. �I didn�t want to do it� I didn�t mean to�to� to� (sob) I�m sorry� I�m so sorry� I didn�t mean it��

The voice was gone from the front of her mind now, but it was still there, in the back of her brain. She could feel it, like a second being in her head, laughing, revelling in her misery. It hurt, and she hated it.

She wanted to make it all go away, to wake up and have it all a huge, scary dream that she could forget with ease. She sat there, curled and crying as she slept, dreaming of the moment of Marty�s murder over and over again, trying to make sense of it.

She saw herself from behind as she struck out at Marty, watching him break in slow motion. Watching his very life essence slip away like something out of a horror movie. The dream zoomed down to her face, showing her a cruel, twisted smile across her lips as she pounded the body of Marty against the wall, again and again, listening to him scream in pain and fear. The sight of her enjoying it horrified Annabelle, shaking her to the core. She had enjoyed it, and that terrified her.

She looked into her own eyes, staring at what should have been a pair of deep browny-green pools of sadness, instead seeing the golden glow from her nightmares filled with joy, excitement and unimaginable horror.

Annabelle took a step back from herself, looking over her entire form as time stood still around her. What stood there, staring back wasn�t Annabelle, and yet at the same time was. Paler skin, darker hair and wrapped from head to foot in tight black leather and bandages, older and with tears of blackening blood running down her cheeks; but it was still Annabelle.

It stared at her menacingly, and Annabelle stared back with a sense of disbelief and slight fear. She had no idea what to think now. This thing was her. Or was she it? That was an option she didn�t even want to think about. It was all horribly confusing.

The double�s smile twitched. Annabelle blinked at it for a moment, then took a step back finding herself pinned against a blood streaked wall that wasn�t there a moment ago.

�Wake up Annie.� The creature lunged at her.

Annabelle woke with a start, gasping for air, still huddled in the corner, her mother kneeling beside her with her hand on her shoulder.

�Sorry, dear, I didn�t mean to startle you.� Her mother said apologetically. �Its time for school. What are you doing all the way over here in the corner?�

�Huh?� Annabelle took a moment to orientate her self in the room. �Uh� I� I think I was having a nightmare.� She lied.

�Another one?� her mother asked, sympathetically.

Annabelle nodded slowly.

�Anything going on that I should know about?� Her mother asked, running a hand through Annabelle�s long, thick brown hair.

She shook her head. She really didn�t know how to tell her parents or anyone for that matter. There�s no way they would believe her even if she confessed, which would make them think she was crazy and they�d lock her up or something worse. That thought didn�t sit too well with her.

�You know your father and I are both here for you if you feel like talking to us.� Her mother pressed the issue.

�Really mum, I�m ok.� She said pushing the hand away. �I� guess it might have something to do with not feeling very well.�

�Well, ok.� Her mother said getting up. �I�ll take you temperature, but if you are fine, you are going to school. Neither your father nor I can take the day off work just to baby-sit you if you just say you are unwell. We are too tight for money at the moment to even afford a sitter for you.�

�Yes mum.� Annabelle nodded; disappointed that she would probably have to go to school.

Her mother returned a moment later brandishing a thermometer. Annabelle�s temperature turned out to be normal; so that meant school. Annabelle was more than disappointed about going back there, she was afraid of the idea.

She didn�t eat much a breakfast, her mind too busy worrying over the possibilities of what could happen at school, whether anyone knew, whether anyone would find out, what would happen if they did. The idea of someone knowing kept her stomach churning in fear. There was no way she�d be able to keep anything beyond a mouthful of water down now.

Eventually she left for school, trudging to the bus stop as her parents drove off for work in their respective cars and directions, wishing her a good day at school as they left. At least it was a warm morning, so walking wasn�t such a bad thing. But all Annabelle wanted to do was hide at home; wrapped in a blanket until it all went away. It seemed like an eternity before the bus finally came, Annabelle�s mind still buzzing with activity, thinking over how impossible the situation was. With slight trepidation she climbed aboard, noticing that Tia wasn�t there. That was odd.

Annabelle kept her eyes facing the floor as she found a seat, unable to even look at her schoolmates. She felt guilty and alone. But the situation was so� so impossible. It couldn�t have happened� She must have dreamed it again. Another dark, scary dream that seemed so real. She hadn�t really killed Marty. She couldn�t have. That was impossible. She wasn�t violent or anywhere near strong enough to be able to hurt him.

Just a dream, that was all.

�Just a dream.� She muttered to herself.

The illusion was shattered as the bus pulled into the school. The police tape and cars drew the attentions of almost everyone on board, everyone except for Annabelle. She knew what was going on there. It wasn�t just a dream; it was real. Real and terrifying.

�Oh wow. Look at that!� One kid said as the entire bus gawked at the police.

�What do you think happened?� Another asked her friend.

Annabelle tuned out, the noises of speculation, laughter and conversation drifting into indistinguishable back ground noise. It was real, horribly real. Why couldn�t it have been a dream? She felt sick, like she was going to throw up again, but there was nothing in her stomach for her to throw up.

Shaking and nauseous, Annabelle slowly got off the bus. Around her people were talking excitedly in small groups, as they shuffled towards the building itself. Annabelle felt too ill, barely well enough to walk. She shut her eyes and concentrated on not throwing up for a moment, leaning against the fence with one arm, and clutching her heaving gut with the other. A strong, warm hand clamped down on her shoulder.

�You alright, Annie?� It was Kyle. �You don�t look too well.� He stooped down to her level.

�No� I don�t feel too good.� Annabelle said, her voice wavering.

�You are just having no luck this week.� Kyle said in a bemused tone while helping Annabelle to remain upright. �Alright, kido, I�ll take you to the nurse, before those two little fiends turn up and accuse me of attacking you again.� Kyle joked, looking around for his shadows. Thankfully they were nowhere in sight, which may have been a bad thing.

Annabelle said nothing; she was too busy trying to stop herself from throwing up; not that she had anything in her stomach to throw up in the first place. She just nodded and grimaced against the reaching.

�Ok.� Kyle responded mostly to himself as he led Annabelle away.

It didn�t take too long for them to find the nurse�s office again; Annabelle had been silent for the trip, barely about to think, let alone speak, the churning of her stomach too much for her to bear. Kyle had been muttering something, probably words of encouragement or jokes to keep her spirits up and her mind off her stomach, even though it wasn�t on that.

The nurse, Heather she had said her name was, greeted them at the door to the office. �Back again? What�s the matter this time?� She said with mild surprise.

�Stomach troubles by the looks of it.� Kyle said, leading Annabelle into the room.

�Ok, sit her down and let her rest for a bit.� Heather said following them. �Not much we can do for an upset tummy besides that.�

�Ah well�� Kyle said, patting Annabelle on the head. �At least you�re in good hands now.�

�Uh-huh.� She nodded, still trying to calm herself down. The images in her head replayed over and over again, Marty dying, Marty dead, her hands killing him. She felt like curling into a ball and dying herself.

�What�s the matter with her?� Heather pulled Kyle aside.

�Don�t know.� He shrugged. �Saw her standing there looking unwell, went over to see if she was ok, she wasn�t, then brought her to you.�

�Mhmm�� Heather thought for a moment. �You know, you really are a big softy under all that gruff.�

�Hey.� Kyle said looking around. �Don�t go spreading that around�� They both laughed for a moment.

�Ok, I�ve got other things and probably classes to get to so I�ll see you later.� Kyle said glancing at Annabelle who had her eyes shut, trying to control her breathing.

�You promise?� Heather asked in a sweet tone, resting her arms on Kyle�s shoulder.

�Seven thirty, as agreed.� Kyle smiled at the young blonde woman.

�Yay.� Heather said in a tiny, happy voice and hugged him.

�Oh, that reminds me�� Kyle said fighting his way out of Heather�s grasp. �Annie,� He said walking over to her. �You might be happy to know that your small problem has gone away, and is very unlikely to come back.�

She looked at him with a completely blank expression. �I� know.� She said emotionlessly.

�Rumour mill is faster than I thought.� Kyle said resting a hand on her shoulder. �A pity about the tragedy, but I doubt anyone is going miss Marty all that much.� Kyle shook his head. �Poor bastard, I wonder who the hell he pissed off to suffer that kind of fate. On second thought, maybe I don�t want to know. I just hope they catch the bastard.� He gave the girl a reassuring smile. �Don�t worry, you�ll be alright. Now, I�m off, so I�ll see you around�� He glanced up at Heather and leaned closer to Annabelle, whispering, �Between you and me, if I keep having to carry you in here I think Heather might start getting jealous.�

Annabelle gave a small chuckle, then regretted it the motion wasn�t helping her feel any better. �Please don�t make me laugh.� She said, holding her aching stomach muscles.

�Ok, Annie. I�ll probably see you later as well� just going off the last few days�� Kyle said patting her shoulder. He checked his watch. �Oh, crap. Damn. Now I really have to run away.� He paused in the doorway. �I�ll see you tonight.� He winked at Heather before vanishing with a small wave in Annabelle�s direction.

�Ok, hun, how are you feeling?� Heather asked, placing a hand on Annabelle�s forehead.

�A� a little better.� She answered hesitantly. She didn�t really feel better. She felt sick, guilty and scared. If anyone had said anything about the other day, the police would want to talk to her, she was sure of it. She didn�t think she could handle an interrogation. But if she did say what had happened they�d probably think she was nuts and send her away. It was all too confusing.

�Well, that�s good. You don�t feel hot or anything.� Heather said, crouching down beside where Annabelle was sitting. �Do you want me to call your parents so they can take you home?�

�They�re at work.� Annabelle explained. �My mum won�t come to get me.�

�What about your father?� Heather looked at her concerned.

�If he�s not busy� or in a meeting or something like he usually is�� Annabelle looked at the floor.

�Ok, I�ll call him and see if he can come and get you. You wait here until then, ok?� Heather smiled grimly at the little girl. Something was wrong here. She had a feeling, and her feelings tended to be right.

�Ok.� Annabelle replied, still looking down. �Umm� where�s the bathroom?� She looked up again.

�Down the hall, its on the right. You can�t miss it.� Heather said getting up. �You do that and I�ll worry about calling your folks.�

�Uh-huh.� Annabelle said as she slowly got to her feet. She wandered out into the hall, leaving Heather behind, and then down to the bathroom, where she locked herself in the last stall, all the way down the end and slumped on the seat, breaking down and crying pitifully into her hands. This whole situation was a nightmare. It just had to be. There was no way this was real.

* * *

Detective Doyle had discovered very little off the pair of kids who had found the body. It seemed that they just got it into their heads that behind the school, late at night was a nice place to lose their virginities. How wrong that had proved.

�Bloody kids.� He muttered, taking a quick drink from his coffee. Their stories had been similar, only breaking down when it came to why exactly they were there, but it wasn�t hard to tell what they were doing. When confronted with the truth there was a general consensus between the pair not to tell their parents. Doyle had agreed to that on the sole condition that they rethink what they were going to do.

He doubted they would, but maybe�

The phone in front of him rang. Doyle tossed down the pile of pages from the statements he had been rereading for the hundredth time before answering.

�Doyle.�

�Ah, yes� umm� detective. Its err� Carl Dimarco here, down at the� err� coroner�err, place.� The stuttering voice answered him.

�Yes, what is it? Find something on the body?� Doyle asked, before taking another drink of his coffee.

�Umm... ah, yes. Yes we did. There was� err� stuff. You should probably come down here to err� see it for your� umm... yourself.�

�Alright then. I�ll be down in ten.� Doyle said hanging up the phone, cutting off anything further that Carl had to say. He downed the last of his coffee in one go and tossed the disposable cup at the bin, missing completely, the cup landing in the plastic plant between the bin and a filing cabinet along with a small pile of others.

Who knew? Maybe the stuttering, confused investigator had found something, possibly even a lead. Doyle could only hope, this case was so devoid of information; it was incredible they had anything at all.

The coroner�s office was located in the small town hospital, near the morgue. At least the hospital wasn�t all that far away. About ten minutes later, Doyle pulled into the hospital car park and climbed out of the car.

It was still only mid morning in the small town. There was very little activity around the small hospital. The town itself was only about 3000 people; the hospital and Police station serviced the surrounding few townships as well as Littlefield, it being the central hub of the area.

Doyle had been shifted here a year or so ago. These sorts of towns were where you were sent when you got too old for the city duty. The penny pushers in the head offices were afraid that if you got injured on duty you would take them for all they were worth on compensation, letting the money file into your accounts until you retired at the end of a very long long-service leave, which is what the majority of officers did in the cities.

This is why Doyle was here, to keep in on as little money as possible for the longest time possible. And he knew it. It did little to improve his outlook on everything.

The Detective walked up the steps into the hospital, pausing to ask the nurse on duty where the Morgue was. She pointed him at the elevator, telling him it was in the basement, and all he had to do was follow the signs. Simple enough.

Despite the warm, summer air outside, the basement held a distinctive chill, the concrete walls, floor and roof trapping the cold air inside. Doyle pulled his coat closer around him to try and cut the chill out, to no avail. It took him a few more moments to find the door labelled �Morgue�, despite the signs that pointed to it. Quietly he stepped inside.

He looked around; the main feature of the room was a set of large steel freezers build into one wall, designed for keeping the bodies cold so they didn�t rot. In front of them was an examination table where the boy�s body was lying, partially covered by a blood splattered sheet, and spread around the room were a number of benches and cupboards, filled with all the standard equipment you would find in a hospital morgue, tools, drugs, cleaning agents; the usual things.

Standing over the body was the crime scene investigator, Carl, and the coroner, both engrossed in a discussion about the body. They turned as Doyle entered.

�Ah. Umm� Err� Detective.� Carl said as he approached.

�What do you have for me, gentlemen?� Doyle asked.

�Well, err� we, err� found some� things with the, uh� the body.� Carl said turning back to the table. �It� err, looks like he, um, it was� well, judging by the, err� damage to the� the internal organs, it�err� well, it looks like he was caught in some kind of explosion.�

�There�s no actual damage to the externals, save for the blow to the head,� The coroner continued. �Which is consistent with a heavy impact with a solid object. But that didn�t kill him. No, the damage inside is what killed him. Whatever happened to him ruptured most of his major organs, causing him to bleed to death, relatively quickly.�

�Hmm�� Doyle scowled down at the body, mulling over what was being said.

�He was most likely unconscious when he did die, the blow to his skull was made before he died and on closer examination it was more than likely that it was a significant enough blow to knock him out cold. � The coroner continued. �What is unusual about this is that the internal damage is consistent with an explosion, and yet there is absolutely no chemical residue or burns on him or any of his belongings, which we would normally expect with an explosion.�

�Anything else?� Doyle looked down at the dead child, then back up at the other two.

�Well,� Carl added. �We, err� did find these, umm� finger prints here� on his neck. They, err� don�t match the witness�s, I, err� I checked that.� He paused as if expecting something from one of them before continuing. �They, err� they are too small to be an adults prints, they look to be more like a, umm� child�s finger prints. Most likely someone else who found the body before the other two, umm� and checked him for a, err, pulse. I� err, I, umm, guess.�

Doyle looked at him as if he was stating the blatantly obvious. �I think we�ll leave the guessing to me, if that�s alright with you?�

�Uh� umm�� Carl was left spluttering.

�Good.� Doyle replied. �So, it looks like we are hunting for a young child who found the body before the others, and is probably the owner of the other set of foot prints.�

�That�s, err� what I was thinking.� Carl said before receiving a stern look from Doyle. �S-sorry.�

�Well,� Doyle said gathering his thoughts. �I guess this means a talk at the school, the primary school more than likely. Bloody hell�� He wasn�t enjoying the thought of the shit-storm that notion would cause. �You two; find anything else, let me know.�

�No worries.� Carl said as Doyle turned and left.

This was turning into an entertaining wild goose chase. The age limit on murderers seemed to be dropping rapidly with every step. Doyle had a strange feeling he would be trying to arrest a 5 year old any time now on suspicion of murder. He couldn�t help chuckling at the idea.

The drive back to the police station was uneventful. Doyle had learned very little from the body itself; so he was caught in a big bang, and yet there was no evidence of a big bang. How blood useful� He was yet to even start looking into the boy�s history itself; maybe there would be something there. Unlikely, but probably worth looking at any way. He was rather thankful that he had sent Pearson to go tell the boy�s parents the bad news; he never liked doing that job, not since the time he had to inform a couple that a cop had shot dead their son. It wasn�t a pleasant ordeal by any means, especially seeing that his partner at the time had done it, definitely not a nice memory.

Doyle pulled the car into its usual spot outside the police station and climbed out. This case was going to be a headache; he could feel it. He decided he needed a drink; a smoke and maybe a goodnight�s sleep before he should even start looking at it any further. Quietly he walked into the building.

�Detective.� The young woman manning the front desk called out to him. �The lieutenant would like to speak to you, ASAP.�

�Great.� Doyle responded sarcastically. �He say why?�

�Nope.� The girl shook her head. �Just that that it was urgent.�

�Well, fine then. Thanks.� He gave a sigh in frustration. �Bloody hell�� He muttered returning to his desk. The lieutenant never wanted to just see you; he wanted to see you and chew you out. That�s the only reason you ever went into his office. Doyle tossed his coat over the back of his chair and glanced at the notes stuck across his desk. Most of them he had already read, but there were a couple of new ones, the more prominent from his ex-wife begging for money as usual, the others all work related, local lottery pool and the like. How wonderful, everyone wanted his tiny income.

He fingered through the small pile of notes from the crime he had taken; then added what he had found out about the body to be confirmed later by a report from the coroner; then decided it was time to confront the Lieutenant. With a slightly annoyed grunt, he stood up and marched his way into the lieutenant�s office.

Lieutenant Cyrus Baxter was a hard, angry, arrogant individual, who seemed to have a deep hate of everything and everyone for no reason. He was a short man, balding grey hair, with glasses and a notorious reputation for never being pleased with anything. As Doyle entered he was talking on the phone.

�Yes� yes� Yes� I understand� Yes, but� yes� ok�I�ll� I�ll tell them. Yes. Ok.� He hung up the phone then slammed his fist into the desk. �God, dammit.� He swore loudly.

�What�s the problem sir?� Doyle took a seat opposite the lieutenant.

�That was the FBI.� The lieutenant said, leaning across his desk. �For some reason they are interested in our tiny, small town murder and its bizarreness.�

�That�s� surprising to say the least.� Doyle mused, his brow furrowing into a worried frown.

�Very. I�m worried about it.� The lieutenant sat down, and equally worried frown crossing his face.

�So what do we do about it?� Doyle asked.

�You keep on it. Obviously its something far bigger than we think, or else they wouldn�t be sending a team down.� The lieutenant replied.

�A team?�

�Yes, a special investigation team into these sorts of things. They are due here early tomorrow.� Baxter rubbed his chin. �I want you to work as quickly as you can with this. I know the feds, they�ll take all your work and block you out of the investigation.� Doyle nodded. �I want you to take Whitfield with you on this. You�ll need her help to crack it quickly.�

�I suppose so.� Doyle answered. �As long as she doesn�t object.�

�She wont. You can be sure of that.� Baxter looked past Doyle through the large windows that adorned the inner walls of his office, and motioned for Detective Hunter Whitfield to enter.

She was a tall young woman, leggy, with deep brown hair that held golden highlights to it pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her head. She was almost the exact opposite of Doyle, young, attractive and dedicated to the job. Needless to say, they never really saw eye to eye.

She stepped into the office, closing the door behind her, took one look at Doyle and worked it out instantly. �Oh no�� she muttered.

�Oh yes, Detective.� Baxter said in a less than civil tone. �I need you to work with Doyle on this case. It now has priority. The feds are getting involved and I�d rather not have them pushing their way around my department.� It was well known that Baxter hated the FBI. He had been an agent for several years before being terminated for an undisclosed reason. That had not improved his already lowered view of them he had developed while working with them. After being terminated from there, he ended up on the police force and made his way up to captain by undermining everyone above him and crippling a very large and high profile drugs case that ran through the police force�s upper levels. What was left of the top brass were edgy enough to not want to fire him on fear that he would come after them, so they sent him down here, out of the way and out of trouble.

�Why are feds interested in some little shit getting himself killed?� Whitfield asked sitting down.

�That is what I want you two to find out.� Baxter said, thinking. �I want you to go over this kid�s entire history, find out anything you can, any miniscule detail that you think may be important.�

�I know a fair bit about this kid.� Whitfield replied. �I�ve hauled his stupid, drunk and abusive ass home late at night more than once. He was a pretty troubled kid, a large history of family abuse and lack of attention. His mother is an all right person. His father was a bastard. When he wasn�t drunkenly beating his wife, he would be hitting Martin. I did an awfully large amount of work on that family.�

�I see.� Doyle muttered. �Ok, sir, we�ll get to this and get back to you before tomorrow morning.� The detectives got up to leave.

�Get to the bottom of this. And just see that the feds don�t push you around.� Baxter said as they left. �I�ll be more than happy to accept an overly embellished incident report at anytime.�

�We�ll keep that in mind, sir.� Doyle answered as he closed the door. He sighed. �Ok, Hunter, what do you have that is recent on this kid?�

�Pearson and Marks picked him up a week or so ago for drunk and disorderly behaviour, that�s about it.� Whitfield answered as they returned to their desks. �Maybe we should check out the school, see if anything happened there?�

�Well, I can�t think of a better place to start.� Doyle replied picking up his coat. �Lets go.�

The pair headed for the door.

* * *

Annabelle had no idea how long she had sat there crying. It felt like hours, days, weeks; a lifetime spent sitting and crying, guilt stricken and terrified of everybody. She couldn�t stay here forever; she knew that. Eventually they would come looking for her. At least that meant they cared right? Why would they come looking if they didn�t care?

To take us away.

Annabelle sat up with a start. She looked around quickly, listening for anyone else in the room. There was nothing, only the slow drip of a leaking tap at the other end of the room.

�Who�who�s there?� Annabelle tentatively asked the silence. She already knew the answer. She didn�t want to hear it.

Nobody� the voice replied, echoing in her mind. Somebody� Everybody�

�Wh-what do you want?� Annabelle sobbed, now a little more than frightened.

To do� To be� To experience�To live� The voice gave off its fear inspiring musical giggle, as it seemed to circle around in Annabelle�s mind. We all want to live�

�No.� Annabelle shook her head. �This isn�t real. This can�t be real. Its all just some stupid, creepy dream�� She began crying again. �Please, God, let it be a dream��

The voice began giggling in the back of her mind again, a haunting, terrifying laugh. It was laughing at her. She hated people laughing at her; always laughing and mocking her, making fun of her to make themselves look bigger. It made her so mad; angry to the point of tears.

Her mind buzzed with activity, whispers and thoughts colliding and bouncing around, intertwining with the laughter and memories and fears. It was all becoming too much.

Annabelle shook her head again, trying to clear it, get rid of the buzzing and the laughter. It was so horrible, how she felt, the guilt, eating away at her slowly. She would have to tell someone eventually. But tell them what? It was so insane. Even she didn�t believe it and she had seen it with her own eyes.

The creak of the main door drew Annabelle�s attention away from her self-pity and confusion. It was followed by a few tentative footsteps into the room and the sound of someone clearing their throat.

�Is�err, anyone in here?� A soft female voice said quietly from somewhere down the other end of the room.

Annabelle stayed silent, wide eyed with fear of being discovered, not daring to breathe. She didn�t want to be found� or did she? It was all too confusing for her young mind.

�That�s not how you do it!� A second familiar female voice said loudly. �Hey, Annie! Are you hiding in here? We know you are! Kyle wont be happy with us if we don�t come back with you!�

There was a silent pause.

�Aww� come on!� The second girl continued. �Please? �No? Well, I guess she isn�t in here��

Annabelle sat there debating what to do. She could just sit here and let them go away, or� was there really a choice? She sighed. No not really. Annabelle took a shaky breath and then opened the stall door.

�Maybe she isn�t in here?� Meagan asked quietly.

�Where else would she be?� Alex replied, a worried frown on her face as she stood there with her hands on her hips tapping one foot impatiently. �I mean, we�ve like, looked everywhere else. And I don�t want to go searching everywhere again�� The sound of a door latch opening somewhere down the end of the row of stalls drew their attention.

�Well, what do you know?� Alex said smiling. �Here comes the girl of the hour now!�

�Umm� what now?� Meagan asked, looking slightly worried at the very upset looking little girl.

�Oh, come on.� Alex grabbed her friend�s arm and hauled her over to Annabelle. �Hi, Annie. You remember us, right? We were looking after your less than co-operative friend the other day�err� are you ok?� The bubbly-ness left Alex�s voice quickly, her face turning to concern as she noticed the younger girl�s tear streaked face.

Annabelle just sniffed back the tears and she tried to wipe her eyes clean.

�Hey�� Alex rested a comforting hand on Annabelle�s shoulder and looked down at her downcast face. �Come on, you can tell us what the matter is. We�re like, nice and stuff��

�Its�(sniff), its nothing. Really.� Annabelle said, still looking down.

�Well, ok�� Alex said smiling again. �If it�s nothing, then you shouldn�t be crying about it.� She lifted the younger girl�s head up to face her.

Alexandra Kidd was a tall, well-built, fairly fit girl, with shoulder length dark hair that she let hang about her head loosely like a vale and very pale grey-blue eyes. The uniform she was wearing was slightly modified with a tighter than allowed blouse to show off what chest she did have, and the skirt shortened to just above the knee, all nicely illegal by the school�s rules.

Standing a short distance behind her, looking slightly nervous and very unsure of herself was Alex�s close friend, Meagan. She was very plain compared to Alex, shorter and thin with silver rimmed glasses. Unlike her friend, Meagan kept her figure hidden beneath the confines of the uniform. She hated attention, and did her best to avoid it. Why she hung around Alex, no one may ever know.

�Ok, let�s get you back to the nurse then, hmm?� Alex said brimming with happiness. Annabelle didn�t really answer. She didn�t get a chance to; Alex�s over enthusiasm taking hold of Annabelle�s arm and pulling her along after her.

Annabelle let out a small yelp as she was almost pulled off her feet and out of the girl�s bathroom. It took a moment for Annabelle to get out of Alex�s grip, and allowed to walk by herself. As much as she didn�t want to be around people right now, she really didn�t have a choice in that either.

�Umm, don�t� don�t mind Alex.� Meagan said her voice oddly shaky. �She can be kind of hard to dissuade from things��

Annabelle just looked at the floor as she walked, listening but not speaking. After what felt like they had been walking forever, they arrived at the nurse�s office. Alex poked her head in and knocked.

�Hello?� She called out, looking around. �Hmm� No-one�s home. Probably still out looking.� She turned to Annabelle. �You wait here and we�ll go hunt down that hunky Kyle and Nurse Roberts and then we can see if your dad�s arrived. Sound like fun?�

Annabelle didn�t answer. She just found her way over to the bench and took a seat.

�Ok.� Alex beamed, seemingly unphased by Annabelle�s silent treatment. �Let�s roll.� She tugged at Meagan�s arm.

�Uh.. Shouldn�t� someone, you know� stay. Keep an eye on� you, know in case she goes running off again?� Meagan stuttered.

�Good idea.� Alex said. �I�ll go hunt down Kyle. You stay here.� With that Alex vanished from the doorway, muttering things to her self and she walked quickly down the hallway, looking into classrooms as she passed.

Meagan seemed to deflate slightly, her shoulders slumping even more than usual. Annabelle didn�t really pay all that much attention. She was too busy feeling guilty and sorry for herself. She wanted to cry again, to curl up in a ball in a dark corner and die. She felt terrible.

The sound of panicked, shaking breathing drew her curiosity. Annabelle stopped staring at the floor and her knees long enough to look for the source of the noise.

Meagan was standing not all that far away, staring at Annabelle, wide eyed and slightly panicked. She had almost backed into the corner opposite Annabelle herself, as if afraid. Why would she be afraid of� could she know? How could she know?

Annabelle stared back in fear.

Meagan opened her mouth a few times, trying to speak. What ever was frightening her had her choked for words.

�I�� She finally managed to get out. �I s-s-saw you.� She stammered, forcing the worlds out of her mouth.

Annabelle just stared at her in silent shock, her mouth tightly clamped shut.

�I-I saw what you did. I-I-I know you k-k-killed Marty.� Meagan was shaking in fear; terrified of Annabelle. Her eyes held determination, the determination to confront Annabelle over just what she had seen; tears of fear running down her cheeks.

Annabelle stared at the girl, now in abject horror. She knew; she had seen her kill him, seen what she had done. Annabelle felt sick, her stomach churned and the room began to spin. She knew. She had seen it. She knew her crime, her dark secret. Meagan knew she was a murderer. It wasn�t another sick dream. It wasn�t just some horrifying nightmare. It was real; terrifyingly real. The room was twisting and turning, spinning horribly as her mind processed the reality of it all.

Annabelle�s world went black�

**End of Part 2**