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Note: Rated PG-13 for mild language and violence
The detective took a long sip of coffee before setting down the styrofoam cup onto the hood of his car. "So," he said slowly, his eyes carefully skimming the forest in front of him. "What have we got?"
"A woman." The man next to him sighed. "She was taking a walk in the woods yesterday afternoon. She must've spotted him and started shrieking, and he panicked. Bullet clean through her forehead."
"Any leads on the murderer?"
"Nah. The police think it was some kid that robbed a store and was hiding out. Didn't mean to kill her, just pulled the trigger at her scream. Got skittish."
"So, they think it was a classic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
"Exactly."
"Bullshit."
"Excuse me, sir?"
"Nothing." He ran his hand through his brown hair, which fell constantly into his blue eyes. "Where's my crime scene, Dawson?"
"Over here." The detective followed him into the woods. The thick, dense foliage would make it easy for anyone to hide in the forest. Tall oaks that covered the area seemed to reach out for him. Placing his palm on one of the trunks, he jumped when he felt a shock run through his body. A sharp, piercing scream rang into his ears, and the sound of a person running towards him came from behind.
"Miller? Miller, are you okay?" The detective blinked.
"Yeah, fine Dawson." He shook his head and tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but he couldn't shake off the feeling of impending doom. The trickling sound of a small stream echoed slightly in the small grove they had entered, as it gurgled and splashed over the colorful pebbles that lined its bottom. Brightly colored fish jumped playfully into the air, only to reenter the water with a soft smack. The peaceful scene was marred, however, by the young woman who lay sprawled upon the grass. "How old?" he choked out, tears blurring his vision slightly.
"I'd say about seventeen; she doesn't look like she'd have graduated from high school yet." Car Dawson shook his head as he watched the detective pull on a pair of surgical gloves.
"Go look around for footprints or some evidence that might tell us where the killer is hiding." Dawson nodded and walked away, his steps careful, so that he wouldn't disturb any possible evidence.
"Tell me," Miller said softly to the woman, looking down at her mournfully, "was it some kid who robbed a store, or are we underestimating this adversary?" The murder must've occurred the night before, because the corpse still had color in its cheek and hadn't begun to smell yet. Also, the surrounding wildlife had left it alone thus far.
Looking down at her, he was amazed at how well her image seemed to fit there...almost as if she belonged...He shivered at the thought and took out his notepad, jotting down a physical description for his report.
She had been rather pretty. Vibrant, red hair created a halo around her pale face, which was unmarked. Her deep, green eyes were slighly glazed over and seemed to be widening in terror; her ruby lips were parted to form an eternal silent scream. Her bangs covered the wound, and he pushed them aside. Working in homicide, Miller was used to seeing all sorts of gore, and while this was one of the cleaner wounds he had confronted, it still made him nauseous. Sucking in his breath, he took a pair of tweezers out of his fanny pack and carefully pulled out the bullet, making sure that the rest of the body remained unaffected. He sealed the bullet in a plastic bag and marked it as evidence.
Looking down at the woman again, another strange jolt went through him and, once more, he heard that same blood curdling scream. The wind seemed to be whispering accusations in his ears, and, for a minute, he saw himself lying there instead of her, but his corpse hadn't faired quite as well. The stench was overpowering, and he saw ants and maggots devouring and crawling across the blood splattered body. Another scream, this one deeper than the others, echoed in the forest, and it took him awhile to realize that it came from his own lips. He blinked and once more the girl's corpse lay there. His hands shook, and he dropped the bag containing the bullet. What did this vision mean?! When he had recovered slightly, he retrieved the bullet, before something caught his eye. He recognized this bullet...
With a start, John Miller awoke, cold sweat causing his muscle shirt to stick to his chest. His black lab, Shadow, licked his face affectionatly before pouncing on an old boot that sat in the corner of the apartment.
Miller shook his head, had it really been a dream? It seemed so real...No. It HAD been real! Needing to prove his sanity, he quickly got dressed and shoved his gun into his back pocket. It was only about a ten minute drive from his apartment to the crime scene. Upon arrival, he raced into the woods and began looking for the stream. The more time that passed, the more doubts began to creep into his mind.
Suddenly, he heard the familiar gurgling and knew that he wasn't insane. With this revelation came the reminder that the murderer could be in the woods. Afterall, criminals always returned to the seen of the crime. He heard feet running toward him from behind, just like in his vision. This was it: the murderer!
In one fluid motion, he pulled his gun out of his back-pocket and fired. He heard the shrill shriek of a young woman, and horror filled all his senses as he saw the redhead fall to the ground, a fresh bullet wound in her forehead.
Miller cried out in anguish, realizing what the true nature of that dream had been, and why he had recognized that bullet.
That bullet was his.
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