The Darkened Bridge

The Darkened Bridge

Written by

Joshua Good


Prologue:

“There have been many crimes, murders, assassinations and many other associations of this type within the City of London. Many crimes had become forgotten, turned into sheer myths, unsolved mysteries, and even, un-told legends. We return to where it all began – The notorious London Bridge. I’m sure many of you are thinking: Isn’t London Bridge just a famous landmark? Well yes, you are correct, but for an entirely different reason. As within these solid-stone walls, lays hidden many blood-stained secrets. For on the eve of New Year’s, a new chapter shall be written, in this book of brutal, murderous events.”


Chapter 1:

The Awakening

London, Untied Kingdom, 2008 – New Years Eve, 9:21 pm

The New Year was vastly approaching; armies of people already began marching upon the prestigious Leicester Square, cramming every corner, every stone statue with noise and colourful excitement. It started to rain quite heavily, covering the celebration in a darkened mist – un-phased by this, the raving party animals continued, obtaining ever-greater enthusiasm for this very special night.

Awaking to this commotion, a man resides in a run down, dimly lit flat; he grabs his heavy crumpled pillows violently. He appears scruffy, run-down much like his surroundings, also presenting some unshaven facial hair; he was in his early 30's. He peers over to his old, wooden bedside table, fixating his dreary, tired eyes upon his digital alarm clock which is displaying ‘9:23 pm’ on the dashboard. The man sits up slowly, conveying a look of sheer dread at the prospect of another unsatisfying night of work. He edged his way up his bed, over to his single-panned window, appearing blurred; he wiped away the droplets of condensation, gradually now in view were the current celebrations.

Giving a quick, yet detailed scout of the people and excitement below, he sat back suddenly onto his crumpled pillow, still looking at the window. He began to sneer for a moment, expressing a look of resentment upon his tired face “Great, a new year is beckoning, another chapter in my ever-so exciting life begins…” he thought to himself.

The seemingly hopeless, depressive man rose to his feet, breathing in a deep sigh, he functioned himself into autopilot, performing all his different rituals and familiarities for the night ahead. He gathered himself together, peered into the mirror over his flaking, dismantled non-useable fireplace, adjusting his long, leather coat, caressing his thick, wavy brown hair into the desired position, and depositing his favoured cigarettes into his jacket pocket. After all this had been done, he then looked down onto his old, crooked, bedside table once more, putting out his hand, he grabbed the top drawer. He unwittingly hesitated for a moment, as he opened the drawer with some aggression; he revealed a ‘Glock 19’ handgun, nestled underneath this was his Met police badge. Inscribed upon it were the details ‘MPS, Inspector Conway, Chris’.

Swiping these items away from within the confines of the wooden drawer in great dislike of them, Chris hated wearing the badge and so, concealed it underneath his plain, white T-shirt and almost in unison, he sheathed his gun into its holster. Juggling many different complex items within each hand, his mobile phone began to ring violently. He held the phone in his long, pale fingers, fumbling and getting frustrated, Chris dropped the items on his exposed wooden floors. Chris dismissed these items for a moment, getting ever-more frustrated, he focused on answering his phone, “…Yes?” he said, in a tone of uncertainty “…Meet me in 30 minutes, at London Bridge over on the northern side, we have a situation developing that requires your assistance…” the voice replied, in a deep, croaky tone “…Who are you?” Chris inquired, with distress “…That is something you do not need to know quite yet, the question is… what I am? I think you’ll find you and I have some similarities…” the voice answered carmly “And… What would these types of similarities be?” Chris replied, somewhat confused, sitting back on his rugged plain bed covers “…I think you know just the type, you seem to be very good at solving them.” the mysterious voice hinted as he answered, seemingly muttering.

Chris felt his heart contort, as he was told this familiar information, rubbing his face in disgust “That’s what I’m afraid of…” he thought longingly “How would I know how to find you?” he said, with regret “…Do not worry, I’m sure I’ll find you, cops are very distinctive these days as we both know, Don’t be late…” the man’s voice uttered with a chilling silence, as the phone went dead, ending the call – Chris’ night it seemed was just beginning.

Arising once again, Chris looked down at his famous black, boots which were directly next to him, almost like his only companion, in these bare four walls. Strapping them on, he then walked over to his door slowly, his boots echoed against the hard wood flooring. He paused for a moment, laying his head against the doorway “Another night begins, another crime unfolds…” he told himself, opening the door, letting out an awful creek, spects of dust soon followed him down the stairs, drifting harmlessly into the think, dense air which consumed this annual specticle. Chris now left his gritty, dull safe haven behind, entering the unforgiving society presented before him.

Stepping out from the assortment of flats, still continually raining persistently, Chris lit up one of his fabled cigarettes, grabbing a gold-plated lighter from within his many jacket pockets. He could hear the dampened screams and cheers of enjoyment as the celebrations intensified, he wandered over to his car, still clutching his cigarette, as his boots splashed over the many miles of wet pavement.

As Chris approached his battered, old car he scrambled within his inside pocket lifting out some keys, unlocking the car. He clambered into his cloth-covered seats, shutting the charcoal-coloured doors; suddenly he sat still for a mere second in what seemed like a trance. Snapping back into reality, putting out
his cigarette, he turned on the ignition and begun to drive towards the demanded destination.

Chapter 2:

The Murderous Celebration

London Bridge, 9:54 pm

As the New Year was making its imminent, dramatic appearance, Chris arrived at the designated destination set by the mysterious man. Stopping his black, out of date Lexus although boasting the ‘2001’s best car of the year’ award still imprinted upon the back windshield, it has served Chris many decent years, typically the detectives/inspector’s car of choice. He took the key out of the ignition, stepping out into a bitterly cold breeze, also getting battered by the strong, heavy rain.

As he approached the northern end of the bridge, his path made more treacherous due to this ever-worsening weather, suddenly, he was confronted by an array of blue lights, dimly flashing, shimmering in the distance and a worrying familiar sound occured. It was apparent; that this was a scene Chris had been involved in, and associated with many times.

This confirmed Chris’ darkest fears, yet another murder/homicide in London – an unforgiving ‘hell on earth’ as Chris refers to it. He knew that he wasn’t coming home early tonight…

Chris fixated his eyes closer on the seemingly cold blooded situation ahead of him, although his green, emerald-coloured eyes were obscured, by being drenched in rain water, also trickling down his horrified face. The noises increasingly became louder being carried by the gusting wind, awaiting the arrival into his ears.

Chris ventured ahead, his boots heaved their way down against the cold, wet pavement. He increased his footsteps into a brisk, jogging motion, his long, leather coat transformed into a make-shift shield as he concealed his face from the icy droplets which cascaded from the blackened sky, flooded in moonlight. He began to breathe heavily, battling his way through to reach what he thought was to be the 'bloodied battefield'.

As Chris finally reached what looked like to be a whole convoy of Police, Ambulance, and medical personnel, he was suprisingly overwhelmed, considering he was a hardened veteran, something wasn't right, Chris felt a certain tight grip around his normally content soul on this very surreal of nights.

Dramatic shouting, personnel barking down their different radio frequencies from all of the emergency services, soon engulfed the surrounding bridge, as it became a state of utter pandemonium. Edging his way into the heart of the disaster, Chris' body began to seize up, his eyes widened, as he halted peering over the victim's brutally mutilated body. He looked at the victim, who was immediately identified as female, early 20’s, long, silky brown hair – a seemingly rare beauty. He scouted over her, what seemed to remain of her, noticing unusual indentations and lacerations to the skin, appearing to be some sort of symbol, looking in more detail, Chris uncovered a hidden note, concealed underneath the white, now heavily blood-stained T-shirt, worn over this was a short, black cardigan. Chris peered around him, checking he wasn’t seen unravelling this note, and found the writing was marked in blood – it was a message it read: “Keep your possessions close, for you could lose them at anytime...” making no, immediate sense to him, Chris suddenly seemed to seep into the realm of the unconscious...

* * * *

Chris suddenly found himself being reminded of his deeply secretive past, this hectic situation; this very hectic night had seemed to have brought on vivid and painful memories. These memories were something that Chris had never thought about for a very long time, training his mind over the years to forget them, but unfortunately it brang back this seemingly fearful curse which hindered him for many years.

Peering over the girl's brutalised body once more, she reminded him of a special person within his life - his long-term girlfriend, soon fianceé to be, his 'angel' on earth as he called her, sharing many loving memories together.

Five years earlier:

Cambridgeshire, United Kingdom, 2004 - New Years Eve, 10:03 pm

Chris arrived at his girlfriends family residence, pulling up into the shimmering gravel pathway as it reflected harmlessly, off the dimly lit beams of the surrounding driveway lights. He halted his fabled 3-year-old Lexus, which let out a brief grumbling noise as he cut off the headlights, switching off the ignition. Chris got out with a expression of happiness smeered across his elegant face, bearing red roses under his arm, also an assortment of small neatly wrapped gifts as he stepped up to a well-presented archway, decked in oak panelling.

Chris’ finger lightly pressed the doorbell on the adjacent wall next to him, a nervous sensation ran directly through his body. Chris was not able to see the love of his life for over a week, as heavy persistent travelling was compulsory for work – Chris worked as the Representative for the major oil company, BP p.l.c. He was under strict orders, which barred him from contact with his precious girl.

Glancing through the distorted window, Chris became increasingly ever-so impatient, seeing a blurred silhouette racing to the mahogany-made door. Opening the door slowly, making a distinctive old, creaking sound, a beautiful, attractive girl was unveiled - It was Chris’ girlfriend. She stood in a state of dismissal it seemed, wrapped in warmth in her blackcurrant-coloured robe, with her initials imprinted inside a golden-lined crest ‘C.H’ which stood for ‘Cassandra Hemmingway’ with her delicate, soft hand laying gently on her hip, the other clutching the door's, newly reinforced timber framing. Cassandra had a smug grin pasted on her elegant, manicured face a second after, letting all the seriousness immediately deflate.

Staring at her intensely for a moment, Chris stepped inside also presenting a smug grin upon his face, laying his feet down on the wooden, parquet flooring, still clutching the roses and gifts in each, nervously shaking hand “…You should really have someone look at the wrenched door you know!” he laughed, welling up into a few tears. In reply, Cassandra smiled in sheer joy, bursting into sheds of tears as she jumped into Chris’ arms, hugging him immensely. Chris dropped the gifts and roses directly to the warm, awaiting flooring below, wrapping his arms around his beloved tightly, kissing her on her soft, pale forehead “…I missed you so much!” Chris seemed to whisper, distortedly.


* * * *

As these thoughts and memories depleted from his mind momentarily, Chris was firmly touched upon the shoulder by quite a tall man, well-presented, orderly. He supported short-length, brown hair, styled in an almost messed up effect. He dressed in a long, beige over-coat and an array of seemingly expensive clothes the items included, smartly shined designer shoes, grey-coloured trousers, and a scarf to match. His most prized possession although was his beige, long pointed hat, which he wore proudly everywhere he went.

Turning around in shock, Chris suddenly looked up at the man, his view was momentarily obscured due to the droplets of tears still showing in his dilated eyes. As Chris’ eyes began to clear he noticed a distinct scar on the man’s left cheek. Turning around into his original position, Chris raised his arm and wiped away the few remaining tears, still clinging to his distraught, miserable face.

After this short ordeal surpassed, Chris turned around, standing up, making eye contact with the man. The rain dripped down the man’s face, he tilted his head upwards and downwards, inspecting Chris’ condition for a moment “...Inspector Conway?!” the man said, worryingly, forcing himself to shout over the heavy noise of the rain and police sirens. Breathing in heavily, now in a state of focus and relaxation “Yeah…” Chris whispered in response, pausing for a second, adjusting his drenched, leather coat, as droplets of water quickly dispersed off it “Yeah! That’s me!” The man approached him warmly, presenting firmly his worn, dishevelled hand “…Detective Dave Santos, I’m glad you could make it on such short notice, I need your assistance in this situation” Chris’ face suddenly had an expression of focus, and seriousness planted upon his face “…What do you have for me, Dave?!” he shouted, cautiously, grasping his nose, clearing his airways “…Well, It appears, as you may have already realised, we have a young female, early 20’s, strong indentations to the skin, and heavy bruising!” Dave replied, in a deep, serious manner as he tilted his head down at the brutalised girl. Nodding slowly in response, Chris raised his hand, resting it upon his chin in thought “…Alright, we are going to need forensics down here shortly!” saying with knowledge, looking at Dave.

Chris looked around suddenly, shouting to a local police officer on the scene, who was perched up against his car “…Hey, can you come here a moment please!” Chris prompted him with his frozen finger. Peering over towards Chris, the police officer quickly came over, trudging along the water soaked ground “Yes, Inspector?!” the police man shouted, conveying a look of concern “…I need you to notify me when forensics arrive, as we will be needing their help on this one, is that clear?!” Chris replied strongly, grasping the dedicated officer’s shoulder, the police man nodded without question, returning to his original position.

Chapter 3:

The Blood-Stained Girl

After the situation was laid out by Dave, Chris turned his attention back reluctantly towards the battered corpse of the young girl again, which lay, contorted before them. The girl’s sky blue eyes were still firmly wide open, Chris bent down once again, his left knee, rested upon the wet, blood-soaked pavement.

Peering over the shoulder of Chris, portraying a look of curiosity, the rain trickling down the tip of his hat, Dave’s arms were firmly glued to his waist “What do you think this is, murder?!” Dave shouted, suggestively in his distinctive deep, croaky voice. Looking over the body, in restricted detail, Chris pondered for a brief moment “What motive would this girl have to commit suicide? Appearing full of life and much happiness ahead of her” he thought, letting out a shortened sigh, turning his head away “...I have no idea, but we could be dealing with potential murder!” he shouted in return, shaking his head in mystery.

Rising to his feet, Chris delved into his water-soaked jacket pocket, grabbing his favoured cigarette packet, which was now totally ruined, along with his prized cigarettes due to the onslaught of heavy rain “Damn it…” lowering his voice, in sadness, throwing the now, useless cigarettes into the darkened, steel-framed gutter below. Chris glanced over to Dave’s darkened figure, which was leaning against a solid, crevassed, brick wall “…You got any of these cigarettes?!” Chris shouted, in desperation, showing Dave the worn, dishevelled cigarette packet.

Peering into Chris’ eyes with an emotionless grin, Dave no longer leaned against the thick, red-stoned wall, he delved into his beige over-coat pocket “Here you go!” he shouted, tossing a newly wrapped, dry packet. Chris grabbed the packet, un-wrapping it with care, opening the box.

He took out a fresh, rounded-shaped white stick, handing them back to Dave. Revealing his golden-plated lighter from his jacket pocket, Chris lit it in quite a hurry “…Whoever this sick, deranged person who may have committed this brutal murder is, had to have some sort of intimate involvement with this girl?! Don’t you think?!” Chris suggested, shouting to the man, inhaling a considerable amount from his cigarette. Walking over slowly, Dave approached somewhat confidently, standing over the body, he took out a cigarette “Another possibility would be that this ‘person’ surely, must have had developed sheer hatred for this certain individual!” he shouted distortedly looking concerned, while lighting his own cigarette.

Finishing up his fabled cigarette, Chris chucked the white stick upon the wet, cold pavement as the embers slowly disintegrated softly, under the many droplets of rain. Chris glanced over to the corpse, the girl’s eyes seemingly staring at him, as he peered over Dave’s shoulder “Why did such a person commit this awful deed, why this particular occasion? why this particular location?” he said softly, muttering as he began to hesitantly look away, pondering to himself.

Dave glanced at Chris as he does this, staring into his eyes “You alright?!” he shouted, with a look of apathy and compassion. Chris suddenly looked at him, in a shifty manner, turning himself out of view of Dave once more, revealing the supposed murderer’s chilling note again “Keep your possessions close, for you could lose them at anytime…” he read the words ever so quickly yet, ever so carefully, turning back to Dave, presenting a smile of reassurance “…Yeah! I’m fine! I just need to get out of this stormy weather, it’s hard for me to think otherwise!” he said, shouting once more, making a seemingly quick excuse. Dave inquired suddenly, in curiosity “What was that you were holding in your hand!?” having to shout yet again. Chris paused, with a fake look of confusion upon his face, staring in wonder “Oh, nothing… Just a piece of paper to help me remember things!” he replied, nervously. Dave nodded, letting it go for now “Well… My car is just perched up there, we can think and speak more quietly about this troubling situation then!” he shouted, pointing along the obscured, narrow-edged, pavement of the darkened bridge. Chris nodded with urgency as they hurried towards the shelter of the awaiting car.

Reaching Dave’s car as the rain trickled down the clean glass, tinted windows. Chris was presented with an immaculate, seemingly brand new sports saloon. Shaded in black, it bared a sleek modernised body. Reaching into his long, beige over-coat Dave pulled out some keys to open this ‘beauty’ of a car, the orange indicators quickly flashed, followed by the unlocking mechanism bleeping. Chris soon realised, standing suddenly in complete awe, that this was the rare, brand new ‘Lexus G4’ with only 10 made simultaneously around the world.

Touching the soft, sleek chasse, Chris caressed it softly, wiping the clinging rain droplets clear away “I see you have acquired the Lexus prototype!” he shouted in amazement. Opening the sliding doors, as they slowly began to beam upwards “…Yes, it has served me well over these short months…” Dave replied, tapping the roof with prowess, as they both entered the clean, well-presented cream leather interior as the faint screams of joy still echoed throughout the dampened skies. Chris and Dave sat within the car suddenly, in a notion of awkward silence. Dave turned to Chris, sharply “We need to figure out this person’s motive and fast, before he or she strikes again, this is our main priority at this present time” he said, in a manner of familiar seriousness “I agree, we need to stay one step ahead of this person” Chris answered, staring into Dave’s stern, focused eyes.

Chapter 4:

The Troubled Detective

As the minutes slowly ticked by, the ferocious rain and gusting wind seemed to surpass suddenly, as Chris gazed out into the horrific scene laid out before him, through the water-drenched windshield of Dave’s car. The two investigators peered up into the sky in a manner of confusion “The rain, it’s finally stopped?” Chris answered, staring at Dave momentarily “I thought the rain would remain like it has for the entire night, it seems this night is going to remain unpredictable much like this weather…” Dave replied, a reaction of sudden worry came over him, edging his way up his precious leather seat, now peering out into the darkness.

Chris tracked a damp silhouette racing towards the car, the man approached in a matter of urgency, tapping on the window violently – It was the disgruntled police officer. In compliance, Chris lowered the electric window “Excuse me Inspector, Forensics have arrived... as you requested!” the officer said, seemingly out of breath “Thank you, officer” Chris nodded appreciatively.

Chris opened the cars silvered door, as it beamed upwards once again, pausing suddenly, cementing his foot on the disrupted tarmac, he turned his head towards Dave, still peering out into the dark, his eyes seemed to focus on the girl particularly, with a troubled expression “Hey, you coming?” Chris said, looking immediately concerned, finally catching Dave’s attention as he turned suddenly, now in an uneasy, saddened state “I need to gather my thoughts, you go on ahead…” Dave responded, mumbling, turning his attention back towards the bloodied situation. Chris nodded in acceptance, still conveying a look of concern "Alright..." Chris said firmly, as he stepped out into an eerie silence that now covered the fog-laden bridge, walking away he stopped suddenly again, almost like he forgot something, leaning over the water-strickened car door "Maybe you could inform me about your current situation, when I return..." Chris prompted, biting his bottom lip with uncerntainty. Dave appeared still oblivious, focusing on the outline of the murdered girl. Chris tapped the door lightly, now making his way down towards an array of vehicles which now incircled the chaotic crime scene.

Walking down slowly, Chris heard a sudden, immense scream echoing in the distance, directing his eyes and ears towards the seemingly frightful noise - Chris knew Midnight was edging ever-closer. Peering down at his old, fake golden-plated Rolex watch, it displayed '10:16' on the grim-smothered time face "The crowd is getting restless..." Chris thought, worryingly. Peering back up into the hellacious situation before him, his black boots clattered against the battered tarmac of the pavement once again, as he began to rush down to the now, heavily-cordened off area around the girl.

Now approaching the Forensic team, he was suddenly halted by a selection of officers, guarding the area, partrolling infront of a wide band of yellow tape displaying "Crime scene, Do not cross" upon it. One of the officers held back Chris firmly by the chest, "I'm sorry sir, this is a restricted area! you'll have to step back!" the officer shouted, tightly resting his finger on his MP5-G rifle, with an expression of seriousness upon his face "I'm Inspector Chris Conway, I'm investigating this case! Let me through!" presenting his glemming, golden badge, looking at the ignorant officer "I'm sorry Inspector, I didn't know... Go on through!" the officer replied, releasing his grip upon Chris' chest, nodding with forgiveness, directing him through. Chris made his way over to the scene yet again.

Chris walked over in carmness, standing over the Forensic team, already marking out considerable evidence and clues. Chris suddenly realised the extent of the crime scene, hitting him like a 10-ton truck "This really is serious, never in my career have I seen anything as brutal as this..." thinking briefly to himself for a mere second. Staring up at the thoughtful Chris, a women got up from the cold tarmaced road, presenting herself with an introductory smile, wearing a black, pin-striped suit, bearing long, curly, brutnette hair with smart black-rimmed glasses to match - She could be easily mistaken for a top-class lawyer it seemed, "Inspector Conway, I presume?" she said, with little knowledge yet, some surety. Chris turned in the direction of this angelic voice "Yes, and you--" Chris was interupted by the women, holding out her soft hand "Sarah O'Brian, of the MFD (Metropolitan Forensics Department)" Sarah responded, with vague professionalism.

Chris reciprocated this gesture holding out his rugged hand with a resticted smile "Well, Ms. O'Brian maybe you could help me; I need you to find significant information on these indentations and this strange, myterious symbol." Chris looked at Sarah with hopeful eyes, beckoning her to give him some leads "We are yet to find any significant evidence assiociated with these cuts, whoever comitted this murder hid any leads from us, getting rid of the tools that did this to her, this guy was smart..." Sarah answered with an apoligetic smile, "She is going to have to be transported to our research labs, we can further our investigations in more detail there, I shall contact you if I uncover anything useful to your investigation." Sarah paused, glancing at the Inspector's dissapointed, blue eyes, reaching into her jacket pocket, presenting her contact details "Here is my contact card, incase you have anymore questions, regarding the girl." Sarah said with a gentle tone, "Thank you Ms. O'Brian, I'll take that into consideration." Chris nodded kindly, scrambling inside his long, leather jacket, "Here's my card. So you can also contact me and update me on the girl's findings." presenting her with his card, Sarah took it, reading the card, with the details: "Inspector Chris Conway, Metropolitan Police" written upon it. Sarah glanced at the Inspector's enticing, green eyes once more, she hesitated "...Th..Thank you, Inspector, I shall contact you soon with my progress." she smiled somewhat sweetly, wandering back to the job before her, the blood-stained girl.

Still sitting in a prolonged reflection, in his flash Lexus prototype, Dave removed his sweating, clumpy hands from his thoughtful brow. Peering around, seemingly confused his eye caught sight of a strange piece of paper, laying crumpled on his carpeted floor mat where Chris was sitting "Chris' piece of paper, I wonder if what he said was true..."