4th floor

Chapter 1

Alone, in a darkened room a girl, who hulled in a corner, wept. Blood dried on her normally straight, silky black hair. Her fist clenched around an ordinary stainless steel kitchen knife, stained with his blood. She was shaking uncontrollably, her eyes moved across the room. She took in every detail of her surroundings except him. The mere thought of what events had just recently passed made her skin crawl and brought about nausea. The image of his body twitching uncontrollably, for what seamed like years, was forever burned in the mind.

Along the busy NY Main Street sirens blared from three squad cars and an unmarked detective car as they raced to murder call. Jim O’Brien had been waiting to get off his shift so he could go home to his cramped studio flat above a dingy pizzeria. He lived alone and had never had a meaningful relationship with anyone. His partner would joke this was because he was married to his job. He would normally just shrug it off but there were times when that notion didn’t seem so farfetched. Times like this. His red Toyota was a second hand car given to him after he totalled his old one. And as he took a sharp turn a side street he wondered if this piece of junk would actually make it. It did, but barley and at the cost of several trash cans. But Jim didn’t care what it took. He had to get to the scene before Mahoney stole his case, again.

Mahoney was a real obnoxious asshole. He had always worn the same brown tweed jacket which smelt like it hadn’t been washed in years. Everyone hated him, everyone except the superintendent. This was because Mahoney buried his head so far up the super’s ass they could see everything in the same light. On top of that he had stolen three of Jim’s cases before, two homicides and a murder-suicide. Jim’s favourite types. As well as that there was always something strange about how Mahoney was first on the scene. Jim had suspected Mahoney was the killer. His partner always backed him on this, claiming Mahoney was dirty.

As Jim reached the apartment building the call originated from he almost crashed into the parked S.W.A.T van. His eyes fixed on the 3 series sliver BMW parked besides the building. Jim’s knuckles turned white as he griped the steering wheel of his stationary car. He got out and slammed the door in disgust. As he approached the police line a S.W.A.T sergeant stopped him. Jim showed him his badge. The sergeant said in a gruff voice, ‘I have my orders. No one enters until the primary arrives.’ and held Jim back with one hand. Jim knocked his hand away and, pointing to the BMW, shouted ‘that’s the primary’s fucking car. Now get out of my way so I can kick his ass.’ The sergeant, stunned by this news told Jim wait there while he got his superiors on the phone. He returned a few minutes later with a team. They believed the killer to be inside and armed. If Mahoney was inside he may need help, and the one thing S.W.A.T could provide was a shit load of firepower and the willingness to kill anything that stood in there way.

As they knocked down the door Jim felt like he did when he toured Iraq several years ago. Nervous, excited, afraid. He hated it. He remembered when he had to storm the embassy. Black ops prepare you for a lot but nothing like what he saw that day. As a member of 12th unit he and his team shot there way trough four floors of Iraqi loyalists. They reached the main room, where the Iraqi prime minister was. The objective was simple kill the prime minister and any witness. They weren’t told one of the witnesses was the minister’s eight year old daughter. Jim had to pull the trigger When he couldn’t Private Mahoney did, securing him a promotion and Jim an honourable discharge. Ever since then Jim despised Mahoney.

Jim and the S.W.A.T team broke into pairs and took a floor each. Jim and the sergeant went to the fourth floor. Jim took one side of the hall and the sergeant took the other. All Jim got was an old lady, a prostitute and a grumpy, over weight, middle aged man, until the reached the fourth door. He knocked. No answer. He turned the handle. The door opened. With his .44 magnum in his right hand and a torch in his left, he entered. The hallway was dark. Jim flicked the light switch. Nothing. He walked lightly down the hall. He came across several doors. The first led to the sitting room, empty. The next, an empty kitchen. The last led to a bed room some one asleep in the bed. As Jim turned to leave he heard a light sobbing coming from beside the wardrobe.

The girl was hunched beside the wardrobe. She looked at the man in the doorway. He was tall and well built. He was wearing old, blue jeans and a tattered red t-shirt with a brown leather jacket. He shone his torch at her. His gentle blue eyes turned from warm and friendly to concern as he saw the blood in her hair. His eyes moved to the bed. She prayed they would keep moving. They didn’t. Her heart stopped. He shone the light on the bed. He stumbled backwards when he realised what was there. In a fraction of a second he had recovered. He looked at her, his eyes expressed horror, wonder and fear. He raised his gun and stared her straight in the eye. ‘Find anything?’ shouted the S.W.A.T agent from the top of the hall. ‘Help me’ the girl whispered.’

Jim tried to take in everything. A young girl no more than fifteen was huddled in a corner, with blood dried on her hair, a knife, also stained with blood was beside her and a man was lying on the bed in a pool of blood. ‘Well anything?’ shouted the Sgt. The question barley registered in Jim’s brain. His gun was still pointed at the young girl, his brow was covered in sweat. He looked into her eyes. They were not the eyes of a cold blooded killer. No, they were the eyes of a broken, frightened, little girl lost in a world of death. He heard foot steeps coming down the hallway. Jim grabbed the girl’s arm and shoved her into the cupboard. ‘We got a stiff.’ Jim called to the Sgt as he came into view. ‘Know him?’ asked the Sgt, in a gruff voice as he shined his torch onto the dead body. Jim looked at the mutilated body. His insides froze, his heartbeat quickened, sweat covered his palms, and Jim could not believe his eyes. Lying on the bed was the disfigured body of Mahoney. ‘Yea’ Jim croaked ‘I know him’.