Chronicles of larry pt2: The Othersiders

He woke up to the alarm screeching in his ear. The sound echoed in his mind and warped into some kind of ultra noise-wave. The sound was deafening. He reached over to the alarm and hammer-fisted it into silence.  His body was sore all over, almost to the point of exhaustion.
“What the hell happened last night…?” He thought to himself.
The phone started ringing, bringing back the intense noise.  He sighed, rolling the covers over and sitting up. He looked at the clock. 5:45 am.
“Ughhh…What the fuck…” He groaned as he stood up. His body creaked into life. The phone rang for a fourth time before he finally got to it. He picked it up.
“Hello…?”
“Yea, John, we got another stiff in a back alley.” It was Detective Chris Stark. “What a fuckin’ prick,” he thought to himself.
“Fuck man…I’m not supposed to be on ‘til 6:30.”
“Yeah, well tough it out. This one can’t wait.”
“Alright…Where are you?”
“I’m  halfway up Valley St. uptown. Bring your gear, this one is a messy one.”
“Yeah…I’m on it…” He beeped the phone off.  He let it slide into the receiver.


All he could think about was how his body was so sore. So miserably sore. His body ached all over if he moved just one muscle. His common sense told him that it must have been the extra half hour of gym yesterday, but the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. He would never be this sore from just another half hour. He let it go for now. Better to think about the situation at hand.
He got ready in about 15 minutes, blinking the weariness out of his eyes as he walked around his apartment brushing his teeth and putting his suit on at the same time.  The sun had just started to crack as he finished, the yellowish orange light glowing all around his panoramic view apartment. He was proud of it. He had decorated it into a true bachelor pad, with the flat widescreen television setup in front of one of the enormous windows, the matching cookware hung up over the stove, the latest and greatest appliances from your brand name store’s, matching leather sofas…He had it all. Or did it all have him? He procrastinated about that for a second as he opened the door to his apartment, and stepped out. He turned around to lock the door, looking back in at his livelihood for one last glimpse. The sun shone on half of his face. The other half was dark; as dark as twilight on a moonless night. The door shut, he locked it, and walked on to get into his car.



He pulled up close to the alley. Already there were 4 cruisers on the scene, lights flashing. The “Crime Scene” tape, so cliché, blocked off the horrors within. He geared himself for the grisly scene to come. There was no rest for the wicked. Sighing, John popped the trunk of his black Nissan Maxima. He looked in the rearview. It was his reflection, but somehow different. Something had changed within him over the past few months. His age was starting to get to him he supposed. His normally shiny black hair had a hint of pepper to it. His eyes were developing crow’s feet ever so slightly, and his brow had a worry wrinkle etched lightly. He had forgotten to shave this morning, and it showed prominently. His 5 o’clock shadow seemed like a full-fledged beard. A car passed by and startled him into reality. He looked back into the mirror one last time, and it wasn’t him there. It was someone else. Something else. It  was human, but not John, that’s for sure. He blinked really quick, and the figure had vanished. In a panic he looked into his back seat, hand going for the gun at his concealed jacket holster.  There was nothing there. He relaxed, taking a deep breath and blinking really hard. He took his hand off the .45 Smith and Wesson that he loved so much, and got out of his car. The morning air rushed at him, and the din of the city all but smacked him in the face. He hurried to his trunk, grabbed his forensics case, and closed the trunk, looking into his slightly tinted back window to see if there was anything there again. Reassured that it was just his imagination getting the better of him, he hustled to the “Crime Scene,” so cliché. He got to the alley, about 7 feet wide between two rustic brick buildings, and saw co-workers from all different departments of the PD bustling about.