QUICKSAND

P1. Whiskey

Below is the FULL, FIRST chapter of this story. You can find the full story on my Patreon! Link: https://www.patreon.com/zeffervescent OR in my profile bio!

A thick fog coated the deep green leaves in a viscous moisture, heavy droplets of cold water landing in a soft, rhythmless chorus onto his black jacket. His pointed, leather shoes avoided every puddle as he took quick strides. His fingers slipped between his lips, inhaling a deeper breath, air funneling into a shrill melody. The taxi heard the whistle of an impatient figure in the distance, desperate to leave the grey sky's wrath. It pulled up to the curb, dwindling in speed as it came to a stop. A thick wave of rushing water spills onto the concrete, washing away a lone cigarette stub that laid among the dirt.

The droplets seemed to aggressively pound against every surface now, a wave of chaotic drummers as it picked up substantial speed. A sudden, relentless wind tore through flowers budding from their bright leaves. His hand reaches for the burned-yellow taxi cab, and as soon as his head dips inside, the pounding and drumming of the rain settles, fading into faint waves of water washing down the cement streets just before he shuts the cab door. Droplets pound onto the windows as he breathes out an address to the driver, an elder man with thick eyeglasses.

He settles in his seat, skin cold, the tips of his hair curling over his temples lifelessly, damp with rain water. Dropping his duffle bag by his feet, he witnesses the state of his pants, soaked entirely. Spring days like this one were his least favorite, which made traveling in its conditions the most inconvenient ordeal. A warm sigh passes his pink lips, he sits up and averts his eyes out the window.

A passing view of a small town comes into view once they leave the train station. The scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, the taxi saturated by the thick air. He ignores the stench of nicotine and burnt carbon, his eyes observing the way a group of young girls laugh as they run into a coffee shop on Gregory St. The shop was a warm light, a safe haven for an escape from the frigid waters that soaked through all matter in sight.

He grew accustomed to the now immediate fact he was in Worcester. He lived about two hours away by train in New York. This relocation was purely for work and an interest in a case that presents a disheartening reality of insecurity for the townspeople. Now that the local police found the case had advanced drastically, their findings futile as the investigation grew stagnant, federal agents were in dire need. Time is of the essence, as the next murderous strike will be unexpected, and his resources will be useful in apprehending suspects.

Besides his desire to investigate the increasingly abhorrent case in question, no other reason led him here. Every case he came across he regarded with the identical gravity. He had a bad habit; once he cracked one piece of the puzzle, an insatiable need to pursue every single last one devoured him.

On top of that, he had a hard time admitting he was that much of a workaholic, but when it came down to it, his work consumed many aspects of his life. While some found that sad, he figured he was young at twenty five, advanced far into his career because of his reluctance to quit, and he had time to worry about the simpler things. Things that were simpler required complex devotion on an emotional level, a time commitment to say the least. He was not prepared to spare the emotional time and work he exhausted into his work at the moment for the very reasons he drives himself to exhaustion in his work.

And as Harry sits at the back of the cab, the elder driver switching between grain and static radio stations to find a particular channel, he deduced that this weather was fitting for the circumstances. It suited the direness and the somber essence that saturated the streets and those who walked them, drove them, ran them. Nevertheless, he was spirited about the investigation, a contrast to the shadow of distrust and fear that was casted over the residents. His specialty was specific, and he knew he would only be heading to a certain place if his superiors believed there was a considerable need for his presence. Therefore, he always arrived with answers and new directions. He enjoyed that part the most; when the investigation runs cold, but he can take it apart and rewrite the strategies. He would not call himself a fan of puzzles, though his partner certainly is. All kinds of puzzles, crosswords especially. However, he would say he had a niche for discovery.