((Angel Anarchy))Mature


The Year 2028



The body lay sprawled out on the concrete. The boy’s head was smashed in from the fall, a splatter pattern of blood all around him. Samantha crouched next to him and dipped the tip of her pen into his brain matter, picking it apart. “Interesting,” She murmured, watching the grey goop drip off the tip of it.

“Who carries a fountain pen in their pocket?” Detective Inspector Phillips mocked her.

“Quiet,” Sam barked, raising a finger in the air, “I’m thinking,”

She closed her eyes and pictured the event. If he had jumped from the window, his momentum should’ve carried him into the street. Instead, he was almost directly below the window in a position that would suggest he’d been pushed. Sam’s hypnotic blue-green eyes snapped open. A smile formed itself on her lips, curving towards the scarred side of her face.

She stood and wiped her pen on her shirt, “This boy was murdered,” She announced to the detectives milling about her, inspecting the scene.

They paused for a moment to stare at the strange girl who was now tapping her slightly bloody fountain pen against her bottom lip, “The position of his body and his broken arms shows that he attempted to slow his descent. Someone who wished to commit suicide would not have done so,”

Phillips laughed, “Yeah? Well maybe he changed his mind halfway down,”

Sam turned to give him a dark look from beneath her curly dark bangs, “If one wishes to commit suicide, they do not change their mind. Believe me – I know,”

A chilling silence descended upon the crime scene. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional scraping sound or opening of a plastic bag as someone collected a sample. If Samantha had been perhaps just a tiny bit more observant she would’ve heard a grinding sound in the distance. Unfortunately, she didn’t notice it. It would have been beneficial on her part if she had.

“I see,” Phillips nodded his head and looked away from her piercing gaze, “Well, who do you suggest did it then?”


Samantha stared out the open window, down at the broken body below. The curtains billowed in the breeze looking ever so much like two ghosts standing on either side of the teenage girl. Sam whirled around, her long coat catching the breeze as she did so. She closed her eyes and smelled the unmistakable hint of chloroform. Her eyes opened to dart around the room. Two drawers of the boy’s dresser were open, underwear and other contents spilling out onto the floor. There were bookends on it with carefully labeled folders in between them, color coded and alphabetized. Sam walked up to them and pulled one out, rifling through the contents – nothing more than homework and a few sketches of random items, i.e. an apple or a pigeon. She shut the folder and absently wrapped a curl of her hair around her long slender finger.

“The murderer was looking for something,” She told Phillips.

“How do you reckon?” He asked, picking up a sock from the open drawer between finger and thumb.

“The boy organized everything by color, even his closet,” She threw open the wooden closet doors to reveal a wardrobe with a shirt for every color of the rainbow.

“He also may or may not have been homosexual,” She pulled out a plaid skirt from the closet and laid it against her hips, contemplating how it would look.

“No, you are not stealing a dead boy’s clothes – not again,” Phillips groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Samantha grinned and stuck it back in the closet, “Dead gay boy’s clothes,” She corrected, slamming the closet doors shut.

“If he were so organized – probably OCD by the looks of those three hand sanitizer bottles on his end table – then why on earth would he leave two drawers open in his dresser with their contents in a state of upheaval?” She asked Phillips, taking the sock from him.

With her other hand, she opened a third drawer of the dresser. The pants inside were categorized by color and folded neatly, in stark contrast to the rumpled socks and underwear in the top two drawers.

She dangled the sock beneath Phillips’ nose, “He would have never left these two drawers in such a state,”

 Phillips slapped her hand away, scowling. He looked sort of like a bulldog when he scowled, Samantha mused. She would have to draw him later as such. There was one thing the dead gay OCD boy and her shared – they both loved to draw. It would also be interesting to study how to draw a fat man. The older Phillips got the rounder he became.

“Soon you’ll be a beach ball,” She told him aloud.

He frowned, obviously confused, “I’ll be what?”

“Oh…nothing,” She met Phillips’ eyes and smiled from one side of her face, accentuating her famous smirk – the scar that traced itself from the corner of her mouth to just below her eye. She loved to freak people out that way, watching the horror on their face when they imagine what terrible thing might’ve happened to her. Just as she expected, Phillips turned away, avoided her gaze for the second time that evening. It was an expression people wore that she was quite used to. After all, she didn’t really fit into the rest of the world at all. That was simply the way she operated.

“Do you have any idea who the murderer might be?” Phillips asked.

Samantha turned back to the window. They were moving the boy’s body now, zipping him up into a large black bag.

Soon it would be her they’d be wheeling away to the morgue. She decided not to think about that though. It only made her depressed.

Unbeknownst to the junior detective, a pair of eyes were watching her from the street.

The mysterious man shoved his hands in his trench coat pockets and whistled a song that no one would know about for quite some time.

Not a soul that walked by him on that busy London morning would have cared to think that he was not human. Some cast a curious glance in his direction if only for his slightly outlandish attire and whirring silver device in his hand. He would meet their gaze, give them a polite nod, and look away. They would forget him as quickly, moving on with their boring human lives in this boring human world.

The man – though he wasn’t a ‘man’ at all – looked up at the window where Samantha stood in the building across the street. She vanished like a phantom from the frame, disappearing from his view.

They would be coming soon for her. It was up to him to protect her.




The End

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