Infatuation (PLL Emison AU)

The Detective

A/N: PSA: I will go over my ground rules several times throughout the story, because I legitimately am not emotionally stable enough to deal with negativity these days. This is a reminder that I don't write these fanfics to seek criticism. I write for my own enjoyment and for the fandom.

Prior to publishing this story I got a review elsewhere that was rude and ridiculously overly-critical. It came on the very day that I was set to publish this story on another platform. It did a number on my anxiety. I've stated before that I'm neurotic and overly-critical of myself, and that I don't post these stories to seek negative feedback. If I want constructive criticism I will ask for it. I talk to a many number of my readers, and I enjoy it. I would like to keep enjoying it.

I'm already shaky about posting my writing. I just want to come by it honestly. Abide by kindness, and if you don't have anything nice to say, best skip the reviews.

I want to enjoy this journey with everyone! It's a wild one. And I look forward to hearing theories and thoughts.

Note: Semi-graphic content, nothing near as graphic as the first chapter.

*****

Chapter 2:

The Detective

The brunette detective watched the CSI's gathering the forensic evidence. It was somber, but there was a strange poetic art to it. The meticulous way they reviewed the evidence. The imagination needed to pursue the truth. They recreated the scene like someone blocking a stage in a theater production.

It was a true art form, though it was morbid to think of it as any kind of art. But it required a particular diligent and thorough skill-set that not everyone possessed. The job itself was artistry. The blood and evidence told a story. It talked to the people who knew how to listen to it. The detectives couldn't do their jobs without that artistry.

Emily Fields was inside the grid drawn around the deceased watching evidence being collected. Hair. Blood. Skin samples. She was close enough to see the fully exposed body. It was odd. In a way, it felt like a cat leaving its owner a present.

A killer, trying to teach them how to hunt. Just like out in the wild.

The murder had been brutal. There had been a struggle, but there were no defensive wounds.

Tied down.

She knew enough to know that he wasn't killed on-site. There wasn't nearly enough blood. She could see that he'd died with fear in his eyes. There was no mistaking his terror. He'd been alive. The process had been slow.

Was it personal?

She looked at the corpse, trying to see what the medical examiner had seen. Their medical examiner doubled as a forensic pathologist at a local hospital. The quirky young woman had already come and gone. She would do the official autopsy later.

"You okay?" A warm hand on her shoulder.

Toby Cavanaugh. Her adoptive big brother for all intents and purposes. Her partner in the streets and her best friend.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Emily shook his hand off of her shoulder, which told him that she was indeed not fine. She kneeled down next to the body. "We got an ID yet?"

One of the other officers on the scene glanced at his notebook.

"Ian Thomas. Male..." There was a slight hesitation as they looked at his mangled corpse with its missing appendage. "Thirty-two year old stockbroker."