An Intangible Pattern

The hunt begins

Detective Inspector Howell greeted the forensic team as he stepped under the police cordon and walked over to Officer Yates. Yates was a younger man, but he was competent and already showed signs of making a good detective. 
“Well Jon, what have you got for me?”
Officer Yates nodded at him in greeting and sighed.
“It's a messy one, Bill. We found a man  beaten half to death and a lot of blood. The victim didn't have much to say, so at first we reckoned we had a couple of idiots arguing over something they shouldn't have been involved with. But then it got more complicated.” He led the detective to the entrance of the alleyway and pointed. “Take a look.”
Detective Howell scanned the ground and swore. There were two blood trails. One leading back into town, the other to the docks.
“Three?”
“At least,” confirmed Officer Yates dourly.
Detective Howell groaned and asked “where do these trails lead?”
“One leads to the back of Robinson's, We've got someone looking at the CCTV of the carpark. The other goes all the way down to the marina. I have a list of the boats that were moored there and the coastguard have been notified.”
“That's odd isn't it? Why get on a boat with that kind of injury? Why not go to the hospital?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Any witnesses?”
“None so far.”
“Weapons?”
“Nothing yet, but with this amount of blood we suspect there is at least a knife.”
“Ok. Let's start by walking the trails and seeing what we have. Someone must have seen something. Then we'll call at the hospital and see if anyone is being treated for stab wounds.”

***

“We're back!” Called Cat as she shuffled in the door, arms full of brown paper bags.
There was no answer.
She frowned, went into the kitchen and carefully set the groceries down on the counter.
Marianna’s voice carried from the hall as she called out a greeting.
“Cooee! We're home. Alex, come help us unpack the car. Alex?”
Once again there was silence. Mariana joined Cat in the kitchen looking puzzled as she shuffled bottles of water across the floor.
“Where's Alex?”
“Maybe she's upstairs, she did say she was sick. Let me go look.” answered Cat, concern evident across her features as she unbuttoned her coat and hung it over a stool.
She left the kitchen and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. Gently, she rapped on her sister's door with her knuckles. When there was no reply, she peeked her head around the door and saw her sister's sleeping form.
Poor Alex, she thought, she always seems to be sick these days. 
She gently closed the door behind her and returned downstairs.
As soon as Alex heard the door click, her eyes snapped open. She lay very still in a fetal position, her muscles tense, her stomach rolling with anxiety. This was the difficult part: now she had to pretend nothing had happened while she still felt the dry residue of other men's blood under her clothes. More than anything she wanted to be able to wash, but it would still be several hours until the plumber would arrive. It was easiest just to stay out of the way until then.  She had sent a text to her sister explaining she had taken a taxi home after vomiting outside the cafe. That had bought her some time, but she would need to make sure her story made sense. In her mind she went over and over every detail of the cafe she could remember, trying to piece together a believable alibi. She repeated the lies she would tell in her head and tried to visualize herself acting as she always did with her family. Every time she thought she had gathered the courage to go downstairs and face her mother and sister, the man's shocked expression flashed in her mind and she heard again the choking sound he made as she struck him with the knife.
Is he still alive? Did I kill him? Which is worse? If he's still alive, will I be arrested? Will he try to find me and finish what he started? Oh god, am I a murderer? What will mum say? Would they reduce my sentence if they knew he attacked me? How do I prove it though! Fuck!
She rolled onto her back and watched as the sunlight from the window gently swung around the walls, marking the passage of time. She was exhausted but sleep would not come. She was thirsty but she dared not move for fear she may crack and spill all her secrets. She was stuck.
And then there's bloody Noah!
She realized how lucky she had been. She had been in shock, but it was still bloody stupid to willingly put herself in a situation where she would be alone with him. In retrospect she should have called an ambulance and ran. It was ridiculous to place her trust in a man who had raped her, just because he had saved her from other rapists! He held her in check now: the law did not hold rape in the same regard as murder and he would walk free long before she did.
And yet…What choice did she have but to trust him.
In her mind she truly saw him as Jekyll and Hyde, two entities in one man. As terrible as Hyde was, he did seem distinct from Jekyll. For the most part, Noah really did seem to be an honorable person who kept his promises and was genuinely tormented by his actions in rut: she just couldn't continue to hate him. Imperceptibly, she had begun to soften to him; she couldn't understand it and she hated herself for it, but she couldn't help but feel some sort of sympathetic bond with him.
Maybe it was because he was trying so hard.
Or maybe, in some sick way, after everything that had happened, he was the only person left she could be truly honest with.