Oliver Kane- The Wretched Ones

Chapter Two: A Rose By Any Other Name

As the tension between Hensley and Oliver dissipated with Toby's intrusion, Oliver's focus sharpened once more. He turned back toward the body, heart pounding as he knelt beside the sheet that lay over her. The rain continued to patter down, but all he could think of was the somber reality of what he was about to uncover.

With deliberate care, Oliver lifted the sheet, revealing the girl beneath. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her face, framed by matted hair, darkened by mud and rain. For a moment, he hesitated, dread coiling in his stomach. But as he brushed aside the tangled strands, recognition struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Rose Gallagher. The name echoed in his mind, flooding him with memories of a time when they had shared laughter and dreams under the wide sky of their childhood. They had been inseparable once-two kindred spirits navigating the harsh realities of their small town together. Oliver could still remember the way Rose's eyes sparkled when she talked about her dreams of becoming a teacher, how she'd gather the neighborhood kids to play school in her backyard.

One of his fondest memories flickered to life in his mind: the two of them hiding beneath the old oak tree, reading books by the light filtering through the leaves. Rose had always been the one to make him laugh, her bright spirit a beacon during his darkest days. When other kids teased him, called him an outcast, she had stood by him, her laughter cutting through the cruelty like a ray of sunlight.

But that light had dimmed after his father's disgrace. The whispers of shame had spread through the community like wildfire, and suddenly, Rose's family had drawn the line. She had been forbidden from seeing him, and their friendship had slipped through his fingers like sand, leaving an aching void in its place. The years that followed had turned their shared laughter into distant echoes, memories marred by regret.

Now, as Oliver knelt before her, the reality of Rose's lifeless body crushed him. The bruises that marred her skin were an assault on his senses, vivid and disturbing. He traced the dark marks encircling her neck, evidence of a violent struggle. The angry purples and blues contrasted sharply with her pale complexion, each bruise telling a story of pain and fear that made his heart ache.

Oliver's gaze swept over her arms, where fresh cuts and scrapes marred her delicate skin. Her fingers were curled tightly into fists, the rigidity of rigor mortis evident in her position. It was a final act of defiance, a sign that she had fought back against her attacker. He felt a pang of sorrow for the girl who had once been his solace; now, she was a victim of cruelty.

As he continued to examine her, Oliver felt the familiar shift within himself, a sensation that had been with him since childhood. It was as if the world had tilted, and everything around him began to slow down. This clarity was his gift-a heightened perception that sharpened his senses, allowing him to see the smallest details with astonishing clarity. The rain became a symphony, each drop a distinct note, and the scents of wet earth and blood mingled in the air, overwhelming yet grounding.

In this heightened state, he could see every flaw in the scene, every nuance of Rose's body. The coldness of her skin, the angle of her head, the way her limbs lay at awkward angles-all of it coalesced into a vivid tapestry of tragedy. He focused on the way the fabric of her clothing clung to her, damp and heavy, revealing the outline of her form beneath. It was a stark reminder of the life she once lived, now stripped away.

And then he noticed it: a small piece of cloth peeking out from her balled-up hand. With careful precision, he uncurled her fingers, revealing a torn, bloodstained fragment with an intricate embroidery pattern. His heart raced as he held the piece up to the dim light, recognizing it as a possible clue, a tangible connection to the horror that had claimed her life.

In that moment, the memories of their shared childhood clashed violently with the grim reality of her death. Rose, who had once been a source of joy in his life, was now an unsolved mystery-a victim in a world that had turned cruel and unforgiving. He felt a surge of determination wash over him. He would not let her story end here; he would find the truth behind her murder, no matter how dark the path may be.

As he knelt there, Oliver vowed to honor her memory by seeking justice. Rose had been more than just a childhood friend; she had been a part of him, and he would not rest until he uncovered the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface of this tragedy.

Oliver quickly pocketed the bloodstained cloth, the weight of it pressing against him like an unfulfilled promise. He took one last look at Rose, the girl who had once brought light to his childhood, now shrouded in darkness.

"I'm done here," he said, rising to his feet and brushing the dirt from his knees.

Hensley, lingering at the edge of the scene, shot him a sidelong glance. "About time, Kane. I told you you weren't going to find anything-no evidence, no clues. Just a dead girl."

Ignoring the jab, Oliver turned his attention to the commotion at the entrance of the alley. A figure stepped forward, cutting through the rain-soaked gloom. He was a man of average height with a sturdy build, dressed in a long coat that seemed to blend into the shadows. His sharp, observant eyes flickered over the scene, absorbing every detail. He carried an air of professionalism, exuding calm authority that immediately drew Oliver's attention.

"Here comes the medical examiner," Hensley sneered, crossing his arms. "Let's see if he can make sense of the mess you've created. I wouldn't hold my breath, though."

The medical examiner approached, and as he neared, he paused and offered a small, polite smile. "You must be Oliver Kane," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "I've heard a lot about you. I've been following your cases in the papers." He then looked down at Toby, wagging his tail at the newcomer. "And this must be the magnificent Toby. I've also heard so much about him. I believe it's a little unorthodox to bring a dog to a crime scene, but it seems to work for you."

Oliver felt a small swell of pride at the mention of Toby.

"I thought I was expecting a kid, but here stands a young man," the medical examiner continued, tilting his head slightly as he studied Oliver. "You bear a striking resemblance to another fantastic detective I work with from time to time-"

"Can we get a move on?" Hensley interrupted, impatience lacing his tone. "It's cold, it's dark, and I've got a lot of paperwork to do."

The medical examiner paused, casting a glance back at Hensley, then turned his attention to Oliver. "Right. Sorry for the delay," he said, shifting his focus back to the task at hand.

As the medical examiner moved toward Rose's body, preparing to take her away for examination, Oliver felt an urgent need to know more about this man who appeared so different from the others around him.

"Wait! What's your name?" Oliver called out, a hint of curiosity tinged with urgency in his voice.

The medical examiner paused, turning back with a peculiar smile. "My first name is John, but my friends call me Watson."

As Watson stepped forward to assist, Oliver felt a flicker of hope ignite within him. There was something promising about this unexpected partnership, and as the rain continued to fall, he silently vowed to uncover the truth behind Rose's tragic death.