Hellfire

A Melancholic Memory *Flashback*

'And out of darkness came the hands that reach thro' nature, moulding men.'

- Alfred Lord Tennyson

          - Canton, Cardiff, 2002 -

Days old newspaper articles littered the floor, soaked through and torn. Dawn was breaking on a cold winter morn', making the frost which had settled over the grass shimmer a white gold. 

Soft footsteps crunch on a wet gravel footpath. A skinny man in a casual suit hums to himself as he approaches a man hunched over a body. “What ‘ave we here then, Dai?” He asked the young man with a pat on the back. His South Wales accent is strong, emphasising his laid back and merry manner, a complete contrast to the serious PC David Pearce.

 “A young man Sir... 23 year old Patrick Stables, taxi driver. Looks like he has drowned himself, but Sir, there is something that puzzles me” David Pearce rose from his crouched position next to the lifeless body that had been pulled out of the strong flowing river. He was at least 3 inches taller than his boss, but there was still a huge amount of respect he held for him none the less.

“Whats that, then, Dai?” The gruff voice of DI Griffiths asked with puzzlement, his face as full of emotion as Pearce was not.

 With a clearing of the throat David Pearce spoke with uncertainty of how to explain the information passed onto him. “It’s his back Sir. It appears as if it has been ripped open to the spine at some point. Also according to forensics, his blood isn't red either. It's as black and thick as oil.”