Fiction: An Exercise in Cruelty

EDIT: The title was rubbish so it's been changed, and there's been a minor alteration to one sentence in the second scene. Blink and you'll miss it. ;) Cheerio!

Hello folks,

Not entirely sure what happened in my brain but this week's flash fiction challenge response is decidedly not my usual style. It's probably nsfw (fair warning: there's quite a bit of swearing) and involves implied violence. I'd say enjoy but that doesn't quite seem fitting... 

An Exercise in Cruelty

The man puts the phone down and turns the envelope over in his gloved hands. This letter is his best so far. It’s neat and professional; makes him feel like an artist instead of an amateur. He’s proud, and rightly so. Carefully, he adjusts his burden, and leaves via the laundry door. He slips the letter in the mailbox on the way to his car.

><><>< 

It’s bone cold when Parker gets back to the precinct. The snow’s coming down harder now and his fingers feel cold and clammy. Griesley follows at his heels, huffing and swearing like a sailor.

“Fucking hell,” Griesley says, tumbling through their office door and shedding his raincoat. “I fucking hate anonymous tipoffs. I fucking hate bloody serial killers with stupid fucking leather masks and weird patterns and—fuck, I fucking hate fucking snow.”

Griesley is Australian. It shows.

“We all do, Griese, we all do.”

Parker kneels down to hold his hands out in front of the mini-heater he’d bought when they got sick of the AC breaking down, and which Griesley had promptly named ‘George’.

“It’s not bloody right. We were supposed to knock off hours ago. Fucking wankers and their fucking tipoffs.” Griesley exhales and turns back to his partner. “Are you heading home?”

Parker nods and Griesley sits beside him with all the grace of a baby giraffe.

“My place tomorrow?”

“Can’t,” Parker says, slouching. “I’m sorry. I’ve got Mia this week. Karen’s already irritated about me working tonight.”

Parker opens his mouth to apologise again but shuts it when Griesley pulls him closer and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Hey, it’s fine. I get it.”

Griesley squeezes him briefly before releasing him. Parker understands; there’s a window set into the door behind them. Better not to risk it. He stands.

“I’d best head off then,” he says, brushing carpet fluff off his knees. “It’s nearly one…”

“Yeah, alright.”

Parker collects his things and leaves with a last smile and nod. It’s not enough for either of them.

><><>< 

Parker arrives home to silence. He pauses at the door, waiting for the hurried pattering of socked feet that reveals an evening spent playing Pageant Star (a vicious children’s game of simulated beauty pageants that he hadn’t figured out how to block yet) on his computer instead of sleeping. He ducks in to check on Mia on his way past, but stubs his toe on her miniature pink rocking chair as he’s approaching her bed and has to bite his lip to hold back a torrent of swear words that would undoubtedly wake Mia and make Karen very, very angry with him. Neither prospect is particularly appealing. He beats a hasty retreat.

><><>< 

The morning comes too quickly for Parker, who flails sluggishly for the snooze button no less than three times before dragging himself out of bed to get Mia ready for school. He shuffles into the kitchen and puts the kettle on with practiced inattention, wondering abstractly if the odd noise it emits when he flicks the switch is something he should be worried about. Yawning, he pulls a bowl out of the cupboard and sets it down next to the unopened carton of some horrifically sugary breakfast cereal that Karen probably wouldn’t let within two feet of their daughter.

Ten minutes later, Parker has drunk half of his cup of tea (and is feeling a little more human, if only a very little) and has begun going through the post when his phone rings.

“Parker, they’ve found another one.”

Parker feels as though the milky tea in his stomach has curdled.

“Where?”

The underling—Frank or Fred something like that—tells him.

Swearing, Parker writes down the address and hangs up. Scribbling a quick note for Mia and leaving a voicemail on Karen’s phone, he slaps the next letter—a neat professional looking thing that makes him think it must’ve been meant for the accountant next door—back down on the counter and almost flies out of the house.

><><>< 

Griesley’s there when Parker arrives. There’s an officer standing by the yellow crime scene tape. He flashes his badge—the officer nods—and ducks under the tape.

“Why the fuck would you call him?” Parker can hear Griesley yelling. Parker frowns. “Fucking hell—”

Griesley turns away from the unfortunate underling and catches sight of him. Their eyes lock and Griesley’s face goes the colour of porridge. Then he’s moving towards Parker like reaching him is the most important thing he’ll ever do.

“What’s going on?”

“You shouldn’t be here. Fuck. I don’t—” Griesley is pushing him away but Parker doesn’t move. “You don’t want to see this, Parks, please—”

“See what?” Parker says, giving Griesley an odd look and trying to step around him.

“No!”

Griesley tries to turn him away but it’s too late. Parker’s eyes fix on a point behind Griesley’s head and for a full minute he just stares, insensible to everything. He can barely feel Griesley’s hands pressing at him, or hear his voice breaking as he begs Parker to leave. It’s as if he’s been plunged underwater. Everything is suddenly very far away, like the world has receded to exist only on the fringes of his awareness.

His eyes trail upwards slowly, from the tiny camel-coloured ugg boots, to the cuffs of a pair of pink flannelette pyjamas, and up and up until he’s staring at the ropes that bind the girl to the road sign, and then further and oh god he doesn’t want to see this but he can’t stop himself and her face is obscured by a curtain of strawberry blonde hair but he still knows, he still fucking knows—and the world comes back. It rushes in, filling his senses, and everything is too loud and too bright and he thinks he’s going to vomit and then, very suddenly, there is nothing but blackness.

END.