The house was rotting in dust—there was no question it had been abandoned for many years. Yet as the detective and younger male approached the house—dread filled the air. It could have been the way the house sat—Its foundation creaking with the wind and settling as the house molded and wore away—or maybe it was the feeling of murder, as one had just taken place there and it lingered in the air.
It was dusk out and the wind pulled lightly at their hair. The detective wasn’t supposed to be letting the younger male come with, but his curiosity about the murder and the detective’s work intrigued the boy, and so the detective gave in.
They approached the door; up the steps as the door creaked ever so slightly with the wind. The murder had just taken place—therefore the house smelled of death—and decay.  
“You’re not to touch anything,” the detective spoke, his Romanian accent full on. The younger male nodded, but the detective touched his shoulder, indicating the boy to look at him, “—alright, Aiden?” the detective gave him a stern look.
“I know,” Aiden whispered, catching the detective’s eye before he peered into the creaking old Victorian. The detective slipped on latex gloves and handed a pair to Aiden before he pressed his finger tips to the door and pushed lightly. It wined and moaned in protest, but gave way with ease, letting the detective know—and he noted—that someone had already pried it open before.
“Uh… Ducane,” Aiden hesitated as the detective took a step in and surveyed the place. He lingered on the porch before he moved inside swiftly.
“Shut the door behind you,” the Romanian man muttered as he walked toward the stair case—all the while the floor moaning in protest to his weight and presence.
“This is so cool,” the boy whispered excitedly to himself. He closed the door and walked toward the detective by the stairs. There was blood on it—a trail from the top of the stairs to the very bottom, where it turned into droplets. The detective pointed to it, for Aiden’s benefit, as he crouched.
“Do you see that the blood trail is coming from the top of the stairs?”
Aiden looked.
“—It’s smeared, so the victim was dragged down the stairs, and here-,” he pointed to the drops of blood starting at the bottom, “—the killer picked up the victim—probably slung over the shoulder, because some of the drops are wider, which means there was a build up of blood on something before it hit the ground. The killer most likely has blood on his clothes—keep that in mind,” the Romanian stood up. Aiden nodded, looking closely at the blood drops.
“Come on,” Ducane said. He was standing on the next platform, about five steps up, where the stairway turned and went up all the way. Aiden ascended the stairs as the detective preceded the rest of the way, with Aiden close behind. The air in the old house was almost smothering in how thick it felt when inhaling. It made Aiden want to sneeze, but he held it in.
The sun was setting, so the light shinning in from under the doorways once they reached the landing was creepy. Dust was flooding the light as it casted subtle purple and blue light on the floors and through the cracks in the wood. Aiden couldn’t help but stare down the one of the hallways. It was haunting. Aiden’s eyes caught sight of something just then. He squinted and saw that it looked like a door at the end of the hall way slowly opening. Aiden grabbed for the detective’s sleeve with out looking away—afraid that if he looked away the door would some how stop moving.
“Ducane,” Aiden whispered in astonishment at the moving door. Suddenly the door flew open and a blonde haired gentleman walked out from the door, swiftly. Aiden was stunned. The detective pulled out a gun and aimed it at the blonde. A wicked grin appeared on his face before he too pulled out a small hand-held; two gun shots were fired. The sound was deafening in the hallow halls of the manor.
Ducane shoved Aiden and he was sent flying to the side as the detective shot another fire. A second later the both of them were running down another hall, leading toward some stairs. They climbed them, the sounds of their hearts in their ears. The sound of chuckling made them both push themselves faster, but they were coming up on a dead end.
“Get in there,” the detective whispered harshly and shoved the other toward a small door—probably a closet. Aiden nodded, trying to catch his breath and pulled the handle open. The door creaked and he cringed, but with out a second thought the detective shoved him in and closed the door. Aiden panicked for a second because everything was suddenly dark. He turned to face the door and tried to steady his breathing.
Outside the door, Ducane was standing against it, his gun cocked and ready. The blonde male walked into view, a smirk on his face as he cocked his head back and to the side.
“You’re a fool for coming Cross,” laughed the male.
“You’re the fool for still being here, Malice. I’ll arrest you for killing Demetri—everyone knows it was you, so there’s no where to hide,” the detective snapped, aiming his gun straight at the other. The blonde threw his head back and laughed.
“Do you honestly think I care?” He grinned. “I’ll let you kill me. But not right now. Right now I have to kill everyone that has to do with my brother,” Malice smirked.
Aiden’s heart skipped a beat. Demetri was the one killed? Aiden’s eyes watered. Ducane had left out who the person was that was murdered. He even neglected to say it was Malice who had killed him—Demetri’s brother.
A gun shot was fired, and a loud scream echoed the halls. Ducane dropped down to his knees, holding his shoulder. He pulled his hand away, only to reveal blood seeping through his clothes. Another gun shot was fired. Aiden’s eyes went wide. His breath escaped in a gasp and he suddenly felt like he couldn’t breath; his eyes wide, he looked down and felt at his chest. It was warm and felt wet—his eyes began to water.
Aiden had been shot.
The door swung open and Malice was standing there. Aiden tried to push himself back into the closet more, but Malice’s hand reached for his shoulder and pulled him from the closet, only to have Aiden stumble and lean against him for support. Aiden’s eyes caught Ducane on the floor. He was gripping his shoulder, but there was a cut on his leg—Malice had stabbed him too.
Malice kicked Ducane and shoved Aiden to the side. He slumped against the wall and slid down it, leaving blood where his hand touched. Ducane didn’t know what to do. He was shot and so was Aiden.
“You’re both so pathetic,” Malice scoffed.
“Asshole,” Ducane growled. Malice narrowed his eyes before he swung his foot into Ducane’s stomach, and leaned down to cock the gun against his head.
“What did you say?” He hissed.
Aiden tried to get Malice’s attention, but his voice was none-existent and his breaths were coming in gasps. He had been shot in the lungs—which also meant one or more of his ribs were broken, or possibly one of his ribs had broken and stabbed his lungs.
“I—I… hate… you,” Aiden muttered before he coughed up some blood, glaring at Malice. Malice turned to face him and grinned.
“Shut up, fag. I know you were ‘in love’ with my brother. It must hurt, right?” Malice taunted. Aiden’s strength was dwindling, but he managed to mouth the words: go to hell. Malice growled and cocked his gun.
“NO!” Ducane yelled.
A shot was fired and evil man began to laugh.
Aiden’s head slumped to the side.
His heart had stopped.
Ducane reached for Malice’s leg and pulled him down to the floor with him. Malice struggled, trying to cock the gun but Ducane’s hand twisted Malice’s and he ended up dropping the gun. Filled with anger and rage, the detective punched the other in the face before he reached for the gun. He pointed it at Malice’s chest and fired.
Malice went limp.
Ducane threw the gun to the side and slammed his fist on the ground. His eyes filled with tears as he looked over at Aiden.
A good twenty minutes passed, where Ducane cried, lying there on the floor before he felt he had enough strength to call someone for help.

________

“I can’t believe it,” a small framed, chocolate haired boy wiped his eyes. A few hours had passed. Ducane was hospitalized and Malice and Aiden were taken to the morgue.
“I’m sorry about your cousin, Draven,” Ducane sighed. Draven nodded—Aiden was Draven’s cousin.
A taller bleach blonde male walked in and had a box with him. He frowned.
“Are you sure you really want to quit?” The bleach blonde asked. While lying there next to Aiden and the man who had succeeded in killing two of his friends before Ducane managed to kill him—the detective had made a decision—he was going to quit his job as a detective, and had asked his good friend Stormy to bring him his thing from his desk.
“Yes,” Ducane sighed.
“There’s… a note in here I think you should read,” Stormy’s frown deepened as he set the box of Ducane’s things down and handed him a piece of paper. Ducane grabbed it and instantly his eyes started to water.
It was a note from Aiden.


Dear Detective,

Thanks for letting me come along.

—Aiden

“—I’m sorry I can’t say ‘you’re welcome’. Please forgive me,” Ducane whispered.
It was a note Aiden had written before they even left, hoping Ducane would find it when they got back.
The room fell silent.