I wake to the rumble of a train.
A glass shakes on my desk, the window rattles in it's frame. I stare blankly at the ceiling while I blink the sleep away. It's mid November and the cool morning is soaking the room in pale blue.
I let the air ghost across my skin, wishing bitterly that I could just dig myself deeper into the covers and sleep away my hangover.
Sitting up, I place my feet on the floor and stretch my back out until I hear the satisfying pops of my spine. My mouth tastes grim but years of a minor alcohol problem and a generally dysfunctional lifestyle has prepared me well. I down the glass of water with the paracetamol balanced on the stack of books functioning as a nightstand.
The lump in the bedsheets I'd been, so far successfully, ignoring lets out a loud snore. The guy- Mark? Mike? Shit, he could be called the Apex for all I know- is still asleep. I'd be relieved that I didn't have to interact with him if I wouldn't rather he be in his own bed. I glare at his back with narrowed eyes, wishing that his wolf would somehow hear mine telling him to go the fuck home.
Another snore rumbles the quiet room. Great.
With a huff, I pull on the pair of jeans I'd left in a crumpled heap by the bed. They smell like last night- stale nightclub air and cigarettes. It's not exactly my best, but this is all Jason deserves if he calls me into work on a Sunday. I'd got the text twenty minutes ago to meet him at Fell's creek as soon as possible... and immediately fallen back asleep. Which would mean I wouldn't get the time to shower, or eat anything, but at least the brief bit of extra sleep had sobered me up a bit more.
I don't bother being quiet as I clatter around my flat with a toothbrush hanging out my mouth, trying to find a relatively clean shirt. It's not the easiest thing to find anything in here, despite it's open plan. It's not exactly messy, but it's not tidy either. 'Functional chaos' is what Liam calls it. The books are the main problem, old tattered things picked up at charity shops that I've started reading and abandoned. There are piles of them everywhere, but I like them and on the plus side, they make good tables. Then there's the maps, all of the South country, an unexpected obsession I developed when I moved to Wereton. I have a rolled up collection of them living in an alcove in the kitchen where I assume food is supposed to be. The rest of my stuff is either in the large trunk at the end of my bed or dotted around my flat.
I pull a shirt from the dryer just as a text pings through from Jason.
We've arrived. ETA?
I check the time; 7:12am. Ten minutes, I ping back. If I run. Which I absolutely won't be doing.
The lump in my bed groans and I freeze like a child caught awake past bedtime. When, yet again, he doesn't move, I scrawl don't fucking steal anything on an old envelope and leave it propped up on the nightstand/book pile. The one time I bring someone back to my flat and it's the one time I have to leave them alone in my home. I don't like it. The familiar feeling of discomfort settles under my skin, and it only gets worse when I quietly leave the flat and close the door.
My thumb runs over the key in my pocket, and for a good ten seconds I stare at the key-hole, deliberating whether it's sane to lock it.
"I'm insane." I mutter to the empty hallway. If he steals my shit, he steals my shit. Fuck it.
It's an old building, probably built at least a hundred years ago, so the wooden stairs protest and groan as I rush down them. Another train rattles the building as it makes it's way over the nearby bridge, I catch the tail end of it disappearing behind a wall as I step outside.
Each hurried step I take, I attempt to shake off the night before. Not that it was bad- it was pretty great actually. The only problem is that the lust from the night before always settles into the discomfort of today. If I wasn't hungover, I'd be in a fuck awful mood anyway. The cool autumn helps though, the air nipping at my nose as I walk a welcome distraction.
I get there five minutes later than I said I would.
Fell's Creek is just off of a main street. It's a romanticised name for the shallow water in the ditch that acts as an unofficial border between the city centre and a patch of upper middle-class houses. Turning down the road, I can see the vehicles parked as inconspicuously as two police cars and a coroner can look.
Jason's there, standing out as he always does... In the way only an alpha can. With him is Sarah and ugh, Nigel.
Jason turns before I reach him, meeting me with a grimace.
"You smell like shit."
"Thanks." I grumble, accepting a mug of coffee from Sarah with a grateful smile. Our receptionist is probably the sole reason we haven't already killed each other yet, which is harder than it should be.
"Why're you here?" I ask her, hoping it wasn't received as harshly as it came out my mouth.
She shrugs, the gesture smothered by the huge parka coat she's tucked herself into, "I live nearby, saw the cars go past. Didn't want you boys to freeze over."
That explains the cheerful 'Keep Calm and Drink Tea' message on my mug. Knowing Sarah, she'd have found a way to get herself invited to the crime scene anyway. She's been here longer than I have and was the first friendly face I'd seen after I joined the force. But she's nosy as hell, and probably would've been a detective if the world hadn't have slapped her with an Omega status. A male omega in the police is one thing, but a female... The South might be leaps and bounds ahead of the North country, but equality is a forever around the corner finish line.
I sigh into the steaming coffee. Definitely not still a little bit drunk. Nope. No way.
"Are you hungover?"
"When is he not?" Nigel snorts in reply to our boss.
"Today is my day off, Nigel, you can go fuck yourself."
"Wow." The Beta seems to shut up, but for whatever stupid reason, he opens his mouth again, "If you've got that much of a drinking problem, maybe you should go home."
"If you weren't such a shit detective, that's exactly where I'd be right now." Nigel glares at me, eyes locked on mine. His mouth drops open to speak again, but before he can, Jason lets out a noise of annoyance that carries an undercurrent of warning. Back down. Any other species wouldn't have known the message was there, but for us it's as clear as day. At least it should be. Nigel looks away, the tension in his jaw an obvious sign this isn't over.
When is it ever over.
"We've got a body in the water. A male, we're thinking a Were currently, an alpha."
I nod, watching as forensics make their way over the scene. The body's draped over a low hanging branch of a tree, caught between a net of weeds and a shopping trolley. It's not a dignified way to be found.
"Do we have a cause of death?" I ask and Nigel snorts sarcastically.
"What d'you think, Greenhill?"
I ignore him, directing my question towards Jason with a pointed look.
He shrugs, "Drowning possibly... Not sure yet. He's been here too long to get any initial information. Maybe seven, eight hours."
He can't smell anything, is what he's telling me. A breeze gusts our way, and I take in a short breath to confirm what I already know. There's nothing except the expected. Stagnant water, dog shit, someone's breakfast that got caught by the wind. Oh, and death, a whole lot of death.
Weres can smell other things, sometimes. If someone's been shot, there's usually residue, or the smell of burning. If someone's bleeding, it smells like, well... blood. In an overdose, there's usually vomit. On the odd occasion, you get to a body soon enough that you can even smell the drug they OD'd on.
As for our alpha in the ditch, the water's carried it all away.
"Who found him?"
Jason nods to a man talking to a Patrol Officer. He looks wealthy enough, old, maybe in his seventies. There's a dog -some schnauzer type thing- shuffling it's paws at the man's feet.
"Greg Peterson, was walking his dog when he saw the body. Called it in half an hour ago."
"Is he a suspect?" I ask.
"You seeing the same person as I am?" Nigel snorts. Neither of us say anything, because it was clear enough. Not a suspect.
"He'll be taken in to give a statement..." It goes on like that for a while, the three of us having the mandatory back and forth while forensics comb through the scene. The witness and his dog get driven to the station, even Sarah wonders off home with a canvas bag of empty mugs. It's boring and time consuming, but I'm almost thankful for it. It helps calm the nausea.
After a while, the body finally gets extracted from the creek. It's a difficult job, he's a big guy and it takes four people to get him out. He's dressed casually- just jeans and a T-shirt. He never could've expected his night to end up with him being shoved into a blue plastic body bag. I shiver against the cold.
Nigel points out the tattoos, makes a comment about how it'd make him easier to identify and we all agree.
Jase stops the coroners on their way past, "Any identification?"
The coroner pulls her mask down, revealing a tight lipped smile, "We'll check him when we get him to the medical examiners."
"Can you-"
"We'll see you at the examiners office, Detective."
Jason sighs, waving them on. I watch him. This is different, he wouldn't usually ask to see the body, he doesn't care about that sort of thing. If it doesn't affect him, he doesn't care. But that... that was almost sentimental... and that's just not Jason Hughes.
"Ja-" I start, but he cuts me off before I can say anything else.
"That's it for today."
"We can go?" What was the point in all this then? Calling us in for an hour on a day off just to watch the Patrol Officers do their job?
"Yeah, thanks for coming down. See you tomorrow. Don't be late." Jason claps me on the arm, in an overtly 'friend' way and brushes past.
I watch him get into a car, breath misting out and around him, a frown scarred between his brows.
Nigel lifts a packet of tobacco towards me, and I nod with a grunted thanks. He passes me a pre-rolled cigarette and his thumbs set to work on the new one. I dig my hands in my pocket, knowing there'll be a lighter in there somewhere. There is.
I almost say something to him about Jason's weirdness, but yet again, Nigel reminds me why, after the three years we've known each-other, we're not friends.
"You know why Jason asked you here, right?" He dips his head to lick the seal. I frown at him, the unlit rolly still between my fingers because it's still too early to smoke.
He continues, "Dead alphas are rare."
"Your point being...?"
"Dead alphas are rare," He repeats, a small stupid smile on his small stupid face, "An alpha you haven't shagged is rarer."
I didn't plan on telling him to go fuck himself, nor did I plan to flick a lit cigarette at him... or that it would hit his eye. But when all three happen at once, I can't lie and say it doesn't feel good.
"See you tomorrow, Nige." I turn, leaving the beta hissing and holding a hand over his eye.
I'll deal with it tomorrow.
Right now, all I can think about is my bed, and hoping the alpha I'd left there is gone... without the contents of my flat.
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