“On all the days to make an arrest, they have us out here on Christmas?” I grumbled.

 Ian would shift in his seat, un-clipping a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

        “Right, and since it's Christmas, how about we make this one quick. I gotta get back to Molly.”

        We stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk, the salt crystals crunched with every step leading up to the front door. I knocked and took a step back. There was no answer. I had knocked again, harsher this time. “This is the police speaking, we are only going to ask once for you to open the door or else we will not hesitate to use force. A moment would pass before a click of a door lock could be heard, and the door would slowly push open. Standing in the doorway was a man not much taller than 5’8, with dark hair and eyes, olive colored skin, and a short beard. 

        “May i-?”

        “We have a warrant out for your arrest under the evidence that you are linked to a murder case, you’re going to have to come with us. Do not resist.” Ian had cut him off.

        “Excuse me? I am no murderer, I have been home with my family. Hey, what are you-!?” the man shouted.

         

          I grabbed the man and forced him outside, fighting to hold him still as Ian would put the cuffs on. The man would fight and squirm in our grip, shouting in a different language. We managed to wrestle him over to the car, opening the door, tossing him in, and shutting the door behind him. “Now then, let's get this one to the station.” Ian huffed, his breath turning into a puff of smoke. He got into the passenger seat and shut the door. I walked over to the driver's side and looked up for a moment back at the house and paused with my hand on the car door handle. There was a boy. A small boy with dark tussled hair, dressed in Christmas pajamas. He stood in the doorway, frozen still, just– staring– at me. I’d say it was that look that put a shiver down my spine if it weren't below 30 degrees out. The car horn would beep twice and break me away from his gaze, I opened the car door and got in. 

      

        “Took you long enough, what the hell were you looking at?” Ian would question.

        “It.. it was nothing. Let's just get back to the station.” I replied. 

       DECEMBER 1963. The door to my office swings open, hitting the bulletin board behind it with a loud THWACK. I jumped up– startled– It was Blakes from the patrol officer department. He had a serious look on his face, holding a beige folder in his hand. He walked up to my desk and held it out for me to take.

 “Christ almighty, Blakes. You didn't have to slam the door, what is this? What am I looking at here?” I ask, taking the folder from him and opening it.

        “Four victims, signs of a break in through one of the back windows of the cottage.. Grant. It was Ian’s place.” Blakes would report grimly. 

        My heart sank at that moment. In the folder were crime scene photos and evidence that was logged at the scene, breaking and entering, a multi homicide. I flipped through, scanning the documents reluctantly, the killer had left behind bloody shoe prints. Though by the time the evidence collection team was sent out, the snowfall had covered up any other tracks that would have led away from the home. A tear of fabric caught on the glass of the broken window was also recovered at the scene, it seems that the killer whilst making an escape was caught on the shards of glass. I stood from my desk, gripping the file. shoving the file back to Blakes I swing around and put on my coat, holstering my gun. “I am gonna find the monster who did this. He will not get away with killing.. With killing my goddamn brother!?” I shout, biting back the boiling heat that rose within me that urged me to cry. 

        I burst out of my office, and into the main station. Pushing past several other officers and out into the cold, winter’s day. I rushed over to my car and started up the engine, it roared to life and hit the gas. I drove over to the medical examiners office, screeching to an abrupt halt out in front of the building. I leave the engine running as I jump out of my car and march up to the door and inside, I flash my badge to the receptionist and she points down the hall to a room. I make haste down the corridor and pause with my hand hovering over the handle, I stay there for a moment, steeling my nerves before pushing the door open. There he was. Lying lifeless on an operating table, I felt the urge to vomit. I approached slowly, staring down at his stone cold face, Oh Ian.. I looked up from the sight and across the room. There was another table, clothes that I only would assume were his, were laid out next to each other. I approached, and would see that they were stained with blood. I place my hand down on the fabric, tracing it ever so slightly. That's when I noticed something from the corner of my eye. There was something in the pocket of the pants, I would slip my hand into the pocket and pull out a photo. It was of a house, the photo was worn and weathered, and turning it over there was a note.

        Come Find Me Detective. Was penned in red ink.

        I stood there dumbfounded, but snapped out of it when the realization hit me. I knew that house.. It was the home of the convict me and Ian had arrested years ago. I run out of the building and back outside, jump into my car and slam the door shut. Slamming my foot down on the gas pedal and swerving the car around and racing off to location in the picture. I drove past each home knowing I was getting closer by the minute, and then I saw it. There the house was all these years later. I jump out and close the door, I draw my gun from my holder and cocked the slider. I draw in a breath and exhale, my breath forming a cloud with the frigid air. 

        

        I walked up to the house, the walkway was covered in snow, the truck was nowhere to be seen. No one has lived here for a long time. I kicked in the door, it slammed against the wall, rattling the house. I look around, aim poised. It was dark, with the only light source coming from the daylight outside that flooded in through the door. The light illuminated the dust that floated aimlessly through the air, I made my way further inside the house. I walked into the living room, and paused, in the corner was a tree ornament and tinsel decorated it. I take a further step and hear a crunch, I lift my foot to see that I've stepped on what remained of a shattered Christmas ornament. Looking back up from the ground I was met with a mantel, broken glass and picture frames strewn across the floor. There was one frame left intact on the mantel, I took it, brushing away the thick layer of dust that accumulated on the glass. In the photo was a man, and a little boy. Crunch.

  

       Before I could turn around, a striking and sudden pain met the side of my head. I drop the picture frame, the glass shattering onto the ground, my gun hitting the floor. Then there was a pain in my chest as I got a glimpse of my attacker as I stumbled backward. Tall, shadowy, he was wearing a furred mask with rams horns. Grasping the chair I had stumbled back into, I took hold and swung with all my might. The chair connected, making him stumble back. I lunge forward, winding up my fist and punch the side of his head. It knocks him to the ground, I stand there ready for him to get up but he doesn’t. I let out a heavy exhale, my breaths shallow. I unclip my radio from my belt and speak into the microphone. “This is Detective Grant, I am located at the scene of 253 south Melbourne, requesting back up. Repeat, I am requesting backup at the scene.” I look back down at the man who still lay on the ground, and walk over to him. 

        I unclip a pair of cuffs from my belt and knelt down beside him, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. As I clicked the first cuff into place, his hand had gripped mine, flipping over suddenly, then BANG. my ears began to ring as I fell back onto the ground, a sharp immense pain spread from my shoulder to the rest of my body like lightning. I was shot. The man got to his feet, then kneeled down, I was face to face with the mask. “Well, detective. I'd say I didn't think you’d go down that easily, though I will commend you for putting up more of a fight than your brother did though.” He harshly dug his knee into my chest, keeping me further pinned to the ground. 

        “You.. you’re a damn.. Monster.” I choke out.

        “Really? That’s rich coming from the likes of you. Answer me this, Detective. How many more families have you ruined, torn apart, with your blindsided prejudice? How many men have been wrongfully detained, killed by your own hand?” 

        I remained silent. With my vision getting blurry, I fight to remain conscious. Seemingly unsatisfied with the silence he presses down harder, I'm struggling to breath. He then takes a moment just staring down at me and lifts his hands up to the bottom of the mask, slipping his fingers under the furred rim and lifting it off to reveal his face. Dark tussled hair, piercing eyes. “Do you remember Christmas of ‘46, Detective? I remember it. It was when you had arrested my father, accusing him of a murder he did not commit. Did you ever pause to think, Detective? To think about who else was there that day.” and then I see the face of the little boy all those years ago, those same eyes who stared into my very soul all those years ago. My eyebrows raise and eyes widen in horror of the realization. The man would smile, as if he understood. “So you do remember me. How interesting.” he would pause for a moment as he leaned off to the side and picked my gun up off the floor again, cocking the slider and aiming it toward my head. “You expected a murderer, Detective? You have your murderer. Merry Christmas, Detective Grant.”