As it appeared on Writer's Beat.com
The stench of hot garbage in the alley was so harsh and pungent it was hard to distinguish any other smell. Heavy rain from the previous night had washed through the alley. The water was brimming with the fumes and juices of meals long passed. As the sun reached between the buildings to reveal trains of people and cars moving through the streets, it also brought more revelations.
Between the two red brick buildings, where illumination held little dominion, a body lay bludgeoned and caked with crusty blood. What had once been the face was now a shredded mess of tissue, decomposing over a bag of burst open garbage. The corpse’s arms were spread, the right actually twisted out of joint. The skin had been ripped apart at the shoulder and showed a yellow mass of tissue.
The medical examiner made it a point to say that the person had probably laid there for a while before expiring. It had been a painful death.
Each car passing in the road sent water spraying from the divots in the concrete. The sound almost drowned out the words of the uniformed officer as Lewis slipped a cigarette into his mouth. “She’s been here a few days,” said the officer as Lewis took a drag, “It’s a wonder that more of the blood didn’t wash away.”
Lewis nodded, “Could you have at least tried to cover up some of this goddamn smell…”
“Sorry Agent Reynolds,” the officer said, “But the alley is filled with trash.”
He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and turned to the cop, “Well before you call me out here to stand in some shit like this next time, remember—a picture’s worth a thousand words.”
The cop grimaced, his mouth parted as if to speak but then he just strode off. Lewis knelt down next to the body. A hot putrid odor was rising from the corpse. He un-holstered his side arm and used the nose of the weapon to push back some of the trash and get a better look at the body. He sighed, blinking as he tried to push through the horrid smell.
“Not a bad looking girl,” Lewis remarked to the nearest officer, “Bit of a brown bagger.”
The cop glared at him with eyes wide, but said nothing.
Lewis covered his mouth to cough and then looked up, “Where’s my partner?” he asked.
“She arrived earlier,” one of the medical examiners said, “But I think the sight of the corpse got to her.”
Lewis turned and walk towards the medical examiner; she was a short chunky blonde who appeared too young to work for the police department. In the back of the investigator van, near where she stood, there was a box filled with instruments and supplies, he snatched one of the wipes out of the box to clean his gun off as he spoke, “I’m going to find Agent Prescott.”
“We can’t leave this body here…” she replied.
“It’s been here for at least a few days,” Lewis said, “I doubt that it’s going anywhere.” He returned his gun to its holster and walked off down the alley way. He turned the corner and stopped to look through the window of a deli. A harsh glare on the glass forced him to cup his hands over his eyes, but he spotted her at a table in the corner with bottle of tea. He left his cigarette dying on the sidewalk as he neared the door.
Lewis was hit was a rush of warm air as he entered. He hadn’t realized it was that cold outside until he was inside. He rubbed his hands together as he made his way over to her. She sat with her legs crossed and her head hung. Chances were she hadn’t spotted Lewis yet because her long brown hair was in her face.
He came to a stop right next to her, then turned to the man at the counter only a few feet away, “Can you get me a coke?” asked Lewis.
The man at the counter nodded and walked off to get the drink.
She never looked up from the table as she lifted the bottle of iced tea and took a sip, “American tea isn’t even really tea,” she started in a low, flat tone, “All I taste is bloody lemons.”
Lewis ran his hand over the top of his short hair, “You okay, kid?” he asked.
“I hated that we were transferred,” she said. She scooted closer to the table some, but she had to be careful of her injured arm. Only a few weeks prior she had taken a bullet in the arm. It hadn’t hit anything too vital, but while it healed up the two of them had been moved to an Investigative Crimes Unit inside of the F.B.I.
“Well they had to give you time to heal up, Holly,” Lewis said as he sat down.
As she nodded Lewis caught a glimpse of her eyes, tinted a shade of red. Her hair hid the way the eye shadow had smeared. Holly exhaled roughly, “Does the victim have a name yet?”
“I didn’t bother to ask,” Lewis said.
“I see,” Holly pushed the bistre tendrils out of her face, “I suppose we should try and scrape up some evidence.”
Lewis gazed out to the street, “Yeah,” he said, “Although witnesses for this kind of thing are usually few and far between.” When he glanced up again he spotted someone in the alley adjacent to the scene of the crime, “I might know where to start.”
Lewis threw a twenty on the table and didn’t bother to wait for change. He and Holly made their way across the street and into the opposing alley. A blustery wind pushed at them as they came to a stop next to a makeshift shelter. Sticks were lashed with bits of string and twine, made to support a blue tarp that was haphazardly strapped down.
A little ways up the alley was a man who was little more than waxy red skin wrapped over bone. He was mostly naked with a cloth bundled about his crotch like a makeshift diaper. His bony fingers grasped a stick that was burnt at the end, as he scratched something into the side of the building with it. His eyes were wild as he danced with eccentric motions still holding the stick. The hole of his mouth appeared in the scraggly yellow beard as he muttered to himself.
Holly shrunk back behind Lewis as they approached, “Sir…” Lewis started. The man didn’t react. “Sir, I’m Agent Reynolds and this is my partner Agent Prescott, we’re with the F.B.I.”
The stick scratching at the wall became more pronounced as the man tossed his head back to let out a cackling chuckle. He brought his head down and scratched at the spotty clumps of hair on his head.
Lewis and Holly stepped closer to the man, Lewis sighed, “Sir, did you hear me?”
Holly pointed up at the wall, “Lewis,” she whispered form behind him, “That’s Umbral Calculus,” she said, “I remember it from Uni.”
“Math’s never been my thing,” Lewis said as he approached the man. He touched the man on the back, his reddened skin was sticky with sweat and calloused. “Sir!” he shouted.
The man turned around, “Hmm,” he said glaring at them, “Can’t you see I’m busy, boy.”
Holly’s muscles constricted as his gaze fell on her, she swallowed hard, “That’s a right complex equation you’ve got there, Umbral Calculus if I’m not mistaken?”
He nodded, “It would seem you possess a keen eye, I was hoping to show that these two equations are in actuality similar. Of course in proving this I will have proved very little besides that they are related…these numbers have no practical application for me, you see a common beggar.” As he spoke his movements were exaggerated and dramatically pronounced, like a theater actor.
Lewis put his hand to his chin, “I see,” he said, “And do you teach this class out here often Professor.”
“I’m called Skarkiss,” the beggar replied, “These equations are the way that the universe speaks to me, it speaks to us all. I am a mere conduit through which the communications are passed down and read out through, like a seismograph reads the vibrations of the Earth. I am a professor in nothing, I teach no one…I am just a student of the universe.”
Lewis rolled his eyes, “For fuck’s sake.”
