MPD+with+minor+changes

This is where i will post any changes that i may make throughout all of MPD. I've under lined the changes I made and if you have any other suggestions feel free to tell me about them.

I laid in Bed staring at the ceiling waiting in anticipation. I had just awoke up from the deepest sleep I had all week. So far this week I’ve only manage a few hours of sleep here and there, and it showed. My appearance was sloppy. My hair was disheveled, I was unshaven, and I had dark circles under my eyes. As I laid in bed I thought of everything I’ve been through to get me to where I am today. I went through five very rough years at collage __most of my teachers disliked me because I always seemed to find a way to contradict what they said which more often then not lead to lengthy debates which consumed the whole class period__. My mom always told me I could have been a lawyer, but I never wanted to. Every lawyer that I ever met was egotistical, and talked down to me as if the words they used where far to complex for an average person, like me, to understand.
 * MPD**

Then there was the two years working as a cop. That wasn’t too bad, and I made a couple close friends. I also made a lot of enemies. They were cut throat people. At one moment they were your best friend, and at the next they would stab you in the back. That’s how it is in the business you were either best friends or backstabbing enemies trying to steal each others job. I was the one exception to the business; I was neutral. To me it didn’t matter one way or the other. I was friendly if you caught me on a good day, but if you caught me on an off day I could be your worst nightmare.

Now I’m here laying in bed at three in the morning waiting for my phone to ring so that I could get my first case as a detective. After a seven year bumpy road of good and bad I was finally getting my own case.

The phone rang echoing like a scream throughout the small one bedroom apartment. I excitedly answered the phone trying to sound as professional as possible

“Davis here” I was so excited my voice cracked. I can’t believe it my first case and I sound like a thirteen year old boy answering the phone.

“Wake up call. Grab your things and meet me at the abandoned warehouse on North 32nd street.” Commissioner Jameson said as firmly as a military drill sergeant.

“Yes sir, I’ll be there in a flash.”

I jumped out of bed, and threw on my black suit jacket. Ever since there’s been __an opportunity__ for me to get my first real case I’ve been sleeping in my dress clothes__.__ So that at a moments notice I could be on my way to the scene of the crime. As I left the apartment I put on my black and white pin striped fedora and matching trench coat that hung just past my knees.

While waiting for my jet black 1977 Plymouth Fury to warm up it hit me. Finally I was at the part of my life where I wanted to be. A detective, I was no longer just some beat cop looking for a way to get paid for beating punks. I was a detective, but not just any detective I was the best detective a precinct could ask for. I went to collage and studied Criminal Psychology, and Behaviorism. I have common sense and street smarts. What more could they ask from me?

On my way to the warehouse I stopped at Termini Brothers Bakery and bought coffee and a couple cannolis for the commissioner and I. Normally you would think a place like that is closed at 3:30 in the morning, but those sweet old ladies are always there cooking for the days customers. They were even nice enough to give me a free cannoli on the house. They probably gave it to me because they saw my badge, but I like to think it’s because they are just naturally generous.

I knew I was at the right place when I saw the red and blue lights staining the side of the building. The warehouse was four floors made up of three normal size floors and one large working floor. The upper right side of the building was charred black from when the building next door burnt down from a small explosion. The left side of the building was the complete opposite instead of looking dead and cremated it looked alive. It had vines growing up the side spewing life onto the warehouse.
 * Abandoned Warehouse**
 * North 32nd Street**

Commissioner Jameson was waiting in the center of the caution tape. I flashed my badge to the officers securing the caution tape perimeter and walked over to Commissioner Jameson. We shook hands and went __to__ my car to keep warm. He went over the details of the case as we gorged ourselves on delicious cream filled pastries.

“It’s a gruesome sight up there Davis. It’s not for the weak of heart. Do you think you can handle it?” Jameson said sounding strangely concerned with __my__ well being.

“I’ve seen the photos from Jeffery Dahmer’s case, and that was intense. I should be fine. Thanks for the sympathy though.” Davis said sounding proud of his success looking at __gruesome__ images of slaughter.

“Okay, but I have to warn you it’s an entirely different animal when you’re really there.”

“I’ll be fine. Now can we just go over the case please?”

“Yeah, no need to get testy. I’m on your side, remember.”

“Sorry. I guess I’m just nervous that’s all.” Davis said sincerely

“You’ll be fine kid. If you need any thing just ask I’ve seen it all before.”

When I walked into one of the numerous offices on the forth floor I immediately smelt a concoction of burnt hair and urine. In the corner of the room there was what looked like the remains of a fire that was recently extinguished. In the midst of the ash and still together pieces of wood were the remains of a human. There was no way to ID the man lying on the floor all his belongings were gone, and the fire ate away at his face. Blood lined the walls. It was most likely a crime of opportunity. The unsub may not have intended to kill the victim. It could have been a bum trying to get his hands on some quick cash, and attempted to burn the __body of the__ man when he accidentally killed him.
 * Forth floor of the warehouse**
 * 15 minutes later**

There was a large desk in the middle of the room with papers splayed along the top of it. __Wind blew through the broken window panes; the papers atop the desk scattered to the floor like teens from a kegger. I fingered through the remaining papers and found nothing of interest. I did the same with the papers on the floor yielding the same results. I looked throughout the open the drawers only to find dust and spiders.__ I tugged on the handle __of the only closed drawer.__ It was locked; I __repeatedly__ kicked at it until the lock broke. Inside was my first clue; It was a letter. Strangely enough the letter was addressed to me. I opened it, and quickly slid it into my inside jacket pocket. I hastily walked away from the scene of the crime.

Thinking back now I wish I had never found that letter.

Chapter 2


 * Earlier that morning**

I got out of bed trying to suppress thoughts that would stop me from doing what I was about to do. All week I‘ve been preparing for this. I found the perfect victim to start my homicidal rampage with. It would be someone small and insignificant that no one would remember. His name was, well I don’t actually know his name. I laughed to myself, it’s unimaginable to think that I’ve been tracking my prey learning his every move all week, yet I don’t even know his name.

“Well what’s the difference tonight I have control and it’s going to be brutal.” I said aloud As I started to walk out the door I stopped.

“Oh, I almost forgot to write the letter.” I chuckled

I sat down at the small rectangular kitchen table, only fit for two, and began to write

//Dear Detective Davis,//

//Before I begin I would like to convey a warning to you. It’s in your best interest to never tell anyone about this letter. See some people might consider this letter a conflict of interest, and you know what that would mean. You’d get kicked off your case. By the way this isn’t a threat it’s just reassurance.//

//So Davis now that we got that over with you’re probably sitting in your 1977 Plymouth Fury waiting for it to warm up. I know you love that car it was your father’s, right. Of course I’m right I mean I know you almost as well as you know yourself. Actually I think I know you better then you know yourself, in fact I’m positive of that.//

//Well I presume that your wondering what else I know about you. Well I know that you went to collage for five years and studied Criminal Psychology, and Behaviorism. I also know that you were a cop for two years and you hated it because you weren’t like the rest of the cops on the force. You didn’t take the job to get paid for breaking people’s jaws with a nightstick. You took the job so you could grow and flourish becoming what you are today. You also have a small one bedroom apartment where you spend most of your nights lying in bed staring at the ceiling profoundly reflecting on your life.//

//That’s right Davis I know more about of you then you. Good luck finding me, and don’t worry not everyone solves their first case.//

I folded the letter and addressed it to Jason Davis

“Now it’s time for the real fun to start.” I laughed as I got into my car and drove away


 * Back at the warehouse**
 * Present**

I sat in my car and read the letter that was addressed to me. When I was finished I went back and reread it again. I thought that maybe I was imagining this that I was really back in my apartment asleep in bed. After taking everything in and digesting it like Thanksgiving dinner. I drove back to my apartment hoping to something to prove the existence of this homicidal maniac.

When I reached my apartment I unlocked the door to the building, and began to climb the three flights of steps to get to my apartment. As I fumbled for my keys in the dark hallway I heard someone or something rustling through my room. I released my .38 snub from its constricting shoulder holster, and prepared to open the door. I tightly griped my pistol and put my key into the lock. I slowly unlocked the door; trying to muffle the clicking sounds the lock made.

Apparently my attempt to muffle the sound of the lock failed because when I opened the door I was met by a bone shattering punch. I fell to the ground, landing on my stomach. My .38 snub slid out of my grasp, across the floor, and just under the refrigerator. I rolled to my back trying to see who it was that had sucker punched me. Surprisingly he was a short man about //5'6" to 5'7".// It was hard to tell since I was on the floor, cloudy eyed. He wore all black, including a black ski ask.

He stood at my feet looking down at me. There was confusion in his eyes. I used this confusion to my advantage. I kicked out his legs, and he fell back and hit his head on the wall behind him with a loud thud. I tried to stand up; pushing every physical limitation I ever had to their breaking point. My will was strong, but my body couldn’t handle it. I kept pushing, but it was useless there was no way I was going to be able to stand up. I got to my hands and knees and slowly began to crawl to the refrigerator. I grasped the .38 snub in my hand bringing an all together sense of serenity. The intruder noticed this and scurried over to the fire escape. Gun in hand I braced myself upon the refrigerator and began to standup. Slowly lessening the amount of pressure on the fridge I staggered toward him, gun aimed at his head, and said to him.

“Stop. Turn around, and I won’t blow your brains out all over my room.”

He looked over his shoulder and then continued to pry at the window. I hobbled up behind him and placed the cold steel cylinder of my .38 to the back of his head.

“Stop now. before I paint the walls in your blood.” I commanded

The smell of urine filled the room as the man soiled himself. He spun around tears filled his eyes and he fell to his knees with his face in his hands weeping uncontrollably. I spun the gun on my index finger like a cowboy in an old western movie. Now with the barrel of the gun in my hand I lifted the .38 high into the air and sent the butt of the gun on a straight course for the back of his head.

He fell forward on to the ground in front of my feet I handcuffed him to the radiator, and awaited his return from unconsciousness.