Secrets That We Keep

Frank was never a person who could leave things left unsaid. Everything had to have an answer and he spent years and years of his life tearing himself up in his search for answers. Sometimes he thinks that was what caused his depression when he was younger.
When his mother had an affair, he spent so long shutting himself off from everyone because he couldn’t grasp on to the fact that there simply was not a reason. Did she not love him? Did she not want to be a family anymore? The answer was none of those things, simply because it was not there. Maybe that’s why he became an agent for the FBI.
People always laughed when he told them that, and although he never understood why, he learned to just shrug it off and laugh with them. It wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, really. And I’m sure that’s a pretty predictable thing to say but in all honesty, it was more paperwork than it was worth. He loved it regardless and wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Frank was happy living his life alone. He had little time to himself at home due to the fact that his job was just so demanding. He felt he didn’t have the time for a partner, so never tried, not really knowing what he was missing out on. In his own way, he felt content with it and felt little need to look for a partner.
He let out a long sigh, sat at his office on the thirteenth floor in New York. His head in his hands and papers stacked high. God, he just wanted something to do. Y’know? Something to really sink his teeth into and lose himself in. There had been little going on in terms of major crime at the moment so there was really nothing for Frank to do except file paperwork for issues that were solved; the greatest bore of all.

Late Wednesday night, Frank’s boss, Brian came over his desk and planted himself in the seat opposite Frank and sighed.
“Look, Frank.” He said. “There was a murder down in Jersey a week back. It didn’t seem anything special at the time and we kinda just assumed it to be a mob deal, but it’s not looking that way. Another body was found last night and long story short; we’ve got no one else to work the case. You grew up pretty close to where the bodies were found and you’ve had no cases for weeks now. So we figured you were the best man for the job. You up for it?”
“I don’t really have a choice in the matter, do I?” He groaned, dropping his pen on the desk to rub his temples.
“I wanted to let you do it willingly, but no I’m afraid. We need you down there.”
“Fine.” Frank said through gritted teeth.
“I’ll send you over the paperwork tonight.” And with that, Brian was off down the hall probably changing the plans of another poor, unwilling sod.

A murder case? They were Frank’s specialty, but he’d been doing less and less of them as they were bad for his health. Frank had been known to put his life on the line for a case, even when the circumstances were definitely not heroic.
He’d never seen himself as a hero. Surely, being a hero means going out of your way to save people’s lives, or change people’s lives for the better. The people Frank worked with? Well, they were already dead. It was Frank’s job to find who did it, which is not all that easy y’know? You’d be surprised at how many cases go unsolved. He tries not to think about it when at all possible.

Once home to his shabby apartment, Frank picks up the package Brian sent him and places it on the kitchen table before walking to the other side of the room to make himself a sorely needed cup of coffee.
He needed to unwind before opening what was going to be his next project. He knew the pictures would be the worst; the pictures were always the worst.
He sits down at the kitchen table and takes a long sip of his coffee, releasing a deep sigh as he lets it run through him.
He picks up the package and begins opening the brown envelope stuffed full with papers, sets them on the table and begins to flick through them. Both bodies were found in Essex County, New Jersey, approximately eight miles away from each other, and both found around a week apart. Okay, so we could be looking at a potential serial killer. Both victims were young men, about early twenties, currently with no known links to each other.

Then, Frank comes to the photographs. The first is of a naked body splayed out under a tree, his arms tied above him, securing him to the tree. His mouth is gagged with what appears to be a bunch of roses and his ribs have been pulled out to form what Frank would believe to be wings. Okay… This is already not like anything he’s seen.
Written above the body in blood are the words, “Hate comes from fear.” But what strikes Frank is the lack of blood on, and around the body, leading him to believe that this was not the scene of the murder however, that the body was cleaned, taken to the forest and presented in a way the killer saw fit.

That was the thing with newcoming serial killers. They all thought they were Banksy or some shit and were passing on a ‘message’. They fool themselves into the belief that they are geniuses and can never be outsmarted, all while presenting people their ‘work’, when really they’ve just fooled themselves into a blind sense of arrogance. Most of them get caught, but the real funny thing is that they all seem so surprised when they finally do.

Frank then moves on to the second picture, which peaks Frank’s interest quickly as it’s so vastly different from the first body. This one is tied up, hanging by its neck from a ceiling fan in an abandoned apartment.
The entire room is empty, everything is white. The body hangs limply from the ceiling, dressed in a traditional black and white suit. Underneath him is an open briefcase with pictures of young children pinned to the inside. Next to the briefcase was a stethoscope, a hospital ID and a folded up set of scrubs. The man was a surgeon…
What was behind the man was what really excited Frank. Written, again in blood, on the wall behind the man were the words, “He destroyed their lives, so I took his. Could you tell me he deserved it?”

Okay. So this person was gonna be one of the ones that thought they had an important message, or were making art and all that bullshit. In all fairness, those guys were always Frank’s favourites. They kept him on his toes; constantly trying to out-do themselves each time and every time giving Frank something new and exciting to unravel. It always came crashing to an end though, leaving Frank feeling lost and confused once again, just to pick up another case and move on with his life.

He almost always went to the funerals of the victims. He paid his respects and gave his condolences to the families; promising to find out who did this to their loved ones and give them the justice they deserved.
The children were always the hardest. He always let himself go when it came to children and the bastards who did it to them were truly the ones that made Frank’s blood run cold and boil with fury at the same time. Those are the ones he ensured were caught, and ruined.

He picks himself up from the kitchen table, puts his now empty mug into the sink before walking into the hallway where he shrugs off his jacket, and toes off both of his shoes. He carries himself to bed witha sense of both dread and anticipation for what he was going to find when he got to Jersey, and within moments, he was in bed and asleep, entirely gone from the world that showed him no kindness.

Notes

Hey beans! So this is obviously the first chapter of my new story which I've got so many plans for. I hope you enjoy it as much as I already enjoy writing and there'll be more of it soon to come!
Comments are sexy ;) and as usual, I really feed off your opinions so those are greatly appreciated, both constructive criticism and ideas!

Songs While Writing:
Wrong Side Of Heaven- Five Finger Death Punch
Run To The Hills- Iron Maiden
Early Sunsets Over Monroeville- My Chemical Romance
Blurry- Puddle Of Mudd
The Celestials- The Smashing Pumpkins