House of the Elementals - Drawing New Lines (2a)

NOTE: Some of this will be out of order. Sometimes I think of part T when I really need to do part C, so sorry about any confusion. With the next update I'll be putting a number next to each title so you can read the story in chronological order (those numbers will probably be edited with more posts, but I'll avoid that as best as I can - thanks for reading).

     It was nearing daybreak. The sky was finally clearing up from the sudden storm and showed the sun tinged in its slumbering shades of amber and orange. The roads were slick with water and sprawled in new potholes, and there was the moist texture of the rain that still clung over the skyscrapers of Chicago.
     News stations had spared no time in raiding Union Station for a story on the attack. The first reports that came in claimed terrorists, and they weren’t far off the mark. Many had been injured and too many killed, giving reporters a field day in startling officials and politicians.
     Detective Raymond Daems read these very “concrete” facts in the paper his people had assembled. He smiled after reading the last sentence. It was good, enough to satisfy and warrant a natural curiosity. Straight to the point too, perfect for the mundane and ready to ship to outlets across the country in a few hours. And like everything before it, it would be stale news and forgotten in a month or so. Raymond nodded to himself, flipping to the next page. He had taken residence at one of the many benches that ran the floor of the station, sitting beneath the atrium where the last rays of the sun permeated.
     It had been stuffy outside after the rain and he had felt the pressure of Aether in the air like dense fog. That muddled sense grew tri-fold once he arrived at the train station. Still avoiding its inducing headache, he filed away its strength for mentioning later in his report. Or maybe he could pass that off to the rookie he'd be partnering with in a few hours. Up until now, there had only been small time crimes from pitiful exiles and students alike. But after today and the incident in Massachusetts the day before, now that reality seemed to be folding back to something more sinister.
     “Detective Daems.” Raymond looked up from the paper into the eyes of a short man with round spectacles, a fully established goatee, and projecting an ironed sternness. “Your free to start.” Raymond nodded, folding the paper down and leaving it on the bench.
     “I’ll take your lead.” The man grunted, turning on his heel and heading at a smooth gait towards the terminal. Raymond took to his own words, gliding his long legs across the broken marble floor. He noticed the man was dressed the part of a debriefer: long sleeved patterned shirt, semi-formal black pants, and a matching tie tucked in properly. His bowl-cut of hair bobbed on the sides as he walked. It seemed a comical but insensitive match next to the strewn bodies, blown open walls and chips of floor splattered like dropped china. People in white uniforms and black gloves went about the wrecked corridors, moving the dead, checking identifications and guiding plain, metal batons through the air.
      Raymond checked his watch, surprised that some of the Prime Sweeps were still cleaning up. He looked up in time to avoid bumping into his guide. The man spun on his heel again and held a hand towards the corridor.
      “Here you are detective,” he said. Raymond took his time with the scene, scanning the holes and upturned architecture. First Response teams would wave the batons over any deceased, make notes, and then move them on stretchers or body bags. All except the one that had been tacked by one of several small, yellow markers.
      “It’s a mess,” Raymond commented casually.
      “That would be an understatement detective,” the man said.
      "Any guesses on the time of the attack?"
      “The Prime Sweeps are definite it happened at midday. Whoever was involved wasn't subtle.
      "How many students?"
      "Traced? At the least two thus far, maybe three. Most where bystanders from what we've measured.”
      "Two with this much damage huh?" Raymond noted the mostly demolished raw-earthen walls and beams puncturing the expanse of hallway.
      "You were hoping for Faction-heads?"
      "Well, it'd let me avoid a slow going." Raymond said, pulling on his own pair of gloves. The debriefer gave a quizzical frown, his hair bobbing slightly with the expression.
      "Your starting now?" Raymond answered with an exaggerated snap of a glove over his hand.
      "Just take the time to sit and look pretty for a bit old fellow.” The debriefer seemed to inflate with sternness, and released it in a smile that played along.
      "At your leisure detective."
      Raymond went over to the marker numbered 1, kneeling down towards several pairs of scorch marks that marched down the hallway and disappeared down an adjacent corridor. They were spread out, but patterned, and occasionally an odd breaking in the floor would mark after them. He held his fingers lightly over the scorches, pursing his lips. He noticed blood stained on the floor, most of it leading towards the solely marked body. Just past it, smatterings of red drops followed the scorches down the hall.
      Though far from losing curiosity, Raymond went to the body first. The man lay on his side, his face disturbing with his mouth agape and his eyes wide. His glasses were cracked. His arms looked reddened from blistering. A pool of blood had dried around him and left a sinister impression. His limbs looked contorted, and the bit of bone punching through his brown skin confirmed that.
      Raymond shifted the body over so he lay face upward. The wounds pierced viscously through his singed clothes. Some flesh was torn outside the body. He noted the fatal wound and the pattern of the holes. Digging in the man’s clothing, he found his wallet. His ID read: Mannie A. Morris.
     "And married, eh Mannie. What else friend - Manifesto," he whispered to the card and soon in the small white space on the card, a small picture of a tree with a red bar through it was revealed. Raymond smirked, slipping the card and wallet back into the man's pocket.
     "What a shame. I’ll take a guess at the Earth House." He directed the last to the debriefer who lent him another no-nonsense look before answering.
     "Yes, but were not to sure on his killer. He was dead on site, and there was too much distortion from the Aether."
     "Noted on the latter. Looked like someone took a blade to him."
     "Likely, but they're not clean cuts. Someone from the House of Fire tried to do him in the smart way.”
     "But ended up going medieval. Takes some kind of prejudice to do that."
     "The Faction kind?"
     "We don't know the context of the fight," Raymond answered, shrugging shamelessly at the suggestion. “Anything could have prompted such a bizarre assault.” Then a change came over his face, a sincere crack in his persona. "More so, its those scorch marks that are holding back this case. And the lack of clean cuts now that you say it."
     “Perhaps it’s a symbol, a mark for a new faction,” the debriefer suggested. “The sadistic and 'roaches make up a fair portion of them after all.” Although he didn't seem so sure with the statement seeing Raymond's face change.
     "That would be welcome. But," he looked down the hall where the scorches continued. "They were almost like footprints.” He sighed. “Between this and that attack in Massachusetts yesterday ...”
    “Don’t try to connect them detective.” Raymond, still wondering about the evidence, was startled by the debriefer. “Wise words to remind you from the top.”
    “Falgost still thinking I’m still green?”
    “It may have to do with your tendency to blow things beyond their scope,” the debriefer explained with slightly less disdain. Raymond suppressed a rise of anger that nearly flare in his eyes. Instead, he yielded a eerie smirk and turned back to the hall.
     "Well old fellow, still lots more to see isn't there? Where are they housing the survivors?"
     "Jefferson Hospital."
     "Good. I’ll interview them personally. It'll be our only chance to close this quickly."
     "By personally, you mean with Jim Sivins?" Raymond sighed again, with flaring annoyance.
     "Yeah ..."