The Tainted Badge

The midday sun, a relentless eye in the vast, empty sky, glared down upon the scene, baking the cracked asphalt and amplifying the metallic tang of blood that hung heavy in the air. Miller's body lay sprawled on the ground, a grotesque sculpture of shattered limbs and broken purpose. The impact from the fall had created a dark, viscous pool that spread like a morbid ink stain across the parched earth, a stark contrast to the bleached concrete.

The air, thick with the coppery scent of death, mingled with the acrid fumes of exhaust from the nearby street, a grim cocktail of urban decay. The abandoned building, a hollow shell of its former self, stood sentinel over the scene, its broken windows like vacant, accusing eyes.

As Sam and Liam made their way down the building, the silence within its crumbling walls was a stark contrast to the clamour erupting from the street. The screams that had pierced the air were not born of the building's emptiness, but of the collective horror that gripped the onlookers below.

A wave of shocked gasps, a chorus of hushed whispers, rippled through the crowd, a chilling symphony of disbelief. Some turned away, their faces ashen, their stomachs churning, unable to bear the gruesome spectacle. Others, drawn by a morbid fascination, pressed closer, their eyes wide and haunted, their whispers a low, unsettling tone.

Liam stood near the building's entrance, his gaze fixed on Miller's broken form. A wave of nausea washed over him, the image of Miller's desperate plea echoing in his mind.

"It's too late… They're always watching."

The words, a chilling prophecy, now rang with the finality of death. Sam stood beside him, his face pale, his eyes narrowed, a silent rage simmering beneath his composed exterior. The arrival of the police was a chaotic intrusion, a flurry of blue lights and shouted commands.

Sirens wailed, their piercing cry slicing through the air, a mournful lament for a life lost. Uniformed officers swarmed the scene, their movements sharp and efficient, their faces grim. Yellow tape was strung up, cordoning off the area, creating a stark barrier between the living and the dead.

Liam and Sam were quickly separated, each taken aside for questioning. The officers' eyes, cold and scrutinizing, bore into them, their expressions tight with suspicion.

"How could we possibly explain this?" Liam thought, his mind racing. "The shadow, the cult, the thresholds… They'd think we were insane."

Their attempts to articulate the bizarre circumstances surrounding Miller's death were met with raised eyebrows and skeptical glances. The officers' questions were sharp, their tone accusatory.

The forensics team arrived, their movements methodical and detached, their faces impassive. They meticulously photographed the scene, collected samples, and examined Miller's body, their every action precise and clinical. The sun beat down relentlessly, intensifying the heat and the stench, a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired.

After what seemed like an eternity, Liam and Sam were escorted to the police station. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air heavy with unspoken accusations. The officers' eyes, lingering on them with suspicion, made it clear they were viewed as potential suspects.

"So, you both spoke like madmen," the Deputy Chief of the police station said. "Feigning ignorance will get you nowhere. Why don't you spill the truth right now, before you end up being detained?"

Liam protested, saying how they've been truthful since the start.

Sam gave out a rather audible sigh. All glances were focused on him, then he took out the sound recording device he used to record the interrogation with Miller.

He pressed the play button, and everyone listened intently. But the Deputy Chief still wouldn't believe them to be innocent.

"The forensic department already sent reports. It stated how he had an injury to the head caused not from his fall.

Traces of blood were seen inside the abandoned building, and it's already confirmed to be his," he said, and continued, "There were signs of struggle, and bruises from being tied up on his wrists. How do we make sure that he said those words in the voice record without being forced by you two? You could have forced him to do it for all we know."

Liam was becoming awfully frustrated. The evidence was already served to them on the platter, what more could they feed?

As the afternoon light began to wane, a figure entered the station, her face pale and drawn, her eyes red and swollen. It was Miller's wife, escorted by a sympathetic officer. The weight of grief radiated from her, her every movement a testament to her profound loss.

She approached Liam and Sam, her gaze steady, though her voice trembled. "He left a note," she said, her hand clutching a folded piece of paper. "He said… if anything happened to him, I should show this."

The room fell silent as she unfolded the note. Miller's handwriting, shaky and uneven, filled the page. He wrote of a consuming fear, a darkness that had infiltrated his life, twisting his perceptions and corrupting his soul. He confessed to the things he had done, the discord he had sown, and begged his wife's forgiveness.

He wrote of an evil beyond human comprehension, a force that was pulling him into the abyss. "If I die," he wrote, "it will be because of them. They are the evil. I love you."

A collective gasp filled the room. The officers exchanged stunned glances, their skepticism momentarily shattered. Miller's words, a desperate cry from beyond the grave, hung in the air, casting a chilling pall over the room.

His wife looked at them, her eyes filled with a mixture of grief and confusion. "He was a good man," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "but he was afraid. He was not himself."

Liam and Sam were finally cleared to leave. As they walked towards the exit, a young officer approached, holding a clear plastic bag. He placed it on a nearby desk. Liam paused, his gaze drawn to the object. "Wait," he said, his voice sharp. He peered closer. "That's my phone!"

"Is it?" the officer asked, surprised. "We found it outside the entrance. I was about to log it."

"Yes, it's mine!" Liam exclaimed, his heart pounding. "Where exactly did you find it? Who brought it in?"

"Just outside the main doors," the officer replied, his brow furrowed. "No one saw who left it. We were going to look at the security camera footage."

Liam's fingers trembled as he snatched up the bag, examining the phone. Tucked behind it was a slip of paper with a series of numbers. "Can we see the CCTV footage?" Liam asked, his voice urgent. "We need to know who brought this here."

The officer nodded, leading them towards the security room. They watched as the footage was pulled up, the grainy images revealing a figure dropping the phone and quickly disappearing into the crowd. The figure was too blurry to be identified.

Liam stared at the numbers on the paper, a sense of dread creeping into his heart."What about your phone?" Sam asked.

"Dead. It must have been drained of battery," Liam replied, "Or at least that's what I hope it is."

"We'll have to charge it then. Let's go home." Sam suggested, and they went out of the police station. "Will you be going back to your apartment, or continue to stay at my place?"

"I can't go back to my apartment yet." Liam replied, his voice clearly showing his unease that wouldn't die down. "Maybe I'll stay at a Hot-"

"My place it is then," Sam interrupted.

They walked under the lights of the street lamps, fallen dry leaves rustling as they crumbled under their footsteps.

It was getting rather late.

Sam stretched his arms and looked up at the sky, suddenly realising something. "Liam!" he called out.

"What is it Sam?"

"There are CCTVs here! We can check them for the footage of this evening. We might be able to find out more about the one who dropped off your phone!" Sam said enthusiastically.

"That's great!" Liam replied. "Will you be hacking them?" he asked.

Sam gave out an awkward chuckle and said, "No, I'll just contact the authorities here and ask them for the tapes. I can't be doing something that illegal when the cops are barely letting us go. I'm sure they're keeping tabs on us, wanting to make sure that we're really not involved with Miller's death. I mean, we are but..."

"I understand what you mean," Liam replied, "You're right. We need to be careful. Also, if Miller could be involved, so could any of those cops back there."

Sam gave an understanding nod, and they went home towards his house.

Back at his place, Sam made them both dinner, and they ate while Liam's phone was charging.

The grotesque scene of Miller's body would have made them unable to eat back when they were just amateurs. But time and the cruel world had changed them to become far from what they used to be.