Artemis slaps change in the face when he returns to the beautiful monotony of his office. It was quite a large room, with a desk full of trinkets and documents accompanied by a rather comfortable, caramel, leather chair. He earned this from his status, solving many cases and chipping in advice that helped longterm. Meeting up with the detective and pathologist was simple so far, they gathered at his desk with photos and evidence, discussing ideas then exploring new cases or talking to whoever they could to bring them closer to finding out his true identity.

  Yet Artmis still felt so helpless, begging on his bloodied, bruised knees with his palms a plum purple. It was pathetic. Still as a statue, he stood by his desk, leaning on it ever so gently (unprofessionally might he add) as his mind began to wander to more coherent thoughts.

  That, however, would be wishful thinking. His mind travelled miles over endless deserts, sharp mountains and desolate rivers to always end up swimming with the oh-so-familiar stream, a stream which never let him get a peaceful night's rest. How, or more importantly who, would be able to slip a note into Artemis' pocket without so much of an eerie feel creeping its way up his back? He wasn't na?ve, he knew well that London was a tight, compact city with a dense population of busy people. What baffled him was the prospect that someone bumped into him, and he paid no mind.

  Artemis wasn't moronic either, and even though he loathed this certain common occurrence, he knew it wasn't strange to find people pickpocketing, brushing up against you, or worst of all, feeling their eyes trail up your body as you get enveloped in the sweet embrace of embarrassment. Then, of course, feeling that familiar itch accompanying it. Nevertheless, his agitation glowed as his frustration gnawed on him with blunt teeth; it introduced a dull ache to his mind.

  Freezing at the sound of footsteps, that oak (stained a great mahogany colour) door trembled with agitation as someone slowly opened it, giving Artemis time to tense and ball his fists up, knuckles pure alabaster. It was then that the offenders revealed themselves to just be his two coworkers, Juliette and Zahra. Both seemed much happier than the day prior which helped smooth a growing wrinkle on Artemis' brow.

  "I am glad to see you two so positive for a change, shall we get to discussing the new evidence?" Both women looked at him dumbfounded -and surprisingly startled- as he tried to smile, eyes wide with no crinkle or shine to them. It was as if he didn't try to fake how fabricated his emotions were at a time of such distress and anarchy.

  "What the hell are you still doing here?" Zahra was first to speak, her normally syrupy, thick voice was powerful and incredibly loud. That was when Artemis silently relished in his soundproof office. Nothing got in or out.

  "We do have a case to solve, besides the fact I have already taken a break yesterday which I was less than pleased with," he eyed up Juliette who gave a sly smile.

  "You are potentially the next victim of this psychopath and come into work like nothing happened?" Zahra almost yelled at him uselessly. Apparently, everything went in and out of Artemis' ears when he had a sudden flush of curiosity (and frankly vanity) circle around him. He returned a coy smile.

  "This killer so far hasn't been seen to have a particular pattern nowadays, he may not even be the individual we are looking for if we account for the possibility of a copycat, I do not believe I am on his list of victims. Although, I do have to agree I should not dispel the possibility," he clarified slowly with confidence, voice open and profound in a way that made him live up to his Mount Everest high expectations.

  "That-," Juliette sighed, "Doesn't matter anyways because you are not working today."

  Artemis whipped his head around, "Excuse me?"

  "Boss said you are in too much danger, not to mention shock, so he decided to let you have at least one more day of true rest," he opened his mouth to argue, and Juliette was quick to shut him up, placing a slender finger on his lips.

  "This means no leaving the house, no contacting to get updates and no thinking about him."

  As Juliette finished, her words echoed in the mind of the two detectives, both tight-lipped with Zahra only growing a smile accompanied by a rosey blush.

  Artemis could only bite his tongue and swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth in defeat.

  "Shall I inform you two what did happen that night he taunted us with this godforsaken note? Then I promise you, ladies, I shall retreat to take this so-called 'necessary' break," He childishly rolled his eyes as the women nodded in agreement, Juliette had a smug look which hugged her milky skin. With that, Artemis' conceit had been wiped with a single stroke.

  "As far as I can remember, I decided to take a walk around the city since rotting at home felt like such an obtuse idea,” he let out an exasperated huff of restlessness, “Continuing, I must've bumped into this notorious serial killer either before or after I decided to visit a little flower shop around the corner," he explicated, incredibly bored-knowing his fate would be doing the exact thing he was avoiding that night.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  Zahra listened intently, whilst Juliette's blood was boiling in acknowledgement; Artemis hadn't been able to follow the simplest of instructions to stay home. She could only imagine how insufferable he would be in a lockdown. Nevertheless, they both tuned in to his rambling like a good soundtrack, Artemis getting bitterer and sorer. Face flushing, eyes dashing, he was a sight to behold, so dishevelled as the two women stared in awe at the man who was so detached from the concept of 'normal' emotions.

  “Artemis,” Juliette spoke up sternly, interrupting his rant.

  “What is it now?“ He bit back, and immediately his face scrunched up as he stuttered a small apology.

  She didn't let him finish, “Go home.“

  Completely defeated at this point, it seemed he had no choice but to return to the safety of his apartment, only showing the two where his files were on the incident, shuffling a coat on and taking his absence. A sigh of relief could be heard as he ushered away, rage enveloping again at the sound of that putrid breath, his ego shrank. He felt as if he had his tail tucked between his legs.

  ~???~

  That evening had been uneventful for the detective, with no cases to fill the growing hunger that eroded his skin. Impatiently, he trudged around his apartment with no aim or reason, something that filled him with such disgust he began to mew as if injured. For a known and respected Detective, he seemed to -for once- break the play he performed of maturity and act his age. The world froze as he continued to work, posh accents and fancy colognes, combed back hair, generously gelled, of course, partnered with his modest clothing; he never informed people of his age.

  Call it passion, privacy, protection but the only person who would ever know would be himself. If-and only if- he knew the answer.

  This particular evening was different.

  His hair wasn't gelled remotely, rather slicked gently with the sweat that adorned his visage, that professional uniform abandoned as he undid his collar, loosened his tie and untucked his shirt from the trousers that were held together with a half-unclipped belt. Musk, desperation and vulnerability replaced his usual vanilla soft yet deep aroma that pleased his presence. Carving into his own skin was the itch of human curiosity. Or was it obsession? Love? Passion? More questions he couldn't find answers to. Yet he was so keen on living a paradise consecrated with ignorant bliss. Another case of obliviousness for the sole purpose of comfort- how refreshing!

  Opening a bottle of wine; a fancy cabernet sauvignon that he had once kept to enjoy with company. A thick, growing sense of irony flowed through him- smiling. Knowing he was going to waste it on such a witless occasion. Pouring it desperately into the glass, that pooling red filled him with so much ecstasy, so much so that he was apprehensive about thinking such a thought.

  He had finally slumped down upon his sofa, his spine relaxed after what seemed like an eternity of elegant posture. Turning on a random program he wouldn't care about, he kept sipping that wine to feel some sort of warmth as it oozed down his throat.

  ~???~

  “I will need you to look out for Nektarios, I couldn't tell you the last time he took a holiday; don't get me started on overtime,” Cheif stood in Artemis' office, a familiar and welcoming sense of deja vu washed over him as he remembered giving Artemis such a grand gesture of appreciation with only a couple years of experience. It was one of the rare times Artemis let his guard down and showed his growing excitement. Like giving a dog a bone.

  “Yes sir, I agree wholeheartedly,” Juliette spoke first with not a drip of malice or annoyance.

  “His behaviour has been concerning us, he had never acted in such a way when I first worked with him,” Zahra thought out loud.

  Chief had only nodded, leaving the room with the knowledge that there was no DNA other than Artemis' own on the note, there had been another murder they were about to go to, and of course, reminder of Artemis' (and frankly his own) questionable sanity.

  ~???~

  He was alone. Half full glass of wine sat in front of him, taunting him. Or was it half empty?

  Why should he be forced into house arrest when there were cases to solve, clues to find and lives to save? It was all a great big joke to them. I mean, God forbid he tried his best to truly break down and digest how such a horrible person could torture these people with such ease, only to get away with no trace. Not even a measly fingerprint.

  He hated it.

  He detested him.

  Grabbing his coat, he decided to make an awful, selfishly selfless decision.

  ~???~

  “Hey, Jules, are you sure you want to come with? I understand you were put on temporary leave with autopsies?“ Zahra tried to lace professionalism over her very clear worry about her work partner- throwing a quick nickname to calm someone's nerves. She couldn't tell whose at this point.

  “I'll be fine, analysing the body will help with the investigation anyways, there will be others helping nevertheless,” her voice smooth as honey was sweet and nurturing; Zahra could only smile back and nod.

  It was yet again a gory sight when they got out of the car and into the warehouse where the victim had been allegedly murdered. Evidently- the poet didn't hold back.

  He was a man, well, used to be. His body was horribly disfigured into what looked like a demon. The flies flying around it would make Beelzebub proud- a creature only present in Dante's divine comedy. If only this was a comedy. Nose bleeding, eyes gouged out and the holes left behind pooled with murky, ebony blood which had coagulated due to the chill of the warehouse. The skin of his back had been peeled, his ribs carefully taken out, snapped and sewed into the delicate flesh, then spread out into an incredible set of wings, the weight of them carried by the strings which had been attached to the failing ceiling.

  Jaw dislocated, it was opened wide for all to see the empty vessel. It lacked a tongue. His arms had been hacked off, only for them to be placed on either side of him, palms upwards with his doughy, placid eyes forced to lay upon the sweaty skin. He was on his knees.

  Praying? Announcing? Informing? It couldn't be said.

  Juliette's eyes hardened, she took a couple of pictures with no comment. There wasn't much to say. That mouth was drowning, she could feel the hot breath of someone who was once alive to tell a sermon. He wasn't a priest.

  Those same eyes which glowed upon specific individuals, the lips which curled with glee when certain phrases passed through those thin ears. Those arms stroked animals gently, clapped triumphantly, caressed with care and worked with honour. They all settled, flaccid in front of her very eyes. Her sapphire, ultramarine, luminous eyes which could see. Stormy, ink-filled, bloodshot optics which will forever have only saw.

  Clicking herself out of that fatal mentality, she stepped towards her colleague, nodding breathlessly- entering a glacial car. Zahra could only gag at the implication- she was next to assess.

  That was until a familiar display of events presented itself like a preplanned storyboard. How laughable- saved by the red-blue siren.

  “We found Artemis,” her blood simmered.

  “Dead?“

  “Worse.“

  Nothing had to be said- the poet had already lobbed off all of their tongues.

  Guess Artemis really is moronic.