What Evil my Child has Wrought

Chief of police, Ronald Missions, stepped from the passenger seat of the sleek, black cop car, hand reflexively resting on the butt of his department-issued pistol. He surveyed the scene for a moment, taking in a few deep breaths. He was a bit more out of shape than he’d like to admit.

Two other cop cars, a K-9 unit truck, and a CCBI vehicle sat in the parking lot of the small put-put golf course. A dog barked somewhere. As he walked across the parking lot towards the small course’s front officer, officers nodded to him. He nodded back.

A rush of warm air hit him as he pried open the front door, followed by a slightly musty smell. One of the officers noticed his grimace. “Sorry sir. No working air.” Missions just nodded. He approached another officer who was busy barking orders to scared-looking employees.

“Report.”

“Oh, sir, I didn’t see…Yes sir. A body was discovered about an hour ago, in the pump house. Its cold, and rigor mortis has already set in, so it’s been there for a few hours. An employee, the girl in the pink sweater, found it.”

“Take me to it.”

“Yes sir.”

The officer led him through the small building to a back door, down a breeze way, to a ragged-looking shed. The doors were open and several officers and CCBI employees were standing around the doorway, chatting. Missions spotted a familiar face standing just outside of the crowd, speaking quietly to an individual that he didn’t recognize in a CCBI uniform.

"Well, Inspectoooor," Missions slurred at the private detective as he approached, exaggerating his dislike for the man. Sebastian Collins, a spindly, pale man, clutched his clip board tightly. He was more fearful then upset. Missions was nearly six feet, all muscle to his 5 foot frame of desk jockey. Missions was also known to drink at crime scenes. The silver flask tucked into the chief’s waistband proved that a mini golf course was, apparently, no exception to this.

"Well...two teenagers...they, well...they found a body sir, and-"

"I knooow that, Inspector. That’s why I'm here. I want to know why it’s here and why it's dead." Missions roared, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"W-well...,” Collins stuttered, “There's a compound fracture of the skull, subsequent blood loss, and one eye is still missing. There’s...there’s a broken golf club in one of the p-ponds, one of your...men, is trying to fish it out. The body hasn't been identified, and no possible motive has been discerned." Missions rolled his eyes. Sebastian swallowed fearfully and continued. "Sir, there is one thing...a...a mark-"

"What do you mean, Collins? People get cuts and scrapes all the time. What’s so special this time?!" Missions cut in, thoroughly agitated. He had a big dinner tonight with several bosses’ bosses, and this was already going to make him late. Collins nearly began to shake with apprehension and fear.

"On the back if his neck. It's an X, sir. With the horizontal slash. Just like…T-this may be a copycat, but I think…he’s back.”

Missions stared at him, his face turning purple. "No. Not this again, Collins. We're not doing this. He's not back, he's dead. End of it. Reggie was executed by the state.” He’d stood there, at the execution himself. A sob tore at his throat, but he forced the thoughts away and continued laying into his college. “This is a sick joke and nothing more." Collins opened his mouth to remind the chief that there was no actual proof for the last part of his statement, but he was cut off by one of the officers examining the body.

"Sir! You need to see this!" His voice was equal parts terrified and disgusted. Missions huffed loudly, but lumbered over to his officer.

“What is it? It better be important, to interrupt the Inspector and I like that.”

The officer, Jaspers, simply pointed at a mark on the dead man's neck, below the large X. Missions studied it a moment, then recoiled, the red of his irritation draining from his face. He stood, bent forward, completely silent. Collins, noticing the strange silence of the chief, hesitantly took a step to stand beside him.

"Diggy?" Collins said, having read over the chief's shoulder. "What does it mean?"

Missions stuttered, his eyes showing horror for this first time in nearly two years. The first time sense the state ordered execution. "Diggy." Missions mumbled. "It’s...it was Dillion's nickname when he was three. But his mother and I were the only ones that ever used it..." He stepped back, bracing himself on the wall of the shed.

"But what does that..."

Missions looked Collins in the eye, utter helplessness etched into his face. Sebastian went white at the sight of him.

"Dillion was Reggie's younger brother."