Chapter Text
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumthump--
If C.C. Tinsley could breathe, he did not know it. The heaving of oxygen from his lungs was heavy compared to the gasps of air he barely took in, his heart thumping so hard in his chest that he felt it might pop out. Disorientation was uncommon for him; he had been a detective too long to be scared of the scene of the crime or the criminal in question. However, running was instinctual at the sight of what had happened, despite how he wished he had handled things differently.
How was he to stand still with Ricky Goldsworth in front of him, covered in blood?
Tinsley only stopped when his legs began to tremble with exhaustion, indicating that he could not make it any further without keeling down onto his knees. He turned a sharp corner and pressed his back to the chilly, crumbling brick building that stood comfortingly behind him. The fact that he was running was doubly useless to him, seeing as nobody was chasing him, but he had no mind to question it.
Not even for a second.
Ricky had trained with him; he had been certified as an investigator on the same day as him, assumedly becoming his partner in justice from that moment onwards. Hell, Tinsley had thought they would be inseparable from the very moment they became close friends. There was no thought that Ricky would only last in law enforcement for months before going rogue out of nowhere, and even less thought that he would end up like this--soaked in red, a knife in his hand and a grin on his face. Like he enjoyed it. Like he craved it. Like he--
Tinsley forced himself to stop thinking about it; his mind was running wild. He tried to replace his intrusive thoughts with white noise, hoping that it would silence the confusion and erase what he had witnessed, but this only made things worse. Sweat dripped down his forehead, a sticky and hot film casting over it just as he lifted his hands and attempted to slick it away with the pads of his fingers. Jesus Christ, this was not good. This was not good at all.
Paranoia was, naturally, beginning to sink into Tinsley’s system and control his body functions. He felt skittish, eyes bouncing all around to make sure that he was alone, ears hypersensitive with the hope that no footsteps would approach his location. Had Ricky even caught glimpse of him, or had Tinsley imagined it as he had froze in place near the scene? Was Ricky following him, sniffing him out? Was he ready to take him out next?
“ Fuck .” The curse was grumbled under Tinsley’s breath. He had to get out of there, away from the scene and safe in a place where he could get a hold of himself. A few seconds passed, and then a few more, before he felt enough of a rush of confidence to peek out from his hiding place.
He seemed to be alone.
When he was sure that he was steady enough, he took off for some place safer.
*
The scene of a crime used to be so horrifying.
Then again, was it ever really? Ricky could not recall the last time he was appalled by blood or by dismembered bodies staring back at him, lifeless. He truthfully could not think of a time where he did not feel sick at the sight of a murder. Perhaps things were better for him this way.
The reason why Ricky passed through school and became a detective in the first place was incredibly simple: he could never be a proper criminal without knowing how to get away with it, could he? Becoming close to C.C. Tinsley was entirely circumstantial, albeit enjoyable at times. It was almost fun to see Tinsley completely unaware of Ricky’s motive, laughing with him while ignorant of the fact that he was going to be betrayed when the race was run. Tinsley was an alright guy, but this was just the luck of the draw; somebody was bound to get attached, Ricky assumed, and who better than the top of their class?
Who better than the intelligent C.C. Tinsley?
The man had been intelligent enough to run away from the crime scene when he had. He thought that he was not seen, but Ricky was not naive enough to leave his surroundings unnoticed. Being caught in the act was not exactly planned nor was it convenient, but Ricky knew better than to think Tinsley would run the murders to law enforcement’s attention; Tinsley would not immediately rat him out for a number of reasons, one of them being that he still held sentimentality for him despite being undoubtedly confused.
He had some time to clean up and come up with a course of action before his former friend could get him in the doghouse.
Alone with the company of the dead, Ricky found himself in a quiet fit of laughter as he tightened his grip around the knife in his palm. He took the bottom hem of his shirt and wrapped it around the blade, cleaning it with one quick swipe.
Without any more hesitation, he left the scene without a trace.
*
A week had passed.
Seven straight days had dragged onward since Tinsley had seen something he would rather not have. He had only slept four out of those seven, spending his time at his desk connecting dots and putting together a malicious jigsaw puzzle. The fact that he had not alerted somebody else about what he saw had a little less to do with feeling betrayed and a bit more to do with putting things together in isolation. A lot of things were beginning to make sense that had not shone through before.
There had been six murders in the past two weeks that had been baffling the justice system. There was no individual evidence at the scenes, and each murder had been at different locations: a bridge, a home, an alleyway, a high school football field, a back road, and behind an abandoned apartment building. None of these murders had any sort of eyewitness, and Tinsley had felt like he was at a dead end until he had found Ricky at the scene of the seventh murder.
Ricky had an unforeseeable pattern on purpose to ward off the connection between each death.
In reality, without finding out who was behind the killings, this would have worked if the murders had not been so close together on the timeline. Tinsley felt uncomfortably awed.
KNOCK. KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.
The thumps on his apartment door made Tinsley nearly jump out of his skin. His eyes ripped away from the desk of evidence, photos and reports scattered, unorganized. Was this somebody checking to see why he had not shown up at work for the past week? As Tinsley glanced towards the clock, he realized that this was highly unlikely at two in the morning. His stomach sank into the lowest pits of his body as he mustered up some confidence and stood up. He pushed his chair in and headed for the door, his socked feet taking silent steps.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
The knocks were incessant. Tinsley flicked the locks and twisted his doorknob, opening the apartment door to reveal Ricky Goldsworth at his finest, five foot ten and, this time, clean of all blood.
The wind left Tinsley’s system.
“C.C. Tinsley!” Ricky announced, no mind for how loud his voice was for the time of night. “Old buddy, old pal. Bring it in?” He opened up his arms and gestured for a hug, but took no time moving inward and hugging Tinsley without waiting for his response. He gave his back a couple of pats. “I wanted to check up, see how the, uh--crime investigation?--how that’s going. You were always so fit for it.”
Tinsley was as calm as he could be, though this was not saying much. He returned the hug with an understandable amount of haste. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he responded, “Yeah, it’s going.” Acting natural was key to making himself seem normal in this situation, but he had the awful gut feeling that this was not a leisurely visit.
Ricky knew something about what Tinsley knew.
Tinsley pulled away from the hug when he began to feel more unsettled and Ricky followed suit. He continued, “What’ve you been up to, Ricky? Your ass dropped off the face of the Earth until just now, so.” A forced laugh came out from deep within his system.
Inviting himself in, Ricky shrugged, brushing past Tinsley and taking a look around the disorganized apartment. The Playstation was paused on the television, a coffee pot brewing on the table next to it. The coffee table and the desk had papers, photos, and folders scattered across them, and it caught Ricky’s interest. Instead of commenting on those, however, he responded, “Guess I did, C. I’m a busy man. And, you know, honestly?” He raised his brows, turning to look at Tinsley again. “I got a little tired of the law charades after a while--kinda got repetitive, right? Criminals have no style anymore.”
“Sure don’t.” Tinsley closed the door with a muted click. He watched Ricky with a dead stare, making sure that he did not get any closer to the evidence pile than he already had. In doing this, he walked over and got in between Ricky and that section of the room, trying not to cause alarm as he did so. “You should have texted or something. I went past your apartment a few times in the past few months and it looks kinda abandoned. You move or something?”
Ricky let out an unwarranted laugh. “Not exactly,” he answered. “I mean, I’ve been bunking with some friends, but I stop by the apartment sometimes. Just to grab a thing or two.” With a small wink, Ricky flashed Tinsley a smile and reached out to pat his shoulder, slipping past him and to the piles of evidence that now reeked of “Goldsworth.”
“Wait--”
“Well, what is this ?” Papers were shuffled through and photos of crime scenes were glanced over. Ricky threw on an expression that implied that he was touched, making eye contact with Tinsley as he said, “This is cute. Just--adorable, Tins.” After a moment, he threw down any papers that were in his hands and leaned some on the desk. “Now how long has this little collection been going on? Since the beginning? Or has it just been these couple weeks? ‘Cause, I gotta tell ya, this is pretty impressive.”
Tinsley’s panic mode was flashing red lights like alarms in his body and it showed on his face. He wanted to reach for any one of his weapons, but the sight of Ricky casually pulling his blade from his back pocket stopped him dead in his tracks. “So you’re here because I’m onto you,” Tinsley confirmed.
Ricky hummed in thought. He tilted his head, looking away from Tinsley as he pretended to give the question some consideration, but he quickly dropped the act and returned his focus to the other man. “It would just be a real shame if the curtains closed a little too early on my show here. Right?” He raised his knife some to indicate what he was talking about, as though it needed any more explanation. “And I couldn’t have my partner in justice end up spilling his guts--or getting them spilled for him.”
“So you want me to pretend I never saw anything and that you’re not the guilty party?” Tinsley was in disbelief. “Because there’s no way that’s happening. You do realize that, right?” His talk was getting risky for someone who had no weapon to protect himself, but he could not stop it from spilling out. “One way or another, you’re going to get caught. Somebody else is going to be on your tail besides me.”
“Promise?” Ricky smirked in a way that gave Tinsley a chill up his spine. “Anyway, no, I don’t want you to pretend anything. I don’t want you to lie, or cover for me, or anything. Does that make your tummy feel better?”
“Ricky--”
“‘Cause here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna come with me, because, realistically, you don’t really have a choice. We’re going to take all of the ‘evidence’ with us, and you are going to leave your weapons and your phone here. Sound like a plan, bud?” Ricky took a step closer to Tinsley, who refrained from stepping back in fear that the knife, which was at stomach-level now, would thrust forward.
“How don’t I have a choice? Explain that one to me.” Tinsley's voice was as angry as it was on edge. It was not just the murders that got under his skin, but also Ricky’s duplicity and disgusting amount of confidence. Running on very little sleep did not help.
Ricky pressed the tip of his knife lightly to Tinsley’s stomach when he realized that was why he was not backing away, basking in the fact that the little action made the detective stiffen with nervousness. “I know you don’t want to get hurt, long legs, and I know that you really don’t want to get hurt by me.” The shorter stepped one more step closer, leaving very little room between them. “Even more? I know you don’t want to look like you were involved here. What will the higher-ups think of you keeping things quiet a week after witnessing what happened? That won’t look too good, will it? Especially when they know how close we were. Aw...or should I say are ?”
As Ricky moved back and gave him space, Tinsley realized that he had been holding his breath.
He breathed again.
Silence took over. The two stared at each other, both knowing that Ricky had the upper hand. He continued, “Well! Whatcha waitin’ for? Pack up those little folders of yours and let’s get moving, Tins!”
Tinsley wanted to be difficult. He wanted to resist and stay where he was, to not give Ricky what he wanted. But as much as he did not want to admit it, Ricky had valid points that, truthfully, scared him as much as they pissed him off. As slowly as he could manage, trying to combat the other as much as he could, Tinsley made his way to the table and began to accumulate his evidence piles into folders, not minding what went where as he shoved each folder into the open briefcase at the edge of the desk. He gathered everything from the desk and then from the coffee table, closing the briefcase with a slam and two clicks.
“Phone?”
“It’s in my bedroom.”
“Good boy,” Ricky said, his tone heavy with mockery. He took a good look around the apartment, hands on his hips, before slipping his knife back into his back pocket and heading for the door. “I’ve got my car right up front. You want front or back seat?”
As he sought out his shoes and slipped them on, Tinsley did not respond. Responding was feeding Ricky exactly what he wanted and, if nothing else, the former was intent on keeping him from being satisfied by anything coming from him. He followed to the door unwillingly, carrying his briefcase with his right hand in a white-knuckle grip.
The silence amused Ricky enough to make him chuckle again. He pulled the door wide open and said, “That’s fun, too. Front it is.”
Without another word, they left the apartment building.