Chapter Text
'Detective...'
The low purring voice of Ricky Goldsworth slithered through his ears, sending jolts of fear down Tinsley's spine. He was a freaking detective for fuck's sake, he couldn't let a simple serial killer get the best of him. He forced himself to stare into Ricky's inky black eyes and barked out a confident 'Yes.'
'Did you ever believe in angels?' He smiled thinly, examining Tinsley like how a wolf eyes its prey. Every nerve of his was screaming at Tinsley to bolt out of the room. His arm hairs seemed to agree too. His teeth couldn't stop clattering against each other. However, he needed to finish the interrogation of the mysterious Angel of Death. Tinsley pursed his lips in a thoughtful manner before shaking his head. The serial killer narrowed his eyes suspiciously, before continuing. 'Do you believe in God and Satan? Do you believe in the monsters that prowled in the dark while the angels sleep? Do you, Detective?'
'This isn't the place and time to do this, Goldsworth,' Tinsley remarked softly, dreading the moment the smaller man took out a cleverly-hidden knife and slit his throat before he could finish his sentence. 'We're at an interrogation.'
Those black eyes flicked to his rat-nest of a head, his dishevelled appearance, and the drooping eye bags of Tinsley's. 'And you want to do this 'interrogation' in your shanty hideout in LA? I thought you had more class, Tinsley. No offence.' He leaned back into his chair and slammed his boots on the table, startling Tinsley for a bit. 'Though this is definitely better than that stupid holding cell back at the LAPD. I wouldn't mind spending my time here, hiding from the police like a common criminal, in which I am not,' he pouted innocently, at the same time while shooting a dirty look at Tinsley. 'I wouldn't be surprised if you interrogated me here because you're scared of your superiors. And of course, your 'reputation' is on the line, due to ah... some mishaps,' he chuckled dryly, enjoying Tinsley's unease and discomfort, 'I do wonder what made them put you in charge of lil ol' me. What made them so certain that you would be the perfect guy to find me and put me behind bars. I do wonder, Detective.'
'What happened in the past is none of your business,' Tinsley snapped at Ricky, before recoiling from fear. Ricky's dark, soulless predator eyes betrayed no emotion, yet somehow Tinsley saw a sliver of awe and perhaps respect, prompting him to snap out of his fear of the man before him. Who was he? He was Detective Tinsley who had faced death many times, he wasn't scared of a serial killer with fancy words and false threats. This thought made him confident a bit, as if he was getting back into the old 'good cop, bad cop' phase. He was certainly becoming a detective again. 'I am here because I'm one of the most reputable in my profession, unlike you here, because you were foolish enough to leave clues at one of the crime scenes. You're fighting a losing cause here, Ricky. I just want answers, and maybe I wouldn't slap on some cuffs and drag you back to the LAPD.'
Ricky snorted in disgust, ‘Have you looked at yourself lately? You’re in no position to issue threats to me. I am always one step ahead, Detective. Maybe I should just bust out my knife and kill you right now. That would save a lot of space in this human-infested goddamned world. You seemed to be more limbs than anything.’ His eyes had a small gleam in them, daring Tinsley to challenge his words. Tinsley held his tongue, his confidence slowly fading. Who exactly was Ricky Goldsworth? And what does he want with Tinsley? ‘My only word of advice here, Detective,’ Ricky continued, glaring at the detective disdainfully, ‘is to keep your nose out of my shit. And maybe then I can spare you.’
'It's been a good talk, Detective. I do hope that you would be one of the last to die.'
~~~
Tinsley wasn’t sure how he ended up in LA.
Was it the seemingly pristine image of LA that drew Tinsley in? Or the desperate side of him trying to make amends for all the wrongs he had done in the past? Whatever the case, when his old boss, Banjo McClintock, presented the Black Rose Killings to him, he immediately took up the case. A month later, he found himself flying out to the City of Angels where famous movie stars are born. Tinsley managed to snag himself a sweet deal with an old apartment, considering how cutthroat LA’s real estate is. However, the owner failed to warn him that the apartment block where Tinsley was staying was the worst in the neighbourhood, where parents leave their children to die.
Less than a week into the investigation, the 6th murder in the Black Rose killings came about, this time the crime scene was at a park less than a 10 minute walk away from his apartment. When Tinsley arrived, the police were frantically shooing away visitors, while murmuring to themselves in low tones. As he passed each officer, Tinsley managed to hear snippets of conversation between them. There were odd remarks about how the victim was one of the lucky ones. He was severely drugged before getting killed. The others weren’t quite lucky…
When Tinsley reached the spot where the body laid, the sight sickened him straight to his core. He had to leave the scene for several minutes before mentally preparing himself to examine the evidence left by the killer. There was blood splattered everywhere, the guy had a bullet hole where his heart was, and shocked blue eyes stared wide into the empty sky. There were 6 knife slashes on his throat, eyes as well as his mouth. There were scratch marks around those areas as well, giving off the impression that despite being drugged, he could still feel the agony of the knife, perhaps trying to fight off his killer. On top of that, there was a black rose with a golden bow tied around its stem, sewn into the victim’s left wrist. The rose was coated in thick red blood and glistened with the overhead sun passing by.
Tinsley’s heart stopped, this was definitely the mark of the Black Rose Killer, as the police had dubbed him as. They also referred to him as the Angel of Death, one that strikes swiftly and without mercy. If this was one of the lucky ones… then he dread seeing the corpses of the others.
A sudden movement caught Tinsley’s eye. He saw a man emerging out of the nearby alleyway with a bloodstained cloth covering something in his hands. His mental gears began to shift, yet he took a longing look at the body. What if he missed out an important piece of evidence there? What if this guy was simply a butcher, judging from the stench of the alleyway? He cast his gaze onto the panicked and frantic police, ultimately deciding to question the man. Surely they can take care of the dead body.
The man was hurrying from the scene of the crime, still carrying the bloodstained cloth. Tinsley was weaving through the onlookers that had arrived earlier, trying his best to catch up with the suspicious man. He was pushing everyone aside, and occasionally screamed out orders that the authorities would forbid him from saying. However, Tinsley did not give a fuck about his superiors right now, he needed to catch a criminal.
Fortunately, his long legs were able to keep up with the criminal and Tinsley was certain that the small guy couldn't be more than 5 ft 9 and 3/4 (he was quite nitpicky with the fact that those people claim to be 5 ft 10 when in truth they are just slightly smaller), which gave him a disadvantage when it comes to speed. However in terms of artful dodging, he was certainly the pro and Tinsley would often pause to squint at pedestrians streaming in, before heavy footsteps reminded him of the guy's location. Once he managed to close the distance between them, he started to notice small details about the guy that he did not quite catch earlier. The way the messy raven black hair of his seemed to glisten in the dimming sunlight, or his uneven footsteps slapping on the wet concrete from the previous night's rain.
He managed to tackle the guy from behind and wrestled the bloodstained cloth out of his hands. The guy made no attempt to fight back and simply watched on in amusement as Tinsley tried to pry open his fingers in order to get the cloth. 'I see that you finally caught me, little Detective.'
Tinsley grunted as he twisted the guy's pinkie and snatched the bloodstained cloth out of the criminal's hand. 'You're under arrest,' he gasped, suddenly wishing that he had taken Banjo's suggestion of going to gym class, 'for leaving the crime scene under suspicious circumstances, thus making you a suspect in this case.' He narrowed his eyes at the small man. 'Under no objections are you allowed to speak while you're under custody, got it?'
'Oh, do you have your handy dandy handcuffs with you right now? Or that fancy taser that the police use? Well, Detective, I am sorry to remind you that you have neither of those, making it almost impossible to keep me here,' The guy grinned, however the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, 'I suggest that you actually remember to bring those next time. And let's not forget the time it took to get you here at this spot. My my, you really needed to work on your athletic skills.'
The detective gritted his teeth at the guy. For the love of fuck, if this cocky bastard was in fact the murderer, Tinsley would feel sorry for the investigator for this case. Wait... Moving on... 'You are a suspect in the recent murder at the park. Do you deny it?'
The man flicked his gaze to the bloodstained cloth in Tinsley's hand. 'Why don't you take a peek at that and decide for yourself? I find it beneath myself to do so.' Those dark eyes issued a challenge to him, should Tinsley let go of Ricky and allow the slimy weasel to escape, just to see what is beneath that cloth? Or should he simply refuse to do so and deny the only potential piece of evidence to this case? 'As long as you don't move,' Tinsley decided, glaring at the smiling man, who smirked in response. With trembling fingers, he pulled off the cloth to reveal the bloodstained knife.
'I fucking knew it,' Tinsley hissed. 'You're coming with me to the LAPD, right now.'
'Well, I would, but...' The guy droned. 'You would get into trouble for abandoning the scene of the crime to chase down someone who doesn't exist. One might say you are going crazy, maybe get that head checked with the mental asylum down the road.' He waved his hand in that direction. Tinsley made a growling noise at the back of his throat. He wanted to tear this guy's tongue out so badly, yet he managed to suppressed the feeling. He was a professional detective for god's sake.
'What do you mean someone who doesn't exist?' Tinsley pressed on, grabbing the guy's collar in fury. 'You and I know damn well that you are here annoying the shit out of me, unless you fully cooperate, there may be severe repercussions for you, maybe an extended jail sentence, if I am feeling generous.'
'You fully know you wouldn't, Detective,' The man's voice suddenly turned cold. 'A little one like you simply couldn't do anything, while I slaughtered many others. You're in a state of vulnerability while I will always have the upper hand. These mortals cannot comprehend my existence, so I suggest you let me do my thing. Maybe I will be the generous one and leave you alive after the apocalypse. Maybe you would be the last to die, do not underestimate me.'
'I can do whatever the fuck I want here, little man,' Tinsley mocked, slowly exhaling to calm his nerves and beating heart. He couldn't lose it at this very moment. He would rage later when he's alone in his apartment. 'You shouldn't underestimate me too.'
The eyes of the predator trained on his face, scrutinising each detail of Tinsley. 'I think I already know a lot about you, Tinsley. You're a clueless detective with no experience in the way things are run here. Do not forget who you are speaking to here. Me, the Angel of Death. Me, the Black Rose Killer. Me, the serial killer who could slit your throat with no hesitation. Make one wrong move and you may find yourself on the wrong side of my knife. Look at me, Detective. Never forget my face. Never forget the name Ricky Goldsworth, because it will be the last words you will hear if I find you again. Now if you excuse me...'
He slammed his fist against Tinsley's face, and the detective grimaced, his nose bleeding like a pair of red waterfalls. His head was spinning, for a small guy, Ricky had superhuman strength. Tinsley staggered, trying to regain his senses, however the pain that erupted was enough to make him black out. Through fluttering eyelids, he watched as Ricky snatched up the knife, and wondered with cold, detached fear if he was going to die. Ricky walked up to him and smirked that stupid little grin of his, ‘It’s a game of cat and mouse, Detective. Do try to keep up.’ The pain overtook Tinsley’s senses, and before long, he found himself in that familiar darkness.
It was when he woke up a few hours later when he realised something.
How the fuck did Ricky know his name?