Nick was the best detective Jack had ever worked with. He saw things and felt things that went unnoticed by others. If Nick said it was so, you could bet your life on it, and that’s exactly what they were doing now. Jack grabbed his coat and followed his headstrong friend. Nick shot him a “don’t even think about it” look, and headed off into the rainy night. Jack waited, hidden by the darkness, as Nick drove off to meet his destiny.
The eternal struggle of good and evil would be replayed tonight and with the grace of God, good would once again be triumphant. Davis was an off-the-chart psychopath: a brutal, methodical killer who fed off the pain and terror he inflicted on others.
The rain came down hard and Nick strained to see beyond the hypnotic rhythm of the wipers. The red light on the unmarked car pulsed like a beating heart as he wove his way through the late night traffic. Driving like a man trying to escape the demons that were chasing him. He disregarded every traffic rule in the book, but then Nick never had been one for rules. He thought of the old adage his grandma often used when referring to him-‘Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread.’ Fool was an apt description of himself, he thought, especially in times like these.
Jack didn’t try to keep up with Nick; it was useless. He knew where Nick was headed. As homicide cops, they usually got involved after the fact. This time it would be different; it was a matter of life and death.
Nick brought his car to a stop down the block from the abandoned warehouse. Unlike the last time he faced Davis; tonight there would be no backup and no margin for error. He un-holstered his gun and take it off safety. The rain let up as he made his way down the filthy alley. His heart thundered in his ears and his breath grew short as panic seized him. “What the hell am I doing here alone?” He thought. Somehow he knew Jack wasn’t far behind. Carl Davis wasn’t like the others he had encountered before; his insanity gave him an edge. That sudden rush of adrenaline just when you thought he was finished. Pain meant nothing to him and he was willing to take risks others weren’t, a trait that Nick also shared. Last time it had taken four cops and a bullet in the chest to bring him down, Nick’s bullet.
Nick reached for the door handle; the knob twisted in his hand and clicked. It was unlocked, how convenient. He held his breath and gently pushed on the battered steel door. He paused for a moment wondering what fate awaited him on the other side. The hair on the back of his neck bristled in anticipation. He pressed his back to the wall and moved slowly down the dark corridor. He cringed as rats scurried in front of him; Nick couldn’t stand rats. When he was ten, the neighborhood bully had stuffed him in a trunk with a bunch of rats, not something you forget. He still carried the physical and emotional scars from the ordeal. Had Carl Davis been the victim or the bully as a child? Had being pushed one too many times created the monster Nick now faced today? Could man’s inhumanity to man be neatly broken down to a specific time and place that unleashed the beast from within?