- infie
Garry breathed carefully through his nose as he extended into his deep knee bends. Stretching before going for a run was absolutely vital for maintaining one's proper conditioning. Even for people who were... physically gifted, stretching was a must. His very first pulled muscle had taught him that in no uncertain terms, and Garry was not someone who had to be taught something twice. No, sir.
He rose, bent at the hips, and touched his hands to the ground. The gritty sand stuck to his fingertips, but he liked the pleasantly abrasive feel. He bounced a little, testing his flexibility. No strain through his back, neck, or hamstrings, though he could feel the slightest pull through the back of his knees. He made a mental note to work on his leg stretches. He returned to his full height.
A set of torso and abdominal stretches later, he set off on his run. It was very early morning; he liked to get in his exercise in privacy, before the rest of the joggers hit the park. His feet found the rhythm immediately and he relaxed into the familiar routine of flex and release. His breathing was deep and perfectly even.
It was a beautiful fall day, air crisp and with that crystalline clarity that only seems to come in October. The sun shone ferociously but was unable to warm the tartness of the atmosphere. It was perfect.
The park blazed with fall colour, the deep red and the flaming red-orange of the sugar maple contrasting with the cerulean sky in a beauty that was almost painful. Garry grinned as he ran. Was there anywhere in the world as beautiful as this place in the fall? He didn't think so.
The ground under his feet was ever so slightly softened by the previous night's rain, providing a surface that sprang a little with every step. He imagined the earth welcoming his footsteps, as happy at his presence here as he was, and laughed. He saw the hill in front of him, prepared to add power to his steps to make it up without reducing speed.
The next instant, his legs stopped pumping.
His momentum carried him forward and he crashed heavily, the ground he'd been considering a pleasant cushion only a moment before now a hard, painful landing place. He tumbled, ending up on his back staring up at that incredible sky. His mind cried out in confusion. What the hell?
He tried to get up, but his muscles refused to respond. Refused to acknowledge the commands of his mind. Refused their commander.
He didn't understand. He'd been running, just as he'd done every day since he'd been old enough to walk. Following his daily regimen, just as he did all the time. What the hell had gone wrong?
He tried to blink. Nothing.
The first thread of panic laced through him. He could feel his heartbeat racing...
He was tired. So tired.
He was already lying down.
He could just go to sleep.
It would be so easy.
His heartbeat. Shouldn't he be hearing it?
So tired.
Shouldn't it hurt?
Shoul...
"Thirty-year-old male, looks to be a runner. Nice day for it." The uniform glanced at the brilliant sky and shrugged. "Found by a fellow jogger at about nine am." She looked back down at the beautifully defined body and shook her head sadly. "Just look at him... what a damned shame."
"Yeah." The detective yawned. "With that dark hair and those blue eyes, he was a looker, all right. Still, dead's not really my style. I can't believe you'd call me down here to critique this poor bastard's good looks. Do you have reason to be thinking homicide?"
"No, ma'am." The uniform crouched beside the body. "But you have to see this." She gestured with a blue-gloved finger. "You can see that livor mortis has begun but not yet set, right?"
"Someone's been reading up." The detective reluctantly took a knee so she could see what the uniform was pointing at. "Yeah, I got it."
"I returned him to his original position so we wouldn't lose this," the uniform said, rolling the body onto its side. "I moved him originally to check for wounds or something obviously wrong. Instead, I found this." Her finger trembled ever so slightly as she pointed to the man's hairline.
The detective frowned, looked more closely. "Move to the left a little, Simpson... you're in the light." The uniform obeyed, and the detective sucked in her breath. "Holy shit."
The neck was stained blue-purple by the pooling of blood after death. There was only a few inch-square patch where the neck curved to keep the skin off the ground, but what it revealed was unmistakeable. Although steps had obviously been taken to permanently obscure the evidence, likely a long time in the past, the ugliness of death had a way of bringing things to light. There, a faint black shadow against the purple, was a barcode.
"Shit," the detective said again. "They're back."
"I don't know, Detective," the uniform replied gravely. "Seeing this... I don't think they ever left."