This chapter wasn't what I had originally planned to have written, but this seemed more plausible than the previous one and I feel more confident in this than anything else.

I hope you enjoy!

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If the increasing numbers of dead persons throughout the town was anything to sound any alarms for what was happening, it was all the vandalism that had taken place within in each and every single home in Milborough. None were left untouched.

Stranger of that was?

All that were home, their only complaint, was that it was freezing for a few moments before the temperature went back.

It left the RCMP officers puzzled at this.

And it was unsettling; very much so as they ran around completely flabbergasted on how something like this could've happened. And it all happened within two hours.

We shall feast upon your shins."

Yeah, like that didn't sound foreboding at all. Who were the annoying twits that were doing it too? They weren't sure, but there was something incredibly unsettling about the entire fiasco that had everyone down at the station mistified.

And then, on top of that, Jason Steele hadn't been answering his phone, or even showing up to work the next morning. It bothered not only Steele's partner but those who had known him since he had arrived in Milborough.

He was extremely cocky, sometimes being more than irritating to some, but he's a damn good officer who took his job seriously.

It wasn't in his personality to just shun his duties.

Something raised alarms, something made everyone uncomfortable, unable to shake the feeling that they had deep in the pits of their stomach.

"Gagnon!"

Morgan Gagnon, a newly graduated RCMP officer glanced up from her desk, standing up when she saw that it was Charles Shackles storming down the walkway, fighting back the urge to sigh when she noticed the stack of folders tucked tightly under his arm.

"Sir?"

He slammed them on her desk. "I want you to see if there is any correlation between victims within these past few months and those within the last few years. And have them on by desk by tomorrow morning."

It was currently fourteen-fifteen too.

Morgan held back any sort of snippy remarks regarding the task, but the pressure that was now thrown at her was probably going to result in every single piece of her dark brown hair to be ripped out of her scalp. It'll be then known to everyone at the station the exact reason as to why she was known Thunder Rage.

"Yes sir." She replied, feeling her shoulders drop as her eyes stared down at the folders that was now laying haphazardly over her once neatly organised desk.

Well, she thought with bitterness, this should be fun. Went to sit down, and for a few seconds watched as Charles walked towards one of the other desks, speaking quietly to two of the other candidates that were in her graduating class.

Morgan paused for a moment to mentally prepare herself for the exhausting task (though not physically) she was going to have to do before she had to leave.

And she doubted she'd be able to accomplish such a thing unless, of course, she stayed well past the time she was supposed to.

- - -

"Any luck with contacting Jason yet, Sir?" Michael Anderson asked, grabbing his mug of black coffee and bringing the hot liquid to his lips, his eyes held onto his boss.

With what little amount of hair that the older man had left, Charles ran his fingers through it, grumbling something incoherently as he started to pace the room. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had gotten the Superintendant's panties in a bunch.

It had been half an hour since Shackles had sent a couple of shaken-up rookies to Steele's house to see what was taking him so long, but they have yet to hear anything back.

The fear, albeit no one would ever admit, was heavy like ash and soot as they awaited the news of their comrade with anticipation and as the time continued to tick on by nothing was told.

Shackles took a long drag of his cigarette before placing it into the disposal bin located out in the smoking area, before grabbing his jacket. He swore under his breath as he flung the jacket over his shoulders, crossing the road to where all of their police cruisers were located, and peeled out of the parking lot and down the street.

His hands shook as he took a turn down Steele's road, eyes widening, heart dropping into his stomach as he saw the familiar yellow tape that he had seen, and used, over the twenty years that he had been in the force. He pulled in, not caring when he heard the scraping of the underside of the car made as he drove up over the curb a little too quickly, his brakes squealing at the abruptness of it.

He slammed the door open and closed, racing up to the front steps, and barging into the door. "What...?"

He was immediately met with a strong scent of bleach, causing him to cough, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief he kept in his front pant pocket. Charles glanced around the small kitchen, seeing the open bottle of bleach on the floor, the liquid all over mixed in with red tinted vomit. A half eaten meal on the table, things were all over the place.

Slowly, Charles stepped through the hallway, his eyes scanning over everything and everything to see if there was a sign that the home had been broken into, and then wondered if maybe, just maybe, Jason committed...

No. He couldn't....wasn't going to think like that.

He removed the hankerchief, took a sniff, the smell was slightly more bearable than what it had been, and replaced the piece of cloth back to where it belonged and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and put them on when he heard quiet voices and muffled footsteps coming from what Charles assumed was the master bedroom.

He froze as soon as he opened the door, his stomach flipped, and he gasped, eyes widening in both surprise and disgust. Amber Craig and Joshua Anderson looked up from their work to look at the Superintendant, Amber swallowed the saliva that pooled thickly in her mouth and nervously stood up from what she had been doing and headed over to Charles who was, at the moment, still gawking at the now deceased body of one of their own.

"What...how...?" Charles stammered out, seemingly coming out of whatever thoughts had made him freeze in such a state.

"We don't know." Amber replied quietly, shaking her head. "I think...I think he drank some bleach first and then came in here to shoot himself."

"Well, no fucking shit!" Charles' voice bounced off the room, making both rookies wince.

At first, he felt disbelief, sadness, pain, and lastly pure and utter rage.

Both Amber and Joshua took a hesitant step back, cautious of what he may do. Charles may have been an easy going and a usually polite man to deal with, but there had been certain times where they had seen that look in his eyes where he wanted to kill whoever was within arms reach.

She didn't know if she should dare to or not, but, "Sir?"

That murderous glare turned on her.

Amber cleared her throat first, "His...his eyes..."

"What about them?" He snapped, watching as she made her way over to the body, knelt down, and moved his eyelid out of the way so they could all have a clear view of his eyes; eyes that used to be a darker hue than the unnerving pale shade that was now there. "It...this isn't something...that's normal."

Charles wasn't in the mood for such bullshit. Not today. He removed himself quickly from the room, gesturing for the other two to follow. As they stormed down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the door, Charles was fighting back the adrenaline that was running through his body as his mind was raging with so many questions and comments.

"Get a forensic team in here, and get that body bagged and heading for the coroners to see what the hell is going on here." He shook his head and stormed back to his car, not even paying attention to whether or not his subordinates were doing as they were instructed.

Thankfully they were as he backed up, squealing his tires as he headed back.

This was going to be some major damage control, he groused, gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles went completely white. Charles felt his eyes watering in both anger and grief, his thoughts replaying images of things that had happened over the passed couple of years with Steele joining their team.

A team that was like a family. A tight knit one.

And now...that family had been dealt with a serious blow.

If, and when, Charles discovers who did it, he will personally ensure that they get the harshest penalty possible, but even if that happened, the deaths of so many people within their small community was enough to murder the evil motherfucker who did it.

Eventually, a block or two away from the station, did Charles have to pull over, and closed his eyes trying to regain some form of his composure that had been completely severed upon seeing the disturbing sight of his former officer laying there in a pool of his own blood, with bullet wounds, and a mix of vomit and blood coming from his nose.

Charles' stomach churned and he fought against the overwhelming urge to vomit himself.

He had responded to many disturbing scenes within the past decade or so of his career, moving from city to city across the province, that didn't make him respond to it in such a way that he had that day. It didn't make any fucking sense to him whatsoever and it pissed him off greatly.

He leaned back in the seat, the back of his head resting against the seat as Charles closed his eyes tightly, taking in a sharp inhale of breath as he reached beneath his shirt to where the cross laid, took it out, and gripped it tightly as he muttered a whispered prayer.

A prayer that may never will be heard.

But he had to, at least, try.

Heavenly Father, in this time of need, I pray that you care for the residents of Milborough as they deal with such tragic losses. Dear Lord, please help those who have passed to the pearly gates of Heaven.