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Novelistic ideas like that of murderers, powers, and the oh so over used vampire lurk in today’s modern literature. These ideas so worn and torn that they fester in the pit of every persons psyche at least once. Mind you here you may find something different or you may not. In my little tales or the jaunts I scribble you might just find something that makes you raise your brow. Have I caught your interest? You’ve caught mine. Now let us cease the prattling on because a tale is about to unfold a tale spawned from boredom and a reckless hand.

He has no face, he has no name, and he has nothing to lose. Who we speak of is a man of mystery. A man chased countless times by the armed forces be they the police or a class of higher rank. This man of mystery is better known as the “Man in Red.” He’s wanted for many things. Sexual assault, manslaughter, murder, vandalism, destruction of government property, and even jay walking. No, no he is not some sort of chaotic good or some misunderstood hero. He is but a man, a man who wears red.

“Damn It Davis! What the hell did I say about throwing your Snickers wrappers all over the place!”

Our story takes place in the lovely work space of a Mr.Legough. A lonely man, brown in hair, tall, well trimmed and clean cut. However, his face was encased in wrinkles from stress and his hand jittering with the buzz and nervousness of today’s workload. His eyes looked like bags that had been carrying it’s groceries for longer that it had expected. Mr.Legough no older than 22 clenched his forehead at the ever growing inconvenience of a partner he had, Davis. No, not Mr.Davis or Mr.Barker or even Dave. His name by far was not worthy of such a title. Davis in layman terms was a slouch. He was a wasted youth 19, a good career, a brilliant mind, a well toned physique, a face that could make any woman swoon in delight, but absolutely no work ethic. It was Davis’s turn to defend his case and even that was poorly done.

“Man, those aren’t my snickers those are Charles snickers, the dudes a total fatass. You can’t blame a person who isn’t at fault.”

Mr.Legough hastily retorted to his partners smartass comment.

“True…” he paused “That would be a good excuse if Charles wasn’t diabetic!
So unless you intend to show me a sugar free snickers bar, I suggest you make like a bread truck and haul some buns!”

Davis replied his tone apathetic shrugging his shoulders as if trying to emphasize some sort of superiority.

“Do you know how old you sounded? It’s no wonder you can’t get a date. We should call you mom. Hey everybody!”
Davis exclaimed as he stood up pointing at Mr.Legough childishly.

“We gotta new mommy lets have her make us some sandwiches and fetch us some beer!”

Davis laughed at his sexist joke along with several other men in the agency. All except Charles and Mr.Legough who was trying to calm a woman down before she shoved her stiletto heel into Davis’s face.

Mr.Legough erected his finger about to say something but then a loud crash, then a thud, and finally screams. His voiced filled with worry and paranoia he talked to himself quietly as a cold sweat crawled across his stressed brow.

“He wouldn’t dare! Not here of all places! The b*****d!”

Mr.Legough ran panicked toward the commotion Davis trailing behind him barely keeping pace. There awed by possibly ten or more workers were the bodies of six. Mutilated, strangled, and forming a sea of red was a body that stood out above the lot hair golden like silk, eyes faded with death she was doll that had its parts removed and rearranged in a different order. The room was a graveyard because everyone knew that this woman was the wife of a certain CSI. On her chest battered slashed and beaten was a tape addressed to a certain CSI. A certain CSI by the name of Roderick Legough.