Atticus' POV:
"We have an important update," Darrel says into the phone as I wake up for work the next morning. "Get here as soon as possible."
Yesterday was uneventful after we left Lincoln's office. He was quiet most of the afternoon, and I'm sure it had a lot to do with the fact that he had to preform an autopsy on a young man who had a future ahead of him. Even though we have both been told to separate our work lives and home lives, it's difficult in a career like ours, where we have to be so involved.
"Atticus?" Lincoln asks in a voice thick with sleep. "Are you leaving already?"
I hum, leaning over and kissing his lips. "Yes. Darrel called with an update, so maybe we will get a name to the body," I tell him, and Lincoln hums, his arms wrapped around me tightly. "Go back to sleep, babes. You don't have to be up for a few more hours."
Lincoln is clingy when he sleeps, and it's adorable, but it is kind of hard when I need to get up and go to work. He whines childishly when I try to disentangle from his tight grip, but eventually I'm able to escape the human koala who is living in my bed.
"I'll text you when I get to work," I promise him, quietly getting ready.
Lincoln is already asleep when I'm dressed and ready to go, and I lean over to kiss my beautiful boyfriend on the lips before I go. A cute smile pulls at his lips as I do so, and I quickly pull out my phone to take a picture of him.
I make sure to send it to him, because he hates when I take pictures of him while he's asleep, but I'm surprised he expects me to resist. It's my job to fawn over my boyfriend, and I know he takes pictures of me when he comes home from work and I'm asleep on the couch.
When I get to work, Darrel and Jared are already there, talking in hushed voices, which is very surprising for them, since these two are loudmouths. I'm even more surprised by the worry on Jared's face and the unnatural exhaustion on Darrel's.
"You said there was an update?" I ask, sitting down at my desk and logging into my computer to clock in for the day.
Jared nods. "We found the identity of the victim," he says, sliding a file over to me. "Phillip Moore. Twenty three, born and raised in Portland."
He pauses while I look at the file, my eyes widening as I read it. "He had the malfunction?" I ask, flipping through the images and finding an image of his wrist with a mark that says "M-07."
"Yes, that's why we are so confused," Jared says, leaning back in his chair. "There was a message at the crime scene as well, and it doesn't take a genius to know what it means."
He hands me another file with several pictures of the crime scene.
I wince when I see images of the body hanging, and then see what Jared was referring to. There's a list of numbers on the wall, painted in Phillip's blood. It's numbered one through seventeen, with five of the numbers crossed out.
"We think this killer is from the group of people with Mistacesemia born in 2003, since there's only seventeen people who live in the United States born in 2003 with the condition," Darrel explains, but he does not even seem that upset. "Personally, if we push this case to the side..."
"This is our job," I argue. "We are part of the Supernatural Investigation Unit, which specializes in shit like this."
"If one of their own is crossing them off, it's not a big deal," Darrel mutters, making me want to slam his face into a table.
Lincoln soft voice echos in my head. "What do we do when we get urges to murder our employers?"
"We take a deep breath because we can't undo murdering someone..." I think, taking a deep breath to control my irritation.
"You don't have to take part in this case, but we can't ignore this," Jared says, and I'm so thankful he had the good sense to step in before I get fired for insulting our boss.
Darrel rolls his eyes and walks off to his office, locking the door behind him.
"How is it that he was assigned the head officer position when he's literally the worst?" I ask in a low voice.
Jared shrugs. "I have no clue, to be completely honest," he responds, opening his computer. "I brought up the file for the person with the malfunction that was labeled M-11 born in 2003, and I contacted the head of the Supernatural Unit in South Carolina where she lives. Well, lived. She was found dead three weeks ago, the same message on the wall, but they didn't investigate it any further because she was poisoned, not brutally assaulted like Phillip was. They didn't understand the message."
I hum. "We should probably trace back to see which other ones have been killed," I say, looking into the files for M-10, but they weren't born in America so there is scarce information. "If one of them happens to be alive, that may be our killer."
We dig into the files, making calls to figure out which of them had been killed. It's difficult because the numbers don't line up with the numbers on the wrists of the victims, since not all seventeen were first born here and our killer isn't going in any order.
"He probably is going in a random order to throw us off his scent. There's only a couple of them in Portland, so-"
I cut Jared off, my eyes widening. "We need to get to that guy, uh... Silas! We need to get to Silas Murray's house, as soon as possible. Our killer may not be following an order, but I doubt they miss the opportunity to kill two people who live in the same area.
As we get up to leave, my phone rings.
"This is Atticus Wright, Oregon Supernatural Investigation Unit," I say, since I don't recognize the caller ID.
A breathless voice whispers over the phone. "Hi, this is Silas Murray, you arrested me yesterday," he says, and I'm glad to hear he's still alive, but he sounds like he's gasping for air. "Some guy just broke into my apartment and tried to kill me, and I fought him off, but I'm really injured and kind of bleeding out... uh, could you come help me and maybe try to arrest the guy who attempted to kill me?"
"Stay on the line with me, Silas," I order him, putting him on speaker. "Are you bleeding?"
He hums. "Yeah, out of my side," he mumbles. "He shot me with a gun, and I launched him out of my window, and I'm... ugh, I'm trying to use my power..." He trails off, taking heavy breaths. "I'm trying to breath... and use my power to make myself a force field for safety... I'm scared he's going to come back..."
"We're on our way, Silas, just keep breathing. Put pressure on the wound if you can," I tell him as we drive at nearly sixty miles per hour to get to him. "We will be there soon, I promise."
Silas groans in pain. "He has powers... the guy who, ugh, who tried to kill me," he says, breathing heavily. "I... I can't fight him right now."
"Take a deep breath. I'm calling one of our doctors who specializes in working with people who have the Mistacesemia malfunction, and he will treat you," I tell him as we pull up outside his apartment. "We're at your apartment, so I'm going to hang up, alright?"
"Fine... I'm only..." He takes in another deep breath. "I'm only going to live because you still owe me a damn coffee."
I call Lincoln as we run upstairs.
"Hey, babe, what's going on?" he asks, sounding happy and relaxed.
Oh god, I'm going to feel so bad for ruining his good mood.
"Lincoln, I need you to prep a room for operation. Our killer struck again but didn't succeed. He attacked the guy I interrogated yesterday and shot him, and we need you to heal a bullet wound."
"Call me as soon as you get here," he orders, and I can tell he's moving into his professional doctor mode as he hangs up.
Silas is on the ground in his room, a small pool of blood around him. He is using his powers to both protect himself and keep pressure on the wound, but from how pale and sweaty he is, I can tell he moments from passing out.
"Jared, I'm taking him to Lincoln. I need you to check with local police and figure out if there's any cameras in the area. I want to find this damn killer before he takes off, so set up a perimeter. Go!"
Jared nods and takes off while I gently scoop up Silas after pushing one of his shirts on the ground into his wound.
"Hey, it's like we're getting married," he mumbles as I carry him to the car.
I roll my eyes as I lay him down on the back seat. "My boyfriend would not appreciate that," I tell him, pushing the shirt firmly onto his wound, feeling bad when he hisses. "Hold this here. We're not far from the hospital but I don't need you to die. It'll be a waste of my time."
"Yeah, I'll pay you back for gas money," he responds, and I'm glad he still has a sense of humor despite the fact that he's bleeding out.
I turn on the sirens of my car and slam on the gas.
We reach Lincoln's office in record time, and I call him when we're about three minutes away, so he's waiting out front with a stretcher.
"I'm in so much pain," Silas mumbles as I lay him down. "I'm sorry if I launch you across the room, doctor."
Lincoln raises an eyebrow. "I'll have to sedate you," he tells Silas, and I see him about to panic, so I intervene.
"Lincoln, he has really good control-"
"Atticus, let me do my job," he tells me, and I shut my mouth. "I have to sedate everyone who needs to be operated on. It's safer for the person who's injured so they don't move and disrupt the treatment."
Silas shoots me a pleading look, until Lincoln tilts his chin toward himself and conveys a few comforting words.
Wait...
"I think he fawning over your boyfriend," Danielle murmurs as Lincoln wheels Silas away.
I glare at her. "He just got shot and Lincoln oozes trustworthiness," I respond, sitting down beside her.
"What are you doing? Don't you have a job?" Danielle asks me, her eyes narrow. "Stop freaking out over that guy, he's going to be fine. If he was coherent coming in here, he'll be alright. Especially since he's got the malfunction; he can stop his blood from pouring out with his mind, Atticus."
"Fine, fine," I mumble, getting up and heading out toward my car. "Have Lincoln call me when he's done with his operation!"
I don't add in the part where I want to make sure Silas is okay; Danielle would definitely repeat that to Lincoln, and Lincoln can be very possessive.