Why, why in God’s name did I take this job, Norman thought. Well, to be truthful, he thought about this on pretty much a daily basis. He had only a few years left to collect his pension at the department, so he tried his very best to convince himself to stay in the game. But now, he really did seem to have his reasons. The grime on his shoes, the dark shadows under his eyes tested him recurrently, but what was new was the bloated corpse that laid before him. 

Sand seemed to cover most of it, so it made identifying the body a difficult task for Norman. But what was for certain was that it was a woman, probably around thirty to forty years old. Still, it was a chore to recognize this due to the rather puffy nature of the body. Norman stretched on his blue nitrile gloves, which seemed to strike out in an ugly fashion against the dark charcoal coat that he wore while doing his typical detecting work. Norman kneeled down, faintly wincing over the moisture of the sand spreading across his worn-out jeans. Luckily, the tides had recently simmered down, so he didn’t have to worry about ol’ Poseidon dragging the evidence back into the murky depths of the ocean. 

The hair of the woman seemed blonde, but wispy thin to the naked eye. As Norman peered closer at the corpse, however, he felt equally as unsettled. Every gruesome detail seemed to add weight to his shoulders and chest, like someone dropping a stone on him with every pulsing heartbeat. She was punctured with what seemed to be gunshot wounds, from the torso to even the palms of her hands. He delicately shifted her limp wrists and ankles; they were littered with raw wounds that could only be guessed as cigarette burns. Her bones felt as though they were broken up into small shards, brittle to the point that Norman was worried that’d he’d actually tarnish the evidence. That, and the body seemed to haunt him, like a tragedy of the past that he so roughly endured. In fact, it reminded Norman too much of his past grievances that he felt like the Man upstairs was playing some cruel joke on him.

“Alright... I think I’ve seen enough, Artie.”

He shifted over to his right, behind him, seeing a youthful face with an oversized pair of gas-station glasses that sat on his pudgy nose. Artie was a rather competent assistant. But, to Norman, he’s had so many cycle through that they seemed to blur together. All that he needed to know was their names and that their very presence reminded him of his own wear and tear. The shaggy stubble across his own chin certainly didn’t help, as well as the strands of silver that seemed to creep into his dark brown hair as each year passed. 

“You’ve only been here for ten-ish minutes Norm,” Artie commented, “already think you're done?” 

“Not really, but I’m sure those two bozos will be here soon, with that black and white suit bullcrap. God, ‘ave they ever heard of neutral? Anyways, I need anotha’ smoke.”

“How many have you had today sir? Five, six?”

“Don’t count my cigs, Artie.”

Before he had time to even apologize, Norman had already brushed past the awkward boy, snatching a rather large handful of cigarettes from the kid’s mustard yellow shirt pocket like a candy dispenser. He lumbered off the beach, past all the police cars that had accumulated on the road, before he walked up to the neighboring boardwalk about a couple hundred feet away to the left of the scene. Norman found himself at the edge of it, almost dangerously close to the murky saltwater below. Norman fumbled in his pocket for a box of matches; only three redheaded sticks rattled in there. He struck it, lighting his death stick and taking carelessly long drags off of it. For the next five minutes, he found himself cycling smoke in and out of his lungs, until the cigarette was short to the point that it was just filter. He flicked it off the boardwalk, to be washed away, never to be seen again.

Norman felt a gust of wind pushing him against the railing every so often, and that eerie breeze made some gear in his head start turning. He stepped up to the railing, delicately balancing himself on it while also fighting the winds. He outstretched his arms, wide as the sky, staring out at the deep, almost blood orange sunset. Despite every ounce of the air trying to push him over, Norman found an unrelenting sense of calamity wash over him. The peace of being at the mercy of nature was like pure heroin, because he knew he could never have the guts to do it himself.  

“Want me to join you, Annie! I’d really like to,” he shouted at the heavens above him. The winds seemed to spur even more with an almost whistling pitch, “just give me a damn sign, and I’ll do it! I promise I’ll grow the balls for it!”

The winds died down until it was borderline silence; even the tides from the ocean seemed to mellow out to a gentle rustle. 

“Fine, you win this time, world.”

Norman stepped down from the railing with a disappointing look sprawled across his face. He propped a seat against the railing, his legs flat on the boardwalk planks. He sighed deeply, staring blankly into a void without purpose. 

After blinking once, a figure appeared across the other end of the boardwalk, almost like it was just summoned by Norman’s dramatic pleading. He couldn’t quite make out the figure, as it was so far that it was pretty much a black silhouette. He blinked again, and this time, the figure seemed to transmute closer. This time, he knew what he was seeing; the figure actually was all black, and seemed to blur with the atmosphere in an almost shadowy sort of way. This sent Norman’s heart sinking to his stomach; his breathing started speeding up rapidly, his heart thumping like a jackrabbit. He blinked again; the figure was even closer this time, about fifty feet away from him. If it wasn’t an enigma to him before, it certainly was now. It had a curvy hourglass shape, reminding him of someone he dearly remembered. The figure was so still that it could have been mistaken for an actual shadow.

The dark void of a character raised what could only be taken for a hand up to what was supposed to be it’s face. Norman had to blink again at this point, his eyes dried up from the winds; it was no less than ten feet away now, still just as inconspicuous as the first sighting.

Out of the blue, Norman felt the breathing of someone against both his ears, and a loud, aggravating noise that could be thought of as a harsh shushing. This made him jolt from the boardwalk, standing upright in fight or flight mode. Norman turned to check his sides and then back to the front; the figure had vanished entirely. He rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn’t deluding himself; still nothing.

Norman’s breathing returned to baseline, but his heart was still jackhammering. He reached into his pocket for another cigarette, and shakily inhaled the deathly relaxing smoke. His whole body seemed to be jittering; he didn’t know what he saw. He couldn’t think of any explanation for it other than he was just seeing things. What Norman did know was that the figure seemed creepily familiar; he didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. He didn’t know how to process it, but he sure knew that he needed something to take the edge off.   

The bar Norman arrived at was a classic spot for him. It was local, as well as all the folks that went to it. The sign on the front read “Radley’s” in sapphire lettering against a maroon backdrop. He gravitated towards the front door like a fly towards an electric light trap. Once he entered, he was surprised by the lack of barflies that typically filled the main lounge, even though it was quite late.

Norman darted past the tables and the bar, resting his elbows on the counter. He knocked on the counter and within seconds, his favorite bartender had rolled over. The man wore a crisp white dress shirt with a blue vest that owned a couple splashes of cocktails on it. He slammed a glass in front of the routine customer. 

“White Russian for you, Norm.” The bartender stated. 

“Thanks Ringo,” Norman acknowledged, “but I think I’m gonna have two shots of bourbon after this one.”

“Tough day at work?” Ringo questioned, while also wiping the inside of a glass.

“Like you won’t believe, pal.”

“To be honest man, I dunno why you’re still doing that. After Annie and--”

“For the love of all that is Holy,” Norman interrupted, “don’t bring her up ever again. Kapeesh?”

Ringo frowned at his interjection, seeing someone stuck in stasis for so long. He seemed like he wanted to help, but enough years of serving this guy proved it was a futile effort. “My bad, Norm.”

A ring chimed from the other side of the room and Norman turned around. There they were, as he expected sooner or later. The first one to come in was in a pure white suit and brimmed hat, with a clean shaven face and bright blond hair that only brought out the electric blue in his eyes. To this day, Norman couldn’t figure out how he kept that suit clean. The other figure that tagged along could almost have been mistaken for a hellhound; everything he wore was an almost inhuman black that was accented with velvety red lining. His clothes were droopy, which paired with long slicked back black hair and bushy beard. This beast was one of the only men that genuinely intimidated Norman.

The three all sat down together on a table, with the man in white to Norman’s right and the one in black to his left. The man in white folded his hands on the table, looking like he was ready to give a speech on his findings. Norman wasn't surprised; the guy was smart as a whip, but also just as pretentious.

"Norm, you look like crap... smell like it too"

"Nice meeting you too, Adam."

"Oh, give the guy a break, I don't look too dandy either." said the man in black.

"Well thanks Lucas, I guess." Norman said back.

Adam leaned back in his chair with a look of worry sprawled across his face. "You really don't seem right man. I can tell this was the straw that broke your back." 

Norman knew he was right, but he wouldn't ever give Adam the satisfaction of knowing that. That agitated him more than any of Adam’s other quirks.

"Oh pleaaaase, calm your ass down," Lucas chimed in, "he's been doing this enough to know what it takes. And after you-know-who, he's still holding out."

"Oh c'mon man! You see it, I see it!" Adam said to him, waving his pale hand over to Norman, "Norm needs a break. Yeah, he's tough as nails, but everyone needs a break now and then. Am I right or am I right?"

"Will you two, for the love of God, stop talking about my life like it's some sob story?! I'm right here!”

The room fell silent, to the point where even the clinking of the glasses could be heard. The three of them noticed this, and a sea of awkwardness seemed to wash over them as they glanced at each other shamefully. They waited until the bar rose back to it's normal chatter until they could talk again. Norman pressed his open palms gently on the table, his lips moving around like he was practicing the next statement he would say.

"Enough of me, okay? Let's just move onto the case. So the woman-"

"What woman?" Adam questioned. Both he and Lucas's faces twisted in a state of confusion.

"You know, the dead blondie on the beach... weren't you two there?"

"We were there alright,” Lucas said, “but we didn't see a woman."

"The hell do you two jackasses mean?" Norman asked.

"We saw a teenage boy, and a teenage boy only. What’s goin’ on with you, Norm? Now I'm starting to worry." Lucas snarled back.

"Okay, this is a load of hokey," Norman said, standing up from his chair in an act of outrage and frustration, "come talk to me when you two know how to actually do your damn jobs."

Norman barged out of the bar doors, not caring about the ruckus he had just stirred up. The light’s outside the barren street seemed to have just quit their jobs for the night, aside for one lamplight from his distant right. There stood the shadowy figure again; it’s wispy outline seemed to merge with the light in an impossible fashion that not even a detective like Norman could explain himself. It raised its shadowy finger and, once again, a head-splitting voice shushed both his ears. This drove Norman into a frenzy, as he fruitlessly attempted to swat the invisible, intangible force of nature around him. He looked back at the figure, only that it had seemed to dissipate once more. His heart was racing, which he tried to remedy with as many cigarettes as he could stomach. After that, all he could think of was finding a sanctuary to ease his mind.

Norman rendezvoused back to his apartment and unsurprisingly, it was about as unkempt as himself. Old clothes hung over the tattered furniture, while the walls seemed to drip death from top to bottom. He flicked on the light, but that wouldn’t even work. This dismayed him, as Norman was drunk as a skunk and walking around in darkness certainly wasn’t helping. He tried walking forward, but the sound of crunching glass bellowed beneath his shoe. He lifted his foot and did his best to pick up the object without cutting his hands on the broken shards of glass. 

As he was trying to make out what it was to the best of his abilities in an almost blackened room, the lights began flickering. Eventually, the lights actually stayed on, and Norman finally could see the very thing he was holding; an old picture frame, crafted with an enriched cherrywood that brought out the colors of the picture. There, he saw his younger self. He seemed happy, with less eye bags and a glowing smile on his face. He had his arm wrapped around a woman, a certain person that Norman recognized without fail. She was gorgeous, with emerald green eyes and golden blond hair that seemed to make the whole picture warm itself up in delight. Both of them seemed totally content with one another, like two jigsaw puzzles from different sets still fitting perfectly together.

Norman stared at the picture in complete and utter awe, as he thought he had thrown it away years ago; it brought too many bad memories that pierced his mind with a wave of sorrow and regret. He flipped the frame over to the other side and saw a crudely written message reading: I’ll light one for ya in the next life! Love, Annie.

 Norman felt the air in his lungs seem to escape him, tightening his breathing. His hands started failing on him, as the frame started dangling out, eventually collapsing back onto the hardwood floor. Norman, who had already seen and heard enough reminders today, seemed to float to the bathroom in a desperate attempt to escape reality itself.

He tried his best to make his way to the bathroom, to no avail. His drunken stupor made passing through the hallway a challenge, but he eventually made it. Luckily, the light worked without fail. He stared at the mirror in front of him and saw nothing but a ghost. Pale skin, deep eyebags, and red-strained eyes only proved the point. Behind him was the shower, and that alone reminded him that he reeked to high heaven. First though, he needed a refresher. 

Norman doused his face in cold water and that alone seemed to rejuvenate him. Again and again, he washed his face, with an ounce of life granted to him with each handful of water. He looked back in the mirror again; this time, he actually seemed to be alive. His face had cleared up, and the very soul within him had appeared to have been purified, ever so slightly.

For some reason however, something didn’t seem right within him. That feeling of a forest rabbit, unknowingly about to be snatched up by a hawk. Suddenly, pitch black and smoky shapes flowed out the top of the shower curtain. Norman didn’t fear as much this time. In fact, he felt more prepared for it than ever before. Turning around, he shifted towards the curtain and swung it open.

The void he had seen previously stood right before him, stone cold and without a single detail in the dimensions of it. To Norman’s surprise, the figure opened what could only be surmised as its eyes; they radiated a bright emerald green that froze almost made him jump in shock. However, he couldn’t seem to stop staring at it’s eyes. He found it quite hypnotic, like a king cobra being allured to the sound of an egyptian flute. It raised it’s finger, but this time, towards Norman. It pressed it’s deathly appendage on his lips as he felt an icy chill flow throughout his soul. It lifted it’s finger, revealing a freshly lit cigarette between Norman’s lips. It shushed him one last time, leaving him in a comatose trance as his vision shrouded into smoke and darkness.