Chapter One: The Creepy Case

Agent Tarell Donovan is a tall man, his daughter, who’s quite tall for her age of 6, can barely reach his torso as she reaches for the bag of candy that he’s teasing her with. He just got home from a long day at the FBI office in Albuquerque, NM - a thirty minute drive from his home.
“Hold on sweetie.” He tells his daughter with a slight giggle. His daughter persists, “But why can’t I get it now?” she asks while jumping trying to catch the bag of goodies. “Because you need to eat dinner first young lady.” He throws the bag to his wife Rachel who's at the kitchen preparing dinner.
“Listen to your father Michelle.”
Tarell sneaks up behind his wife of 10 years and plants a warm kiss and a hug. “Hey you...cook here often?” he whispers jokingly to her right ear and to which she replies, “Only when there’s food in the kitchen.” She displays a warm smile.
“Yes, food that I provide with the sweat of my brow.” Tarell responds while depositing gentle kisses down his wife's neck.
She noticed a slightly serious tone. “Tough day at work?”
“Tough is not the word. Remind me not to kiss the Assistant Director’s ass anymore.”
“What did you do now? You know..” She pauses for a second. “You’re always getting yourself in a jam with your superiors.” She prepares the table while her husband removes his jacket and sits.
“It’s not like that this time baby. He asked me to take on a less-than-illustrious case, one with no leads. Not yet at least.”
“Isn’t that how they all start?” Rachel asked while serving dinner.
“Yeah a good number of them, but this one is just...I don’t know, boring.”
The doorbell sounds off, Rachel answers. It’s agent Frank Olivencia, Tarell’s partner accompanied by a girlfriend.
“Hey, I’m glad you made you made it Frank.” They exchange handshakes. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss your wife’s beef with broccoli for the world.”
After a short exchange of pleasantries and a well-cooked meal, agent Frank gets a file from his car to share with his partner over drinks.
“Check it out Don; I have the coroner’s preliminary autopsy report on the murder victim.”
Tarell frowns and stares at Frank “Are you kidding me? I don’t remember asking you to bring work to my crib.” His Harlem, NY accent was audibly pronounced. He gets up from the table and walks over to the bar to replenish his drink. “Don! You need to read this! It isn’t the boring case you thought it was.” Frank follows him to the bar and shows him a close-up of the gunshot wound of the victim.
“Here, read the coroners note.” Tarell brushes him off: “Frank don’t you have a life beyond the bureau? This is really sad you know, I’m gonna have to get you some help. I’m seriously concerned.”
“Humor me for a change.”
Frank and Tarell have been friends for years. They graduated from Quantico together, both at the top of their class. They’ve been assigned to the same office since graduation and have been through thick and thin, creating a bond that’s not easily broken. It’s because of this that Frank gives in.
“Fine, let’s see what it says.”
Frank points to the doctor’s writing and Tarell reads aloud:

“Preliminary autopsy results reveal that the victim’s brain was sucked out through the gunshot hole, evidenced by the remains of brain matter around the outer cavity.”

“What the hell?”
Frank replies, “Yeah that's what I said. Not only that but there was no evidence of a break-in, no finger prints were found, not even a single hair, or foot prints of any kind.”
“Really?” Tarell is intrigued as he reads on to himself.
Frank summarizes notes from the case file paper-clipped behind the coroner’s report: “The entire apartment was combed twice and both times they came up with nothing, nada, zilch, zero.” He’s visibly excited. They haven’t had such an interesting case since they worked with NYPD on the would-be Times Square bomber.
Tarell stares at Frank with a confused look in his face. “So... NOT boring.”

The next morning, the two agents rise early and meet at the office to brainstorm, Tarell with his double Latte and Frank with his triple espresso. Frank begins: “So here’s what I was able to dig up last night.”
Tarell, dealing with a slight hangover, asks “Wait a minute, last night?”
“Yeah last night.”
“What did you do, sleep here?”
“Don’t be silly, I slept in the lounge.” Tarell grins. “You’re certifiable you know that?”
“Yeah I guess, but listen; I got some history on our victim Mr. David Gruby.” Frank walks over to Tarell’s workstation and pulls up a file on the screen. “Turns out the file was classified. I made some phone calls, pulled some strings and found out that the Department of Defense has their fingers all over these files. As you can see even declassified it will only show the scanned document that was edited, the majority of the information is blotted out.”
Tarell scans through the available text on his computer screen. “Why would the department of defense care about some nobody that works at a welfare office in Philadelphia?”
“That's the kicker Don; he’s only worked there for two years, despite the fact that the file says fifteen. Detectives interviewed a female co-worker who told them that he had just started working there a month after she started two years ago.”
“So what did he do for the other thirteen?” Tarell wondered out loud.
“I don’t know, yet.”
Tarell digresses; “Well let’s see what else we can learn.”

After studying the documents for some time, Tarell starts to wonder, “Does this guy actually exist?” Frank peeks over his flat screen monitor. “What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s no evidence of education, credit or income before his stint at the welfare office. It’s like he didn’t exist until two years ago, or fifteen if you believe the disinformation.”
Suddenly a fellow agent walks in. “Guys I have a phone call from someone claiming to know your victim personally, she says they used to date.”
The agents are intrigued; Frank is the first to respond. “What line is she on?”
“Line one.”
Frank picks up the phone and has a short chat with their new lead. After he hangs up he relays the information to Tarell. “She says that she recognized his picture from the paper and that his name was not Gruby, it was Mason, Mr. Gilbert Mason.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Not only that but she’s willing to meet with us for a tell-all statement. Apparently he dropped her like a bad habit just after he graduated from Penn State University where he studied Microbiology. Get your jacket, were going to Philadelphia.”
While on the plane the agents review the final report from the coroner on their netbooks. Tarell leans over to Frank and asks, “Hey, what do you make of this statement here?”

“Among the proteins found around the cavity, there are traces of an additional element, biological in nature, which cannot be classified. Further in-depth analysis is required to figure out its make-up.”

Frank responds, “Well, let’s hope they can find out what it’s made up of. It might shed some light.”
Tarell begins to sum up the facts. “So we have a victim who apparently doesn’t exist, a gunshot wound that has the characteristics of a puncture, a missing brain, an unidentifiable element on the remains and a record that’s been handled by the D.O.D, parts of which conflict with a witness’ statement. Did I miss anything?”
“You forgot the hot ex.”
“How do you know she’s hot?”
“She just accepted my friend request. I’m all over her Facebook account.”

-The next chapter will be posted within the next few days