HOME | DD

Description
--

FFM Day 25 - Duck, Duck...?

--

Three hundred and seventy-two hours, eighteen rubber ducks, six bodies, one hell of a storm and zero witnesses; as was the final tally for the day since Detective Straeller had been handed the case to solve. He hadn’t slept since the whole thing started with a corpse fashioned to depict slavery with three rubber ducks surrounding it apparently laughing at him nearly two weeks ago. Well, it’s not as if he slept before that, but this case was a better excuse for his chronic insomnia. Since the clusterfuck of the department’s handling of the media, the killer had apparently taken advantage and stepped up his game, with fewer and fewer days between a new corpse appearing with a party of rubber ducks.

It has been thundering for days across their island town, usually sleepy, sunny and otherwise murder-free but it seemed even the sky had taken offence to the deaths. Still, Straeller had done his best to lay low of the media and simply continue to chase his killer, when his lack of sleep wasn’t kicking his ass.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes through the sea of bagged rubber ducks around him as he re-read over the crime scene reports,

“No fingerprints, no evidence and no fucking witnesses…” He swore to himself,

“I’m a witness,” A light, squeaky voice suddenly drew his attention, “Down here,” His eyes found a small rubber duck looking at him, “The docks, that’s where he does it,”

A fucking rubber duck… he was nuts for listening to a plastic bath toy for advice, yet here he was, creeping through the old, pitch-dark warehouse with his gun poised, the tension palpable. A monstrous hissing sound almost deafened him as he looked wildly around for the source before a blinding flash of blue light ricocheted off the antenna illuminated, for a fraction of a moment, allowing Straeller to see that he was not alone and the figure in front of him, looked a lot like… his Lieutenant?

The light was gone as soon as it had appeared and everything went dark again; Straeller lowered his gun as he tried to make sense of what he’d seen. Surely, it was just the insomnia talking…