Detroit, Michigan. 1961
The sound of hail tapping against the glass broke him out of his daze. Through the dimly lit atmosphere of the police station he made out the time displayed on the wall; 11:38. He cursed at himself for letting himself stay so late again as he gathered his things. Staying late was becoming too much of a habit for him, but he couldn't seem to bring himself to break it. His home just seemed like the place he went to sleep and eat, and sometimes he didn't even do that. His house just seemed emptier than usual and he hated the weight of the silence. The quiet of his house made him hear things--it made him hear the sweet voice of his son and wife welcoming him back home after his long day. Their voices would often wake him up in the middle of the night and he would go through fits of rage and sadness trying to find them in his small apartment, but he never could. All the counselors and therapists the station assigned to him after their passing told him that time would heal his wounds and that he should move on, but ten years did nothing to dull the pain. And now his empty house was a constant reminder of the life and love he could have had.
"You're still here?"
Roger looked up to see his colleague, John Sato, standing in the doorway.
"Yeah, just finishing up some reports before heading home."
"Jesus. I'm beginning to think the only reason I was hired is to remind you to go home. As much as we love your can-do attitude, methinks you should take some personal time once in awhile. You know, like actually taking days off would be a great start!"
Roger scoffed at the younger inspector's remarks. If he and John hadn't known each other for nearly a decade he would have been offended by his comments on his social life. John was a great guy and a better officer, and besides his being a ladykiller, Roger had no qualms with him.
"I promise you I'm heading home right now."
"And you remember that your day off is tomorrow, right? I'm not going to find you here working your ass off?"
John looked expectantly at Roger, waiting for his response. Roger merely shrugged, grabbed his coat, and wished John a good night, escaping the room before John could say anything. He quickly walked through the station, not wanting to run into anyone else who would provide a probing commentary on his work ethics.
The wind outside the building bit through his coat and he was grateful the hail had stopped, but it was snowing heavily. His heart sank when he realized that he had forgotten to put on snow chains on his tires when he left for work that morning. Snow drifts had already piled an easy six inches on the road, so he knew that there was no way he was going to be taking the main roads home. He sat in his car while his windshield defrosted, contemplating what roads would be least treacherous to take. After a few minutes, he turned his engine over and started his commute. Luckily, midnight traffic was very light and he only got honked at once before turning onto the more residential streets to get home. Ten minutes into his drive he was feeling in the clear.
A figure suddenly dropped into the road ahead of him. Caught by surprise, he quickly turned the wheel, skidding on the icy road for a few feet before stopping. Shaken, he grabbed his badge and weapon and rushed out of the car.
"Police, stay where you are!"
His voice was steady and practiced despite the fact his heart was beating uncontrollably. The figure that had suddenly dropped in front of him was illuminated by a single streetlight. Clad in black, the figure was motionless in the snow. From what Roger could tell, the person was wearing combat boots and some sort of combat uniform. He'd only been in the army for four years before being discharged, but whatever they were wearing escaped his military knowledge.
"Turn around with your arms raised!"
No response from the figure.
"I said turn around! Raise your arms!"
Their arms twitched and started moving upwards.
"Now turn towards me slowly! No funny business or you eat lead!"
The figure slowly turned towards him. Roger's breath caught in his throat. The figure's head was completely covered with a black mask, but the eyes behind it were a bright red. It was so unnatural that Roger's finger nearly pulled the trigger, but his senses returned in time.
"You will state your full name and explain why you jumped in front of my car! Any quick moves I will not hesitate to shoot!"
The figure simply stood there for a moment, hands raised, not saying a word. Before Roger could shout at the assailant again, they spoke.
"My name is Red. The reason I jumped was that I need a favor. I apologize for the unconventional method."
The voice that came from the figure was tinny and mechanical as if it were coming from a machine. Roger was caught off guard again, both by the inhuman voice and by the message it spoke.
"Why would I ever want to do that? Are you a lunatic?"
"I have information you want to get your hands on."
"I doubt that. Walk slowly towards me with your hands raised."
Roger was feeling a bit more confident now that he knew the person was crazy. He was still a little thrown by the fact that this person had jumped off an apartment building and landed on the road without their legs being broken, but he figured the snow could have proved some cushion. The fact that they were out in such cold temperatures without a coat also threw him, but he decided the person was on some sort of drug and couldn't feel the frigid temperature. Just one more crazy off the street once he brought them in.
"I think you'd want to know who was behind the death of your wife and son."
His blood froze. How did they know about that? Clearly, they had some sort of contact in the station that leaked the information or they somehow stole his file. Thousands of possibilities ran through his head, but he shoved them all away. This person was insane, they had to be. He was going to bring them in and his night would go back to being normal.
"I know you know it's not an accident. You're not stupid. I have a name." The figure spoke with complete confidence.
Roger's whole body was numb. He had fervently chased after a multitude of suspects after his family's death. At a certain point, he didn't know if it was for closure or just to find someone to blame and beat them to death. And now, ten years later, this loony was bringing it up again.
"I'll give you a name of someone involved tonight. If you do me the favor, I'll give you get the head of the snake. I'd be happy to serve him on a silver platter. But first, the favor."
The chance was so tempting. Roger licked his lips and debated agreeing to the favor despite not even knowing what needed to be done.
"Tell me what the favor is first and then we'll see."
"I simply need something picked up. I'll give you the location, time, and anything you need to bring. Simply pick it up, keep it for me, and then drop it off when I tell you to."
"Drugs?" Roger asked. He was slowly coming back to his senses. The whole situation was insane--a person literally jumps off a building and offers an exchange of information as long as he holds drugs for them? How much of an idiot did this 'Red' think he was?
"No drugs, I promise. I can't tell you what it is otherwise you're not going to pick it up, but I can promise you it's not anything illegal ."
Roger could hint a sense of humor in the voice but wasn't completely sure since it was so robotic. The deal was seeming too sweet to be real.
"What's the catch?"
Red went silent. They sighed before they spoke.
"The package you're picking up is cursed ."
Roger let that sink in. After a moment he burst out laughing, catching Red by surprise.
"What the hell? You're not picking it up because it's cursed? What in the actual hell is going on?" His fit of hysterical laughter lasted a few minutes and he wiped away the tears from his eyes.
"Alright, I'll do it. I'll pick up this 'cursed' item for you. Where and when?"
"I'll contact you when it needs to be picked up."
Red turned around and began walking away into the darkness.
"How can I trust you?" Roger shouted before losing Red from his sight. Red stopped and turned slightly toward him.
"Edgar Hamilton."
And in the blink of an eye, Red was suddenly gone.