The Detective by Chris McCartney

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SUMMARY: Short Story written for flash. Hope all enjoy and leave a comment please so that i know if i'm getting somewhere or not.

The noise of the train became a hum shortly before it disappeared. Matthew Clifford watched the lights vanish off into the distance then looked back down to the police lights that were spinning colour absently about.
Matt's watch beeped once or twice into the psychotic night before he stopped it. The noise set his hand to twitching and Matt tensed as the veins ran black for a moment and then returned to their regular red shade. David was late again. Matt stepped up to the neighbouring house, its occupants shifting their heads about looking to catch a glimpse of the action.
‘You see anything?' Matt asked.
The two owners ducked inside their house, the door smacking off the hinges and swinging agar. After a minute an older, probably retired man stepped out, his right eye twitching away.
‘We didn't see nothing!' The shout came from inside the house.
‘Patricia, please!' The man called back. ‘Yeah, I saw something, but the wings I saw on it, kinda put it out of your league.'
‘Sir, you wouldn't believe what was in my league if I told you. Listen the child next door has been kidnapped, the back bedroom window was shattered; did you see where this thing went?'
‘The back gardens lead off into a field that goes a good thirty feet back and with the fog coming in...'
‘Yeah, I know what you mean, but I gotta check anyway.' Matt looked up from his writing pad. ‘Would you mind if I...? I just don't want to bother Mrs Daily.'
The older man ushered Matt through the house, past an angry old woman and into the back yard.
‘I wonder what happened.' The old man said. ‘First the divorce and now our neighbour gets this.'
After what the old man had told Matt about the assailant, he figured he knew why there had been a divorce. Damn fog, he thought.
Then the scream came. Matt bolted with all his body could muster, but his body resisted, tensing up and he didn't need to see the veins to know what colour they were running. He cursed mentally. The old man was pressed but tried to keep up with Matt, their movements slowed by the damp soil.
Again a scream came from the distance. Matt was sure it was the young girl and he pushed himself harder against the pain.
PANG.
Matt was thrown to the ground, followed quickly by the old man who fell beside him. He stood up, a low growl emitting unconsciously from his throat as a black screen flowed over his vision.
The old man saw the change in Matt's eyes and started. ‘What sort of thing produces a shockwave like that?' He blurted. ‘I heard no explosion! It sounded like the pang of a xylophone or something.'
Matt jumped to his feet and ripped the ornate dagger from the sheath at his back. The old man's eyes widened at the Holy Cross shape the dagger took on.
Breaking into a run Matt yelled back: ‘It wasn't a shock wave it was bloody echo location!'
Another scream was soon muffled and then followed by the sound of a trunk slamming shut. An engine started and Matt had just caught a glimpse of the rear lights before the vehicle sped off. To his right he heard a metal fence knocked suddenly to the ground and a further skid of the car.
Matt panted and angrily pulled his phone from his pocket but just as he did, it rang.

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