diazdami

[diazdami]

THE ART OF DISASSEMBLY

When a brutal serial case reopens old wounds, CSI Damian Diaz finds himself forced to work alongside Jenna Raven—the woman tied to his deepest grief.

Primary Genre: Crime Thriller / Psychological Thriller

Subgenres: Police Procedural, Emotional Drama, Tragedy

Status: On-Going

Taglist: Open

Chapter 2 - Scene Of The Crime

Chapter 2 - Scene Of The Crime

The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting long shadows as it began to chase away the lingering darkness. The air was crisp, with the faint chirps of birds, the occasional crowing of a distant rooster, and the constant, unsettling hum of police activity.

Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, sectioning off the crime scene, and the hum of voices filled the air as curious onlookers gawked from behind barricades.

Hundreds of police vehicles, medical vans, and a line of S.W.A.T. trucks had flooded the area. S.W.A.T. members, dressed in their usual tactical gear, moved with military precision, some with K9s at their sides, combing the nearby woods. Two officers made their way along the edge of the trailer, their boots crunching over the gravel as they exchanged glances, then turned to address the S.W.A.T. personnel.

“Any news, yet?” Captain Singh's voice cut through the static of the morning.

“Nothing,” replied Charles Smithe, a member of the S.W.A.T. team. “The dogs haven't found a trace, and the others are coming up empty-handed.”

Thomas, standing nearby, chimed in, his ton matter-of-fact.”"We can't touch the scene until the Crime Scene Investigator has had a chance to assess. We’re still waiting on the go-ahead.”

The captain nodded, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Speaking of which...”

“Where the hell is Damian?”

Across the crime scene, a trailer door creaked open, and William Grayson stepped out, his face drawn with concern. His eyes were heavy, as if sleep had abandoned him.

“Detective Hansley?” William's voice was calm, but there was a tremor in it that suggested he hadn't quite processed the full weight of what had happened. "I'm the one who called 911 last night."

Patty turned, recognizing him immediately. She offered him a reassuring smile, though she could feel the subtle tension in the air. She gestured for him to follow.

“Nice to meet you, William.” She extended her hand. “Let's sit down. I need to ask you a few questions.”

They moved toward a pair of folding chairs set up at the edge of the crime scene, near a cluster of officers and detectives. Patty settled herself and pulled out her notepad, keeping her gaze trained on William.

“I’m sure this isn’t easy, but your statement is crucial,” she said. “Please, take your time. I need to know exactly what happened last night.”

William exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I woke up to a scream. The kind of scream that cuts right through you. I thought it was just some nightmare, but then I heard it again. 'Please don't kill me.' It wasn’t like any scream I’ve ever heard before. Pure terror. I thought I was dreaming... but the lights—” He paused, his voice catching. “The lights were on in the trailer. I saw a figure. A man. He was holding something—maybe a stick. I couldn’t tell, but it didn’t look like he was just standing there. He was... doing something to her. The woman, I mean.”

Patty leaned forward, focusing intently. “Did you hear anything else? Anything that might help us identify the man or the woman?”

William’s eyes shifted nervously, recalling the details. “The screaming kept going... until it didn't. Then it was just one word: 'Please, spare me.' It was faint, like... like she was choking on something, but it wasn’t coughing. She sounded like she was choking on blood.” He swallowed hard, the memory weighing heavy on him. “It didn’t stop there. The man moved, disappeared for a while, then came back out carrying... bags. Garbage bags. I don’t know if he was trying to hide something, but then he went back inside again. Another few minutes passed before he came out again with... something bigger, wrapped tight in plastic. A body, I think.”

Patty jotted down the notes quickly, her mind racing with each new piece of information. “And the car?” she asked. “Did you notice anything about it?”

“Yeah, I did,” William said, eyes narrowing as he tried to recall the specifics. “It was a sports car, I think. I couldn’t make out the model, but the sound—" He trailed off, shaking his head as he struggled to describe it. “It was low, raspy... like it was fighting to stay alive.”

Patty’s pen paused over her notepad. That detail stood out.

A sports car...

On the far side of the crime scene, Captain Singh and Detective West stood quietly, surveying the controlled chaos. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, S.W.A.T. operatives moved with trained precision, and yet—one key figure was still missing.

Singh’s eyes scanned the perimeter again, irritation creeping in. “Where the hell is Damian?” he muttered under his breath.

With a sharp whistle, he flagged down a nearby officer. The young man turnedon his heel and jogged over. “Yes, Captain? Need something?”

“Has Damian shown up yet? The CSI?” Singh asked, arms crossed tightly.

“No, sir. Haven’t seen him.”

Singh gave a tight nod. “Alright. Back to your post.”

As the officer walked off, Singh sighed audibly. “West, why is he always late? He’s your nephew, for god’s sake.”

Detective West gave a tired shrug, already pulling out his phone. “He’s the only crime scene investigator in the jurisdiction, Captain. We’ve got five times the usual caseload and half the staff. The guy’s probably been running on fumes for weeks.”

Singh grumbled but said nothing. He popped a piece of candy into his mouth with a sigh. “Fair point.”

There was a beat of silence before he glanced sideways again. “Is Detective Raven on her way?”

“Yeah. Should be pulling up soon,” West said, shifting his stance.

“Good,” Singh replied, exhaling. “Now let’s just hope Damian shows up before the trail goes cold.”

Anything else?” Patty asked, her voice soft but insistent.

William paused, then nodded. “One more thing... the man, he was wearing all black. Hoodie, slim-fit jeans, black Converse shoes. And a mask. But what stuck with me were his eyes. Deep blue. Like they were staring right through me, even from the distance I was at.”

Patty’s heart skipped a beat. This was good.

Very good.

“Thank you, William,” Patty said, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve been helpful. I need you to come by the station later. We’ll need your full statement, and Captain Singh will want to speak with you.”

As William left, a black Dodge Charger rolled into view. Detective Jenna Raven stepped out of the vehicle, her presence commanding attention. The cream-colored trench coat she wore fluttered behind her like a cape, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Morning, Patty,” she said with a smirk, her eyes gleaming with both warmth and mischief. “You look like you’ve been busy.”

Patty returned the smile. “Morning, Jenna. You, as always, look... stunning.”

Jenna chuckled lightly, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh please, spare me the compliments.” She glanced around, noticing William slipping away. “And who's this? Your date?”

Patty rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. “No. Just the only witness we have right now. William Grayson.”

“Oh, so no date this time?” Jenna teased, her voice laced with amusement. “What happened to 'not making the same mistake twice'?”

Patty snorted, fighting the urge to laugh. “That was a lesson learned the hard way, trust me.”

Jenna raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Well, keep it professional this time, alright? I don’t need you getting distracted again.”

Patty winked. “Not this time.”

“Anyway,” Jenna said, shifting gears as she took in the scene, “what’s going on here? I take it there’s more to this than the usual 'just another body' if I was recalled?”

Patty nodded gravely. “Yeah, we’ve got a lot to work with. And the Captain’s asked you to join the case. You’re working with me and Damian on this one.”

At the mention of Damian's name, Jenna’s face flickered with a brief, almost imperceptible frown. “Damian?” She repeated, voice tinged with disbelief. “Detective Wests’ nephew, right?”

“Yep,” Detective West chimed in from nearby. “Don’t worry, you two will get along fine.”

Jenna’s expression tightened, but she nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Just this once, West.”

“Thanks, Jenna,” he said with a chuckle. “I know you’ll make it work.”

Jenna’s gaze softened as she surveyed the scene, her eyes lingering on the tire marks that led into the forest. The mystery was just beginning to unfold, and she could already tell this one was going to be complicated.

As the day wore on, with the team gathering evidence, one thing was clear: they

were about to dive deep into a case that would challenge everything they thought they

knew about crime—and the darkness that lurked just beneath the surface.

It was as if, in that fleeting moment, Jenna felt a flicker of something familiar —a reminder of time once spent well. Being around Damian, even now, felt… right, comforting even.

It was almost as good as it had been with Marcus.

Or even, better.

Chapter 3, coming soon.

Note: Death, is a natural way of life. The only difference is if it's taken, or chosen.

Question: Why is Jenna hesistant against Damian being her workmate for this case?

[diazdami]

THE ART OF DISASSEMBLY.

When a brutal serial case reopens old wounds, CSI Damian Diaz finds himself forced to work alongside Jenna Raven—the woman tied to his deepest grief.

Primary Genre: Crime Thriller / Psychological Thriller

Subgenres: Police Procedural, Emotional Drama, Tragedy

Status: On-Going

Taglist: Open

CHAPTER 1: Death By Dismemberment

CHAPTER 1: Death By Dismemberment

A silent night in Park City, Utah. The streets were emptying out, the cars thinning as seconds bled into minutes. The streetlights flickered like dying stars. Birds flitted from one spot to another, their wings silent against the cool night breeze. Ahead of me, a few expensive hotels and ski resorts. People walked around, a few leaning against light posts, a few more hunched against walls, smoking, chatting—typical for a town like this. And then, there were the trailers.

Some lights on, some off. Most of the people in the area? Probably already asleep.

But one trailer stood out. It wasn’t because of its light—it was flickering. Too irregular. Almost like it was struggling to stay on. Through the curtains, I could make out a figure—someone was there. And whatever they were holding? It wasn’t a phone.

“Please, don't hurt me!” A woman’s voice screamed, rising higher with every step she took back, her hand groping at anything she could find. The man didn’t care. He kept advancing, calm, cold.

“Stay away from me! Please!” The woman begged, stumbling further into the dead end of the trailer.

The man chuckled, slow and deliberate. “Hold still. I'll make it quick. You’ll hardly feel it.”

Another scream tore from her throat, but there was nothing left to be done. She was already cornered.

I watched, unmoved, as his hand covered her mouth, smothering her pleas. The woman’s fingers gripped his wrist, weakly holding on, the knife’s edge only inches away from her trembling body. The struggle was brief. Desperate, but futile.

“Please, don't do this...” Her voice barely a whisper now.

Four things echoed in the cold night: agony, the sound of the weapon moving through flesh, the man’s laugh—a slow, disturbing hum—and the sickening wet noises of a body fighting to stay alive. But it was pointless.

Her voice was nothing more than a whisper now. A fading plea that barely passed her lips: “Please... spare... me...”

The man? He enjoyed it. His blue eyes danced with twisted delight, relishing every moment. A grotesque smile spread across his face, the weapon going in, out, in, out—until there was nothing but a whisper in the dark. The woman’s body was still. Not a sound, except for the faint flicker of the lights.

“Could’ve done better if you didn’t squirm so much. Messy.” He chuckled to himself as he scanned the trailer—blood everywhere, splattered on the sheets, the closet, the walls. A mess.

He smiled, licked the blade clean. "I had much bigger plans for you, you know. Was gonna have some fun. With your body."

His voice dropped low, almost fondly as he took in the scene—his work.

Satisfied.

Turning to the kitchen, he found what he needed. Gloves, bleach, scrubs, garbage bags. Standard procedure. Clean the scene, leave no trace. That’s how it worked. Minutes passed. Gloves on, sheets ripped off, bloodied clothes stuffed into bags. The trailer was spotless by the time he was done. The knife went under a cabinet, out of sight.

Meanwhile, nearby, another man, William Grayson, woke from the screams. His mind was still heavy with sleep, but something in his gut told him to get up. He staggered out of bed, toward the window.

“What was that?” he muttered, his eyes scanning the dark.

Then another scream. Louder, but shorter. His heart rate kicked up. He slowly opened the curtains, but saw nothing.

“What the hell...?”

Then came the whisper—a woman’s voice, soft and desperate.

“P-Please... Spare... Me...”

He froze.

Fear crawled up his spine. He didn’t want to get involved—hell, he wasn’t crazy—but he couldn’t ignore it. He picked up his phone, dialed 911.

“Hello, this is 911 emergency services, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m William Grayson. I live in trailer seventeen at the southwest end of the Hyatt Centric Park City. I just heard someone scream from trailer fourteen. She said ‘Please spare me.’ There’s a shadow of a man... I think something’s happening in there. Maybe... a murder? Please send help.”

He spoke quickly, his voice low, whispering in case the man in the trailer could hear. The dispatcher responded quickly, typing away. “Thank you, William. Stay on the line. Help is on the way.”

Minutes later, the man reappeared from the trailer. Four black garbage bags stuffed with bloody sheets, pillows, and clothing. He moved toward a distant black car, the trunk popping open with a soft hiss. He shoved the bags inside, walked back to the trailer, and came out with more materials—duct tape, plastic, more garbage bags.

This wasn’t his first time.

As William stood watching from his window, he felt a twinge of panic. The man had just driven off, a low growl of a sports car’s engine fading into the distance. He’d disappeared into the forest, just like that. William remained frozen, calling 911 again, whispering.

“Alright, William. Stay inside. Police are ten minutes out. Do not leave your trailer. Keep the line open.”

Back in his car, the man was already planning his next move. A stop at Walmart.

Bleach, gloves, towels, garbage bags, duct tape. All the essentials. His mind churned, dark and methodical.

“Alright, time to move you,” he murmured as he entered the small warehouse by the river. A body. More work. He could almost taste the thrill, like dessert, as he laid the woman’s body on the table. The sawmill hummed to life.

As the hours bled away, the woman was cut into pieces. Her body, once whole, now scattered in bags. The man cleaned up, loading the remains into the trunk. His mind?

Focused. Calculated.

By the time he reached Bear Lake, the quiet of the water matched the stillness in his chest. The bags went into the lake, sinking to the bottom. He sped away, the night swallowing him whole.

Chapter 2, Coming Soon.

Note #1: The Story Chapters are longer than the Prologue and the Epilogue.

Note #2: There is a man of obsession, perfection. Who could it be?

Question: Why kill the woman? What is the motive behind?

[diazdami]

THE ART OF DISASSEMBLY.

When a brutal serial case reopens old wounds, CSI Damian Diaz finds himself forced to work alongside Jenna Raven—the woman tied to his deepest grief.

Primary Genre: Crime Thriller / Psychological Thriller

Subgenres: Police Procedural, Emotional Drama, Tragedy

Status: On-Going

Taglist: Open

PROLOGUE: Another Day, Another Case

PROLOGUE: Another Day, Another Case

Damian Diaz [P.O.V]

JUNE 15, 2023. 7:40 A.M. MY APARTMENT, I was slouched on the couch, phone in hand, heartbeat syncing with the one damn cricket chirping outside my window.

The morning heat pressed in—sticky, stale—typical Utah summer. It’s June, after all. I hadn’t showered yet, and didn’t plan to. No point. I’d finished all my cases last week, so work today? Optional. And I wasn’t feeling it.

I glanced out the apartment window, looking down at the road. Total gridlock. Figures. And what the hell—why were people wearing swimsuits? This is Utah. There’s no beach here. Just a few overpriced pools probably an hour away and swarming with chlorine and kids.

I looked back at my phone. Snapchat. Bone-dry. Drier than McDonald’s buns on a slow day. I hate to admit it, but my motion on there? Pathetic. If anyone’s got Snapchat on lock, it’s Leon. The name says it all. Leon. You just know.

Ting!

The microwave beeped.

“Ah, guess the Carbonara’s hot now,” I muttered, stretching.

I stood up and headed to the kitchen. Just as I reached for the microwave door, my phone buzzed. Incoming call—Detective West.

— Call Starts —

“Good morning, Detective—”

“Good morning, Damian. No time to talk. Head to the trailer park on the southwest side of Hyatt Centric Hotel, Park City. Your C.S.I. work awaits.”

“Sure… I’ll be there…”

— Call Ends —

Great... Didn't even get to eat my damn Carbonara...

What a morning.

Chapter 1 - coming soon.

Note: Prologue and Epilogue are shorter than actual chapters.

Question #1: What does the Red sentences stand for?