Dark Writes

The following excerpt is from JJ’s forthcoming book: Alpha. Follow on social and here to be first to know when it’s released!

Corporal Rafiq was not impressed to be called out on a Friday. It was supposed to be his day off; he’d already attended Mosque for Jumuʿah prayers, and was looking forward to spending the afternoon working on his classic motorcycle. He’d picked up an old Honda CB750 for a song at auction, and couldn’t wait to get it on the road.

As he pulled his cruiser into the parking lot of the beach hotel, the sight that greeted him nearly blew his mind. Charred remains of a white marquee flapped in the wind, parts of the roof still smoking. An overturned lectern was half buried among smashed vases of flowers. Shoals of petals fluttered around, rising up in small eddies.

A blue balloon with a bloody handprint on its side drifted in surreal slow motion across the grass. Overturned white chairs with sky blue bows littered the garden area, many sporting splashes of red. And between the chairs, lumps of colour; all sorts of bright materials, rippling in the breeze.

Rafiq couldn’t quite take in what he was seeing. Were those… bodies?

“Ali! Ali, hurry up,” Rafiq’s superior was calling him over. With a final glance back at the scene of devastation, he hurried over to a small group of police, standing in front of a cruiser, lights strobing.

“Sergeant Malik, what’s happened here?” he queried as he drew level.

“The groom happened Ali.” The sarge never used his rank or surname when addressing him. It really wound Rafiq up. “Looks like he found out the bride was having an affair and went mad. This is going to take a lot of cleaning up.”

“Are there… did anyone get killed sir?” Ali ventured.

“Indeed. Quite a few.”

“And the perp?”

“Dead, Ali. Shot in the head. We have the shooter in custody.” Malik began to walk along the gravel path towards the crime scene, stepping over smashed plates and chunks of wedding cake by the catering table. As they stepped onto the grass, a warm wind rushed in from the sea beyond, carrying with it the scent of decay and death. The heady mix of blood, faeces and urine, amplified by 30 degree heat, made Ali retch. He pushed his head towards his chest and forced the sick feeling down into his stomach.

Ali Rafiq had only been with the Dubai police a couple of years, and being fairly junior, his shouts were usually drink or drug-related, sometimes petty theft. He had never seen a dead body before. That day, he saw 26.

“Shit Ali,” a colleague called to him. “Look at this. He’s literally ripped the bride’s throat out. With his teeth!”