#something neat

the station wagon ( glad he wasn’t being escorted around in the police car, for once ), pulls up behind the broken down car. tail-lights flicker rapidly and at the hood is a frantic man. duke’s father flicks the car’s caution lights on and unbuckles himself. duke follows in tow, stepping behind his father as they both stand close to the car as much as possible.

“hey there! you alright?” duke sr calls out.

“ah thank god,” the man sighs, and he slicks back jetblack hair. “hiya.”

duke sr walks over with a warm smile. “heya, you alright?”

“nah, this damn thing gave out on me.” he sighs and looks between the older and his mini me.

duke stands, awkwardly for a moment and looks to the man. a denim jacket, a toothy grin and his hands jammed in the pockets of the jacket. he spares another glance to the car and goes around to the hood.

wincing at the heat from the engine, he popped open the hood. a quick lookover through the smoke, he peers at what he can see from the streetlamp light not too far ahead. fuck, it was hot.

“your engine must’ve gave out. we can get tony in for a tow, right, dad?” duke called out.

there’s nothing in return, but duke takes another gander at the engine. he squints, peering further to notice the empty engine cavity. huh? it was here just a minute ago.

his hand dip into the frozen empty cavity, and his eyes widen. that doesn’t make sense. it was just blistering, and he could feel the heat radiating off of the power source.

duke nearly laughs, party from confusion at the idea of someone driving without an engine. it’d be like being alive without a heart. that wouldn’t make sense at all.

he calls out again, “hey dad, tony’ll have a field day with this- there’s no engine.” he shakes his head, incredulously at how ridiculous it truly was.

as if it was a punchline to a joke, there’s a laugh from around the corner, towards the trunk of the car. it was funny to think about, really.

this is better than the stupid joke he planned for his dad earlier. he notices the sound of something hitting the ground over the phantom hissing, and he raises a brow.

“sir? dad?”

duke stops, straightens his back and the laughter grows louder. peering from the hood, he steadily approaches the trunk, chewing on his cheek hard now. the metallic taste coats his tongue, and his hands clam up. shit.

the man with the denim jacket laughs, a sickening laugh. a smile grows too wide to fit his face and he stands over the limp body of douglas keane. duke’s eyes follow a blade, one he never had seen before. it’s what he can see to be jet black, and the hilt looks jagged, sharp enough to make the wielder bleed.

silence is the only thing that manages to ring through the recesses of duke’s mind. his eyes trail down to his father, a crimson spot grows wider every couple seconds and his breathing grows heavier. douglas keane’s eyes are wide, glazed over. he’s surprised, caught off guard.

shit. shit, oh no-

“dad-?”

he dives down to his side, not realizing the pool of blood reaching his knees, coating the grass off the side of the road.

“dad!”

“‘ol pops restin’ easy, bud. don’t worry, the black is waiting for him.” the man taunts. duke doesn’t register what he says, nor does he notice how he disappears into the line of trees.

the day that sheriff keane died was a hard day for hatchetfield’s residents. a good man, brother and father died. his death was the reason HFPD’s reputation declined, why ‘hatchetfield’s finest’ became a derogatory term… why duke went into social work.

duke went into social work, as a means to help children, carrying some aspect of the sheriff’s legacy with him. it was his name, his surname, and there was something so reliving when he met miss holloway. a new soul in hatchetfield that gave condolences over his father’s death, and later a friend that he goes to for help on cases.

the denim jacket she wears so often never was a thought that crossed his mind, until recently. the black book, the book she’s told him not to worry about. a glimpse of a page during a case, he saw the same jagged blade he saw so many years ago. there’s something like denial that brews in the pit of his stomach. she wouldn’t have done anything, would she? not her.