[WIP] Blood In, Blood Out.

“Who is the Silhouette Man?”

Chapter I — Introduction.


A barrage of bullets slam against the remainder of a wall that once stood high and mighty. Charles awakes distorted and confused. Frantically attempting to compose himself as he grabs the pistol planted in the debris as more bullets whiz by his head. His breathing uncontrolled, almost choking from the very air he desperately needs. He peers out of his fox hole attempting to make out where the shots are coming from, noticing his squad engaging in a fire fight a couple of klicks to his east.

Explosions set off all around him, he crawls out of the fox hole and dashes toward his squad. “We’re being fucking attacked!” says a squad infantryman as he approaches him, hugging the wall as more bullets clip the concrete. He tosses Charles a Colt 720, ordering him to suppress fire while the team makes a move toward a building to the South. “Charles. Watch my fuckin’ six don’t ya’ dare let me die!” frighteningly screams another infantryman as the squad gathers up to ready for their retreat.

A helicopter hovers over their head with sounds of heavy munitions being discharged from a minigun. There’s been an attack and the outpost is being ambushed by militants coming from the North. Aerial units can be heard flying past the village sending shots into the outskirts of the village.

“Go Go Go!” exclaims Charles as the squad dashes across the ruined village outpost. He peaks around the corner of the wall, shooting into the unknown. Bullets exit the gun at a high rate, the muzzle flash leads to a concentrated fire on his location. A bullet grazes the end of the barrel, staggering Charles, sending him in cover once more. He takes a deep breathe through his nostrils before grunting, returning fire seconds later. He looks back, his squad has entered the building. He continues to shoot into the dark night but suddenly a large thump is heard.

A mortar round. It flies over Charles head before hitting the building to the south. A large explosion is heard then nothing.. Charles wakes up gasping for air, sweaty and frightened. His breathing is shortened and he clinches on to his chest almost as if he wanted to rip his own heart out. He stares around the dimly lit room, looking at the women who has awoken to comfort him with sadness in his eyes. He closes his eyes as he presses his temple against the side of her head almost child-like.

“Same dream?” she asks before wrapping her arms around him. He nods slowly before turning his head to the alarm clock. It reads 3:30. “Always at this time..” he says before pausing, a ringtone goes off moments later. It’s a cellphone, he picks it up. “Detective Arlequin.” he speaks in a monotone voice before hanging up a couple of minutes later. “There’s been another murder, I’m up.” he says to the female before sighing deeply.

“Blood In, Blood Out.” Charles mumbles before exiting his bed.

This is the story of Charles Arlequin.

Chapter 2 — Pop Goes The Weasel.


Charles walks up to a police barrier, flashing an old detective badge and sends the officer a nod as he ducks underneath the police tape. A loud roaring thunder goes off sending the sentry of officers into frenzy. The tension is high Charles ponders to himself as he walks into the main door of an illuminated house guarded by two cops. “What gives?” Charles says to a neighboring detective. “Why the fuck is everyone scared of lightning all of a sudden?” he continues as he banters with the detective. “I-I don’t.. know? Maybe it has something to do with the deceased upstairs..” he responds. He points to the ceiling indicating the crime scene is upstairs before shifting his gaze back into his notepad.

Charles shrugs and begins makes his way up the stairs, carefully walking, inspecting a small trail of blood leading up to a half opened door. He peers inside, knocking on the door and announces himself before entering the room. It’s filled with several crime scene investigators, one turns to welcome him in. “Charles, welcome to the fucking party!” he says as he chuckles maniacally. “It out’a be a good one, we got Charles fucking Arlequin on the case!” sarcastically mocking Charles, taking several photos illuminating the room and revealing a deceased individual. All cut up, wounds from feet to neck. His head is decapitated and resting on the back toward the wall, barbed wire can be seen wrapped around his ankles and arms, tying him up to the corners of the bed frame.

A set of thunder strikes roar through the house, continuously lighting up the body as Charles stands there examining the body in sheer horror. He silently stands there rubbing the palm of his hand, he approaches the bed silently, retrieving a penlight and shines it on the grievous wounds across the male victims body. His heart beat begins to race, he slowly walks up to to the bed where the victim lays, he closes in on the head and turns his body in to face it. The face of his child appears. He immediately screams. He wakes up.

Another episode. Charles immediately stares at the alarm clock next to him. It reads 3:30. He screams violently as he punches the pillow next to him. This time, there’s no female there. There is nothing. He continues to send violent blows on to the pillow, weeping hysterically afterwards deep into the pillow. The loud weeping turns into soft cries, being muffled as he continues placing another pillow over his head as if to suffocate himself.

He awakes several hours later, the light shines through the bedroom window, hitting Charles in the face. He winces as he gets up, sighing as he notices a room filled with sheets and pillows all over the floor. He stares at the alarm clock. It reads 10:30. He’s late — as usual, but he makes no attempt at speeding his process up. He walks into the shower, turns the shower head on and exits after finishing his hygienic regiment minutes later.

He exits the shower, using his hand to clear the fog from the mirror above the sink. He opens the medicine cabinet. Inside are dozens of half empty bottles of all sorts of pain killers. He grabs an old fashioned straight razor and closes the medicine cabinet. He stands there motionlessly staring into the mirror. He needs a shave, his beard is growing thicker and his hair is greying. He continues to stand there motionlessly before slowly raising the razor blade against his bear, lightly tracing the ends of his beard. Cuts like paper he thinks to himself. He descends the razor down to his neck, applying it deeper to his neck.. “Let me end it, give me the strength” he mumbles to himself.

He gulps and clears his throat, closing his eyes. DO it! His inner demons exclaim. End it and it’ll all be over. He immediately grunts tossing the straight razor into the sink bowl, slamming his hand against the edge of the bowl before walking off steadfast.

Charles lives another day.