Chapter 1 ~ A Dark Past
Angus sat on his front porch watching the sunset, the last of its golden rays bled through the canopy as a creeping fog rolled in - an expected visitor the estate agent said, born from the land's strange hollows - it settled over the earth like a thick blanket, heavy with the weight of silence, stirring memories he fought to bury.
Today like every year, on this cursed date, hatred, and grief clawed at his chest. Hatred for the monster he once was and grief for his victims - beings as human as he, despite what he'd once believed - who'd died by his hand. Barely a year had passed since he was released from Oregon State Penitentiary, since he fled the horrors of his former life, leaving his family and their tainted legacy behind.
Yet the past clung to him, as stubborn as the fog, and tonight it felt closer than ever.
A low rumble pierced the stillness, followed by the crunch of tires on gravel. Angus snapped to attention, his pulse quickening as headlights sliced the dusk. A blue Dodge Charger rolled up the driveway, its searchlights pinning him like a criminal. Police, he thought, a familiar dread coiling in his gut at the unexpected visitors. This can't be good.
"You Angus Johnson?" A stocky, black detective stepped out, badge glinting on his belt. His partner, lean and twitchy followed, hand hovering near his holster.
"That'll be me... Who's asking?" Angus's voice rough, like he'd swallowed sand.
"Detective Griffins and This is Burkhardt," Detective Griffins said, eyes hard. "We're here about a murder. Got a symbol that's connected to you, a Sterbestunde G."
His stomach lurched, mind tracing back to the signature of a Endezeichen. How did they find me already? His past came clawing, blood covered hands, echoing shrieks. "Not sure what you're talking about.", his posture shifted, hiding his inked arm. A leftover reminder. "Where were you Friday night?" Burkhardt cut in his head tilting, fingers brushing his weapon. "Here. Don't leave this place much." Angus said, stance rigid, eyes flicking to the detective's hand. "Anyone to back that up?" Griffins stepped closer. "That symbol's tied to you. Your arrest photos say you wore it loud and proud." "I'm done with that life," Angus cut in voice low and steady, but his heart hammered. The weight of history pressing against his ribs. "And I'm alone out here." "So no one to corroborate. Well, we have to take you in-", Burkhardt said, his body tense, "Got some questions for you."
Angus met his eyes, then nodded slowly. "Fine." He turned knees sinking to the dirt with hands laced behind his head, gravel biting his skin - a small sting compared to the ghosts haunting him.
Burkhardt exchanged a glance with Griffins, suspicion carved into his face as he approached. "That went easier than expected," Detective Burkhardt muttered.
Angus's jaw tightened, head hung as he replied, "Told you. I ain't that man no more."
***
After arriving at Portland's south police precinct, Angus was placed in an "interview" room, a sterile box with nothing more than a scarred metal table, three rickety old chairs, the classic one-way mirror and a door that locked from the outside.
They left him to stew, time passed slow with the fluorescent buzz drilling into his skull. 'Almost the same as the first time.'
Through the one-way mirror he could feel the eyes locked to him like needles prickling his skin. The door clicked open, groaning inward as the same two detectives strode in, Griffins leaning against the wall behind him, as Burkhardt slapped a folder down, contents spilling.
"Take a look," Burkhardt said, his voice flat and hard. "That is Adrian Zayne's body. Tortured just minutes before they were taken - made to confess to the kidnapping of Donna Reynolds." Angus flipped open the folder, the glossy photos spilling out like accusations. A blood-smeared wall, a corpse hung from the ceiling. His gut twisted as he saw it: the Sterbestunde G, painted on the wall in crimson, stylized like a grinning skull. More of them branded into Zayne's chest, raw and weeping. His eyes shifted to the brand again. Hmm.. not the them then. A copycat perhaps? Most of his worries evaporated - this reeked of his old life, but it was just a coincidence. A wild, completely unexpected coincidence, but a coincidence all the same.
"That symbol," Burkhardt continued, jabbing a finger at the photo, "is quite unique. I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about.", his knowing, probing eyes bored into Angus. Wait.. he knows what it means? Is a he Wesen?
"I'm not sure what you're mean.", his arms crossed, voice gravelly.
Burkhardt's eyes narrowed his jaw tightening. "You're not fooling anyone. You know exactly what I'm talking about.", he spat a finger tapping to the symbol, "You're an Endezeichen Grimm." He paused, letting the words sink in, waiting for a reaction. "I still don't know what you're talking about.", he feigned.
"I'm a Grimm too.", Angus stared, utterly stunned. "You're.. a Grimm?"
Oh, shit.
"Yeah," Burkhardt said, leaning in close - enough for Angus to smell the stale coffee on his breath. "And I've got Wesen friends. I won't let you hurt them, or anyone else.", Angus was thrown for a loop a second time. He was Grimm right here in Portland, and he had wesen friends? How did that work?
Surely he's lying, there must be an angle I'm not seeing.. but no wesen would claim their a Grimm, surely.
"The fuck are you trying to get at?", Angus growled, his tone shifting. "You think I'm stupid enough to believe a Grimm could have wesen friends?"
"I don't care what you believe, and the only thing I'm getting at, is that I know you did it." Burkhardt paced, face scowling, "Hell, it's not like you even tried to hide it - What kind of an idiot do you have to be to torture people, and then carve your own signature on the body!"
"I am not an Endezeichen!" Angus snapped, his fist crashing down, denting the metal table with a dull thud. Silence engulfed the room as pain shot through his knuckles, he barely felt it through the heat of his outburst. "Look.", he huffed, deflating in the chair. "I've changed. I left that life behind.", but I'll never forget the screams. His gaze fell to his rough calloused hands and the dark blood that drenched them.
Griffins left the wall, joining the interrogation. "You expect us to believe it's a coincidence? Someone gets carved up by an Endezeichen Grimm, and you just happened to live in the area?"
His eyes flicked to the photos, the Sterbestunde G glaring back in crimson. Definitely not their work. Too weak. "It wasn't done by an Endezeichen. That-", he said, jabbing a finger at the mutilated corpse- "is a copy-cat - at best."
The air turned heavy, fluorescent buzz sharpening, Griffins eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"
"I what I said, it's a fake." Angus said, leaning forward, the chair creaking under him. "One of us- One of them didn't do that.", he caught himself, "You'd know if it was, that I can promise you. And this-", he pointed at the skull-shaped G branded on Zayne's chest. "That's sloppy. Everything about it screams amateur. Uneven burns, shallow cuts, and that one on the shoulder-", he tapped a faint-purplish mark, voice sharpening, "whoever did this tried to brand him there, only the iron wasn't even close to hot enough. Some wannabe amateur playin' kid games.", Angus snarled, only just realising how heated he was.
Burkhardt's jaw clenched, his gaze flicking to Griffins, suspicion thick between them.
"I know Endezeichen work.", his voice dropped, heavy with the weight of old sins. "Check my file again. You'll see the difference." His gaze fell to the table, memories clawing their way up. Wesen begging, terror-filled eyes breaching condemning his soul, his blade wetted by their loved ones.
'I'm not that anymore.'
The detectives shared a hard, silent glance, then turned and left, the door's metallic click sealing Angus inside. The photo's still splayed before him, each brand a taunt from a past he couldn't outrun.
***
"Jesus. Just think of the things that guy has done to wesenkind..." Monroe muttered, his upbeat attitude replaced by a tundra of hate as he glared through the window. The air in the observation room hung thick with tension, fluorescent bulbs cast harsh shadows on Angus's slumped form. "Sorry, Monroe. Had to drag you in to confirm he's a Grimm," Burkhardt said, his voice sombre, laced with the fatigue of a long, hard day. "You can head out if you want." "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. I'll have to give Rosalee a call as well," Monroe replied, a flicker of his usual self returning at the thought. "Need some normal after that absolute vibe."
As Monroe slipped out Burkhardt stepped closer to the glass, eyes locked on Angus. "You think he's telling the truth? About there being a copycat?"
Griffins rubbed his jaw, uncertainty writ across his face. "Not sure. Something's not adding up though, that's for sure."
Burkhardt nodded grimly. "We should dig into his old crime scenes again. Compare the murders, see if he is telling the truth."
Griffins grimaced, the files bloody details flashing through his mind. "Not thrilled about it, but yeah, it's a lead."
"Enough for tonight though, lets go home, get some sleep and come at it fresh tomorrow.", Burkhardt decided, "Lets get him in a cell - solo, he rot in there while we get some sleep. If he's lying, we don't want him near anyone… wesen or human."
The observation room door clicked shut behind them, glass reflecting only the flicker of the dying lights. Angus sat motionless in the connected room, his silhouette a dark smudge against the blood-streaked photos splayed on the table.
If he's lying, we don't want him anywhere near anyone… wesen or human. The words echoed in the empty room, a lingering warning for the wary.
Down the hall, a cell door groaned open, ready to swallow Angus.
***
An hour later and Angus lay, slumped against the leaky-cell's cold concrete wall - the damp chill seeping into his bones. The police station's holding block reeked of old piss, the air heavy with distant shouts and the clanging of metal gates.
His aching knuckles a dull reminder of his outburst. Not an Endezeichen. Not them. The thought gnawed at him. Old demons surging as he fought for sleep, he squeezed his eyes shut, but the damned refused to stay buried. Something was coming - whether it was the copycat or the clan, he couldn't be sure. But he could feel as it spreading through the air, he wouldn't be able to hide forever.
For now though, he'd get some sleep. Maybe the dreams wouldn't be as bad tonight.
A hopeful thought.