[love is seemly physical and pain is traumatizing. When you
scream "HELP ME" because of pain. Its because the heart has
experienced hurt, and that is why love becomes traumatizing
when you've experienced pain]. THE RECORDER
"Another murder, another record. The recorder always leaves
a note each and every time a record has been committed. His
getting better at that also" Thea Logan.
"Wait, were now calling the murders records. Wow, it gets
dummy everyday, and you know what. I get to ask myself
everyday. What does he gain from the murders. If his even a he.
Cause I've never seen so such noise. its like a fucking melee cry
you know." Detective Melvin.
Hannah walks in with a cup of coffee.
"yh, The Recorder is nasty but nobody knows how handsome
he is, i mean if this is a dude. I better give him some credit
because he has gotten my attention." Hannah
"really guys a murder has just been committed and the only
thing you can talk about is how nasty and handsome the recorder
might be. Omg I need a cigarette." Thea Logan
Thea walks out…
"wow…..okay so what's wrong with her I mean I was jokingyou know." Hannah
"do you know why Thea personally requested to be put on
the melee cries case. You might say its uhhhm a move to up her
career but that's not it. You see, Thea has a pretty awkward
relationship with The Recorder has she also was a victim of the
melee cries. In fact you might say she's a survivor of the melee
cries, which makes her the best chance we have to solving the
mystery. She knows him, he knows her too. The tricks the rules,
everything we know about the recorder is because of her." Senior
detective Boar
Meanwhile....
Thea leaned against the chipped brick wall outside the crime
scene, the rain slicking her hair to her forehead. She lit a cigarette
with shaking fingers, even though she hadn't smoked in years.
The crime scene inside was a warzone. Blood, broken glass,
overturned furniture And somewhere, hidden in the chaos, another
recording device. Another voice trapped in terror.
The recorder had struck again. The media had given him that
name and it had stuck. He didn't kill cleanly. He didn't sneak inquietly into the night. He turned each death into a symphony of
violence and left out the songs behind.
"melee cries," someone had called it once the sound of people
u
fighting for their lives. The last true music of the living.
She killed the engine, sitting there for a moment while the rain
battered the windshield.
Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. And of course it was
Bianca her twin sister.
CEL
" seriously, Tee honey I've just seen the news and you gotta
let it go. Another dead body? Grow up. Come work for me.
You're basically a cheap trick in a badge."
Thea snorted and pocketed the phone. Bianca Logan: CEO,
heartbreaker, queen of passive-aggressive love letters. A woman
who could crush million-dollar deals before breakfast, but still
referred to her sister's homicide cases like they were cheap
detective novels at the airport.
Cheap trick? Maybe. But at least the corpses she worked with
didn't try to sell her out for quarterly bonuses.
Thea stepped out into the rain, pulling her coat tighter. The crime
scene ahead waited, dripping with silence. Police tape fluttered
like tattered flags around the crumbling apartment building.
Her mom had left her a voicemail earlier, too.
VOICEMAIL:
"Be careful, baby. Call me when you can. Bianca and I are
having dinner Friday — please come. You work too much. I
worry about you."
Thea smiled a little, bitter and soft all at once.
Her mom still cooked enough food for three even though half the
time it was just her and whatever stray cat wandered in off the
street.
Sometimes Thea thought the only thing keeping her tethered to
this world was the weight of her mother's worry — and the
stubborn, infuriating existence of her twin sister. Because love
wasn't fireworks and violin music in the Logan family. It was
sharp jabs, late-night voicemails, insults delivered like gifts — and showing up, no matter how broken you were. And God, Thea was
broken.
Cracked clean through.
Inside, the apartment was a battlefield. Blood smeared the walls.
Furniture broken. Signs of a fight so brutal it looked like a
hurricane had passed through.
At the center of the wreckage, sitting neatly on the coffee table
—a battered black cassette recorder, spinning slowly.
The Recorder had been here.
Thea tugged gloves over her hands and crouched beside it.
Already, she could feel the hum of the city's worst secret crawling
up her spine.
Another scream, trapped forever in magnetic tape.
"You're goanna want to hear this," detective Melvin
Handing her a pair of headphones with a grimace.
Thea sighed.
"Unless it's Bianca yelling at a stockbroker, I really don't," she
muttered.
detective Melvin laughed
No one else laughed. Not with the Recorder still loose.
First came silence.
Then a storm of sound:
Breathless panic.
Crushing furniture. A mans scream, cut half way.
Thea yanked the headphones off bile rising. But not before she
heard it-soft hidden under the chaos-
"you're still weak"
Whispered like a lovers promise she froze. The headphones
dangled from her fingers, forgotten
This wasn't about random victims anymore this was about her
Thea stood there, motionless, the cassette still rolling and the
world felt distant and muted like she was floating just above her
own body, watching herself break.
She barely registered the footsteps until a hand closed gently
around her wrist warm steady. Familiar
"hey" Maurice said in a low voice.
"you're shaking," he muttered.
Thea blinked at him, not trusting her voice. The recorders whisper
still clawed at her eardrums: "weak, weak"
Maurice's brow furrowed. He squeezed her wrist lightly, like
grounding her back to the earth.
"you need a breather, this isn't just a case anymore tee
its…personal. And if you keep charging at it headfirst, you're
gonna loose." Maurice
She gave a short humorless laugh.
"but, I've already lost" Thea
"no," Maurice said firmly.
"you still got your heard. Your badge. And.." hesitated then
added softer, "me".
The air between them shifted thicker and heavier
It wasn't the first time the'd cross the line – a few late nights, too
much whiskey, too much loneliness – but they never talked about
it. Never dared gave it a name.
And for the first time all night, Thea realized how cold she really
was.
Without thinking, she let herself learn into him. Just for a second
just enough to remember she was till human.
She then pulled away straightened her coat wiped the rain and
tears from her face like they were nothing.
"uhmm one drink maybe" she said hoarsely.
"then get back to it" she adds
Maurice gave her a tired lopsided smile saying
"deal".
AFTER THE BAR MAURICE AND THEA
The apartment door barely clicked shut before Thea was in his
arms.
No words.
No hesitation.
Maurice's hands cupped her face, his fingers trembling slightly —not from fear, but from the unbearable pressure of holding back
too long.
Thea crashed her mouth against his, desperate and raw, tasting
rain, whiskey, regret.
Everything she couldn't say.
Everything he couldn't fix.
He pressed her against the wall, rough, hungry, his breath ragged
against her ear.
"Tee" he groaned, voice breaking, like he was drowning in her.
She pulled his jacket down his arms, tearing at his shirt, nails
raking across hot skin.
He let her.
He let her take him.
Because that's what this was.
Not romance.
Not rescue.
This was survival.
This was two people fighting for a heartbeat in a city built on
silence.
Her shirt hit the floor.
His hands traced every inch of her like he was memorizing the
way she shook under him — from fear, from need, from the
unbearable weight of everything they carried.
When he lifted her, her legs wrapped around his waist naturally,
instinctively
He carried her through the darkness, barely making it to the
bedroom before the last pieces of them shattered.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and broken breaths.
Thea clawed at his belt; he cursed softly against her collarbone,
teeth scraping skin, hands gripping her hips like she was
something holy and wild.
The first touch was rough.
Desperate.
He filled her in one thrust, and for a moment — just a moment —
everything inside her went blissfully blank.
No dead bodies.
No Recorder.
No screams.
Just Maurice.
Just now.
Just this.
He moved inside her like he was chasing salvation.
Each thrust deeper, harder, until she was arching under him, nails
digging into his back, gasping his name like a prayer.
He caught her mouth in a kiss again — a messy, brutal thing —
and she moaned into him, bucking against him, losing herself in
the brutal rhythm they found together.
The bed creaked under them, headboard slamming softly against
the wall, but neither of them cared.
The storm outside raged, but in here, the real storm was flesh and
heat and the sound of two souls trying to survive
Maurice whispered her name again and again, like he was afraid if
he stopped saying it, she'd disappear.
She whispered his back, lips brushing the shell of his ear, hips
grinding against his desperately.
The end hit them like an earthquake —
Thea cried out, back bowing, Maurice clutching her so tightly it
hurt, both of them breaking apart at the same time, riding out the
aftershocks together, trembling in each other's arms.
For a long time, they stayed tangled together in the dark,
breathless.
Sweaty.
Alive.
Thea rested her forehead against his chest, feeling the hard,
frantic beat of his heart.
Proof that she wasn't alone. Not yet.
Melvin brushed his fingers through her hair, gentler now.
Whispered,
"I'm not letting you do this alone, Tee ."
And for the first time in a long, long time, she let herself believe
him.
Even if it was only for tonight.
MORNING AFTER.
The morning sunlight filtered through the half-open blinds, casting
slanted beams of warmth over the bed. Thea groaned, her head
pounding like a jackhammer. She reached for the comforter, but
only found a mess of tangled sheets and —Maurice's arm was
heavy and warm and still on her.
For a moment, everything was still. Then, reality crashed back in.
She shot up, panicked, but immediately regretted it. Her head
swam, and she collapsed back onto the pillow with a curse.
"Damn it," she muttered, rubbing her temples.
Maurice stirred beside her, blinking up at her with that sleepy,
dazed expression.
"Rough night?" he asked, his voice deep and hoarse from
sleep.
"I'm gonna need a whole damn bottle of aspirin to survive
this one," Thea said, dragging herself upright and trying not
to look at the mess of their night together.
She glanced at him, lips twitching.
"So, uh, do we... talk about last night?"
Maurice grinned, a lazy, charming thing that only he could pull off.
"Or we could pretend it didn't happen. You know, like every
other awkward mistake."
Thea snorted, her head lolling back.
"Great. So now I'm just your awkward mistake?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Awkward? Nah. Memorable, maybe. Messy, definitely."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a grin.
Alright, enough of that. We both know you're probably gonna
ghost me after this."
Maurice looked at her seriously, then winked.
"And yet, here I am, still waiting for you to figure out how to
walk out of this bed without looking like a complete
disaster."
"You're a real charmer, Maurice," Thea deadpanned,
But the sarcasm faded when she looked at him. There was a
softness in his eyes — the kind that had been missing from her
life for a long time.
Just then, her phone buzzed on the bedside table, and she
groaned, grabbing it.
"Please don't let it be Bianca."
Maurice raised an eyebrow.
"Bianca? As in, the Bianca Logan? The business mogul?"
Thea rubbed her face, still half-dead.
"The one and only. I'd honestly rather hear from a serial killer
than her."
The screen flashed Bianca's name. Thea sighed deeply before
answering the call.
"Hi, Bianca," she said, clearly trying to sound normal, despite
the heavy breathing from the night before.
"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to answer her
phone. I tried to call you last night, but you didn't pick up. Not that I'm surprised — I can only imagine the kind of trouble
you were getting yourself into." Bianca's voice was all sharp
edges, like she knew something was off but was too proud
to directly call her out.
Thea shot Maurice an awkward look, and he gave her a lopsided
grin.
"I'm... fine, Bianca. Just busy. You know, work stuff." Thea
tried to keep her voice steady, but it came out a little more
breathless than she intended.
"Work stuff, huh?" Bianca's tone dropped. "Well, the team
has been trying to get in touch with you for hours. But I
guess 'personal stuff' comes first, doesn't it?"
Maurice snorted quietly from beside her.
"Yeah, well... personal work stuff," Thea mumbled. "I'll call
the crew when I'm up and functioning."
"Well, if you're done playing hooky, you might want to check
in with the squad. The Recorder has a new message for you.
They found it on the latest victim. A CD this time, not a tape.
Apparently, he's getting creative with his messages."
Thea's breath caught. "A CD? That's... new."
"Yeah. Maybe he's into vintage formats. Or maybe he just
wants to make you listen to his melee cries on repeat. Either
way, it's on your desk. I've no idea why you're dealing with
this alone."
Thea's pulse quickened as she glanced at Maurice. He was
already standing, pulling on his clothes with a calm intensity.
"I'll take care of it," Thea said, trying to shake off the dread settling in her stomach. "I'll catch up with you later, Bianca."
The call ended with a familiar click, and Thea exhaled a breath
she hadn't realized she was holding.
"That CD..." she murmured, rubbing her eyes. "The melee
cries... He's not just leaving cryptic messages anymore. He's
escalating."
Maurice stopped, looking at her with an unreadable expression.
"And you think you can keep going like this? Alone?"
Thea stood, her face hardening with the weight of it all.
"I don't have much of a choice, Maurice. But I can't... can't
stop now."
He sighed.
"Just promise me something."
"What?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"Promise me you'll let me in. Because this — whatever the
hell this is — it's not something you should face alone."
She looked at him, and for the first time that morning, she allowed
herself to soften, just a little.
"I'm not alone, am I?"
Maurice smiled, but there was an edge to it now, a flicker of
something deeper.