Red-Handed Fury

Blood dripped from the massage table, pooling on the polished floor, tracing grooves in the wood.

I stood in the doorway, taking it all in—the slick trail down Timothy Cooper’s arm, the gash across his throat, the dull glaze in his lifeless eyes. The copper tang of blood filled my nose, heavy and clinging to my senses.

In the corner, Mai sat huddled, trembling. Blood smeared her hands and face, streaked her clothes. It wasn’t hers—I knew that much. She stared at the floor like she didn’t dare lift her head.

Next to her, Ms. Lou, the Madame of A-Plus Massage, crossed her arms tight against her chest. Her glare cut through the haze of the room and landed squarely on me.

I stepped inside, careful not to disturb the scene, keeping my face neutral. Calm. In control.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“What always happens when animals like him come here,” she shot back, nodding toward Cooper’s body. Her accent was thick, her tone biting, but there was something calculated behind her words. “He forced himself on her, tried to rape her. Mai defended herself. That’s the story,” she said, winking.

I crouched beside Mai, keeping my voice soft.

“Mai,” I said softly. “What happened?”

She didn’t look at me. Didn’t even blink.

Behind me, boots shuffled on the hardwood. Two uniforms stood by the doorway, radios crackling faintly. One coughed, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Ms. Lou stepped forward, placing herself between us.

“Back off,” she barked, towering over me. “She’s been through enough.”

I straightened myself. My eyes flicked toward the officers, both watching intently.

“I need to know exactly what happened if I’m going to help her.” I told her.

“She didn’t do anything wrong,” Ms. Lou snapped. “That bastard came in drunk, demanding a ‘happy ending.’ Mai said no. He got rough. She had no choice.”

I glanced at the knife on the floor, just out of Mai’s reach. It lay at an angle that didn’t feel…natural. I didn’t move toward it. Didn’t react.

One of the officers stepped closer, his boots thudding against the floor.

“Self-defense, plain and simple,” he said flatly. “Still gotta bring her in. Procedure.”

Ms. Lou’s glare shifted to him.

“Procedure,” she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain.

I forced a nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Step by step,” I said. “Statements first. Bag the evidence.”

I kept my voice steady, but for some crazy reason, something inside was eating at me. That feeling you get when something isn’t right—when the pieces don’t quite fit, no matter how hard you try to push them together.

Mai hadn’t moved.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and I turned as Nick entered the room. His sharp eyes took in the scene like he’d already started piecing the story together.

“Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his neck. “What a fuckin’ mess.”

“It is,” I said. “Ms. Lou says it was self-defense.”

Nick crouched near the body, his brows furrowed as he studied the wound.

“Hell of a way to go.” He glanced up at me, his eyes lingering. “You buy this?”

I hesitated—a heartbeat, maybe less.

“It’s plausible,” I said, locking eyes with Mai for the briefest second before looking away. “But we’ll need to follow procedure, do the interviews.”

Nick stood, brushing his hands together.

“Yeah. That part.”

His voice was distant, distracted, like his mind was already running scenarios. It’s what we did, twenty-four-seven—fitting puzzle pieces together, trying to make sense of the senseless.

I turned back to Mai. She was still shaking, silent, her eyes glued to the floor. Ms. Lou hovered next to her, her stance defensive, like she expected us to drag Mai away in cuffs.

But I wasn’t here to take her in. I was here to make sure everything stayed under control.

The room suddenly felt colder now, like the air had thinned out. Mai hadn’t moved an inch. She looked small and fragile, her jet-black hair hiding most of her face.

“Let’s get her to the station,” Nick said, already turning toward the doorway. “Grab her a blanket or something. She’s gotta be freezing.”

I found a blanket in a storage cabinet by the wall, something worn and faded but clean enough. I crouched beside Mai, draping it gently around her shoulders. She flinched at first but didn’t pull away. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow and uneven.

“You’re safe now,” I murmured, keeping my voice low. I wasn’t sure she heard me.

I couldn’t help noticing how the dim light caught on her cheekbone, the delicate line of her jaw. Even covered in blood, she was beautiful in a way that left you grasping for words. I pushed the thought down hard. There wasn’t room for that—not here, not now.

“Can you stand?” I asked her, careful to keep my tone soft. She didn’t respond, but when I slipped an arm under hers, she let me guide her to her feet. She felt light, too light, like she might disappear if I wasn’t holding onto her.

“Mai, listen to me,” I said as we moved toward the door. “We’re going to take you somewhere safe. You just need to answer a few questions, that’s all.”

She didn’t speak, just kept her head down, letting me lead.

Behind me, Nick was squaring off with Ms. Lou, who had her hands planted firmly on her hips.

“I’ll need you at the station too,” Nick said, his voice curt. “We’ll need your statement.”

Ms. Lou snorted, folding her arms. “And who’s gonna run the place while I’m gone? You think I can just shut down for the night? This no fast-food joint.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Relax, Ms. Lou. Folks’ll survive one night without their happy endings.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a second, I thought she might lunge at him.

“You’ve got a real mouth on you, Detective. Think you can say whatever you want to us Asians, huh?”

Nick smirked, pulling out a notepad and scribbling something. “Yeah, make it a race thing. Typical. Wanna file a report? Here’s my name and badge.” He held up the page—a scribbled phone number. “Oh, wait, that’s my pizza guy. Oops.”

“You a piece of shit,” she hissed, snatching the page anyway.

“Best in the department,” Nick shot back, flashing her a grin. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to work out this murder that happened at your establishment. There won’t be any massaging for a while, Ms. Lou.”

I stayed quiet, helping Mai out to the cruiser. She stumbled once, and I tightened my grip on her arm.

“Easy,” I said. “Almost there.”

She looked up for the briefest second, her eyes glassy and unfocused. But there was something else there too—fear. Or something darker, a flicker of something she couldn’t say.

“Okay,” Nick called from the door. “Ms. Lou’s on her way. Let’s get rolling.”

I helped Mai into the back seat, tucking the blanket around her like it might actually protect her from everything that had just happened.

***

The interrogation room felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just me. The fluorescent light cast sharp lines across Mai’s face. She sat across from us, small and quiet, clutching the blanket I’d given her like it might protect her from what was coming next.

Nick leaned back in his chair, flipping open his notepad with practiced ease.

“Start at the beginning,” he said, calm but firm. “Timothy Cooper walks in. What happened?”

Mai hesitated, her lips moving as if to speak, but nothing came out. Her hands clutched the edge of the blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white, but her eyes flicked up briefly, locking with mine. In that fleeting moment, something passed between us—not fear, but calculation. It was gone just as quickly, her gaze dropping back to the table.

I leaned forward, keeping my voice soft.

“Mai,” I said, as gently as I could. “It’s okay. Just tell us what happened.”

She glanced at me, just for a moment, and I caught something in her eyes—that fear. Not just of the situation. Of me. Of Nick. The police.

She dropped her gaze quickly, staring down at the table.

“He…he wanted a massage,” she said finally, her voice barely audible, her accent thick but softened by a westernized tone. “So I gave him a massage.”

Nick scribbled something in his notepad, his pen moving in slow, deliberate strokes. “And then?”

Mai’s breathing quickened. She looked down at her hands, twisting the corner of the blanket.

“He…he asked me to touch him. Inappropriately.”

Nick paused, pen hovering.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Her shoulders tensed, and she darted another glance at me.

“He wanted me to…” Her voice cracked. “To touch him. I said no.”

Nick’s expression stayed unreadable, but his pen paused mid-stroke.

“That’s when he got aggressive?” he asked, his tone sharper now.

“Yes,” she said quickly, nodding. “He shoved me against the wall. He…he tried to…” Her voice faltered, trailing off.

“Tried to what?” Nick asked, his tone steady, probing.

Mai’s hands trembled. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders like it might shield her from Nick’s questions. Her eyes flicked to me, just for a second, before dropping back to the table.

“He tried to rape me,” she said, her voice shaking. “It’s really what happened.”

The words hit the air like a gunshot. Nick didn’t even flinch.

“And then what?” he asked. “What happened next?”

Her breathing grew ragged, her voice trembling.

“I…I reached for my purse,” she said. “I grabbed the knife…and I stabbed him.”

Nick nodded slowly, writing something down.

“Where’d you stab him?” he asked, his eyes flicking toward me for a beat.

Mai froze. Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked completely lost. “His chest,” she said finally, her voice so soft it was barely a whisper.

My stomach stiffened. I leaned forward, keeping my tone steady, almost gentle.

“It was his neck, wasn’t it?” I said.

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide, panicked.

“Yes,” she stammered, her words tumbling over each other. “Yes, his neck. I…I meant his neck. I stabbed his neck.”

Nick’s eyes darted to me, thinning briefly, before he shifted in his seat.

“How many times?” he asked, his voice more pointed now.

Mai froze again, her hands grasping the edge of the blanket.

“I…I don’t remember,” she whispered.

Nick arched a brow.

“You don’t remember?” His voice was calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable. “Once? Twice? More?”

Her answers were falling apart, like a puzzle with pieces shoved into the wrong spots. I could feel Nick watching her closely, and I could feel his eyes darting to me, even if he wasn’t saying it yet.

Mai’s shoulders began to shake, and her hands flew to her face, covering her eyes as she broke down.

“He’s a bad man!” she cried, her voice cracking. “A bad, bad man!”

The words echoed in the room, hanging heavy in the air. I reached out instinctively, but I stopped myself. I wasn’t sure she was saying it about Timothy Cooper.

Nick wasn’t either.

***

The drive to the apartment was suffocating, the silence in my car broken only by the occasional hum of passing streetlights. Ms. Lou had taken Mai home after the interview, her sharp words had dulled by the weight of the evening.

I still didn’t feel real. Mai hadn’t cracked. She was shaky, yes— her hands shook like leaves in the wind—but she kept the story straight. So did Ms. Lou. They played their parts perfectly, even as the room had pulsed with tension so thick it pressed on my chest.

I parked outside our apartment. Yes, our apartment. The thought made my fingers tighten on the wheel. She hadn’t even glanced at me when she left with Ms. Lou. That stung.

When she opened the door, her eyes told me everything. Wide, glassy, terrified. She froze, clutching the knob.

“Mai,” I said softly.

Her gaze darted behind me, checking the hallway, before she stepped aside and let me in.

The air inside felt stifling. Claustrophobic. I shut the door behind me, locking it with a soft click. She stood there, hugging her arms, like she was bracing for something.

I stepped closer, wrapped my arms around her, and pulled her against my chest. She didn’t resist, but she didn’t melt into me like she usually did. I kissed her lips softly, and when I pulled back, I brushed a finger over them, wiping the spit away.

I stared into her eyes, my thumb lingering on her cheek. For a moment, I felt the anticipation rolling off her, like she was waiting for something. Waiting for me to speak.

“You should have listened to me,” I said, my voice low. “None of this would have happened if you would have just listened to me, Mai.”

Her lips parted, but no words came.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how a guy like me—Detective Jason Brandt—ended up here.

Let me tell you how.

It started with a massage. Not just any massage—one of those private sessions where time slows down and the world outside doesn’t matter. One session turned into many. And those sessions? They led to coffee dates. Then dinners. The next thing I knew, Mai wasn’t just someone I visited after a long shift. She wasn’t just a name in my phone. She was everything. The woman who broke through the walls I’d built around my heart.

She moved in. This apartment? It’s not mine. Not hers. It’s ours.

And she promised me something. She swore she’d never go back to that filthy place. Never lay her hands on another man’s body again.

But she lied.

For months, while she smiled at me from across the dinner table, while she curled up next to me at night, she was still working. She thought I didn’t know.

But tonight, I wasn’t working the night shift. Tonight, I was on a mission. I had to see it with my own eyes. And I did.

I caught her red-handed.

I waited outside A-Plus Massage, watching her through the dimly lit windows. She thought she was safe. Thought I wouldn’t find her.

I had stormed in, ready to make her feel the betrayal I felt. Ready to make her suffer for breaking her promise. I wanted to hurt her. God, I wanted to hurt her. And I was willing to risk a 20-year career on the force to do it.

But then, I saw her face.

I couldn’t do it.

Instead, I took my anger out on the unfortunate man lying on the massage table. Timothy Cooper. He wasn’t a man to me in that moment. He was a symbol. A reason. An outlet.

So, I killed him.

Out of passion. Out of rage.

I snapped back to reality when Mai whispered, “I’ll never betray you again.”

Her lips brushed mine, soft and hesitant. And for a second, I believed her.

Then came a knock at the door.

My body tensed. Without thinking, I walked over and opened it just enough to block the view inside.

Nick stood there, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, the smoke curling into the hallway air. His face was shadowed, his expression unreadable.

“Nick,” I said, forcing a smile. “What’s going on?”

He blew out a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Somethin’s been buggin’ me since we left the station.”

My pulse quickened, but I chuckled, keeping my voice light.

“What’s on your mind?”

Nick tilted his head, watching me carefully.

“Checked with Sarge,” he said, “said you took the night off.”

“Yeah, but you know me,” I said, shrugging. “I get bored.”

I forced another laugh, trying to break the tension.

Nick nodded slowly, dragging on his cigarette. His eyes flicked to my hand.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually, “that cut on your hand.” He gestured toward it with the cigarette. “You get that when we went huntin’ last week?”

I glanced down at the thin, deep red line on my palm. The knife had sliced me as I drove it into Timothy Cooper’s neck. I hadn’t even noticed it until Nick pointed it out.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Must’ve happened then.”

Nick’s eyes stayed on me, unblinking.

“Crazy,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm. “First time I noticed that. Looks pretty brutal.”

The words lingered in the air, heavier than they should’ve been.

Nick took a slow drag from his cigarette, dropped it to the floor, and crushed it under his boot. As he turned to leave, his eyes flicked toward the apartment behind me, then back to mine, his tone casual but deliberate.

“Sleep tight, Jason.”

I nodded, my throat dry. “Yeah... tomorrow.”

He walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall. I stood in the doorway, my hand clutching the frame. The air in the apartment pressed down on me, and for the first time that night, I felt it—the sharp edge of fear. Not fear of the boogeyman.

Fear of the consequence that was yet to come.