A/N: Finals are over 😓
Vote & Comment if you like 👌 We are finally back to Riley's POV. Above is Dr. Vincent Kim, our medical examiner^^
......[(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ(( _ _ ))..zzzZZ]......

POV RILEY:

Hal was obedient when I said I needed time to think about whatever our relationship was going to be, other than partners. I was expecting urgency and pressure to make me answer already. I've had a couple of people who I've dated in the past do that to me. The relationship begins but never ends well at its final moment.

Besides all that, I want to focus on the Hangman case before I begin letting my emotions distract me from my job. I really, really like my damn partner but having a serial killer on the loose will not let my mind be at ease. Despite that, I continue to think about those pair of hazel eyes gazing at me last night. My heart skips a beat at the thought of kissing him again.

My ringtone blares Black Dog, waking me from my peaceful sleep. A groan comes from my left, a half-conscious Hal. He turns to his side, facing my direction. His cast is on the pillow beside him. I push myself into a seated position and answer the phone. "Swanson...speaking," I say drowsily. I stare blankly at the digital clock at the nightstand. Aw, fuck we're late. I blame the comfortable mattress. How did Hal find a great mattress for this large ass bed?

"Finally up, Riley? I did the digging you asked me to," says Jenkins on the other side. "I work hard for your questionable request and you don't even show up at the office on time. What's the occasion? Chief Dean says your living with Hal until he gets better. You guys do anything fun?" His voice is monotone at the last two statements.

"You are an ass, Jenkins," I frown. I will not comment on my possible love life.

"Well, this ass is busy. Your damn names I found info on is piled on your desk. Have fun searching through all of that- whatever you are trying to find- ... yah yah Dick, I'm coming! ... Later, Riley." The call is dropped. I set down the phone, wondering about the names. I hope we can find a much clearer lead with this. Anything helps specially when you know another person will die soon.

I glance over to Hal who has eyes closed again. "We got to head out. We're late," I tell him. The ginger mumbles a curse then looks up at me. He looks cute with the pillow cuddled up next to him. "It hurts..." he groans. I knew immediately that he was talking about his chest. The doctor did tell me the guy had to take it three times a day. It must have worn off while Hal was asleep.

I slide out of bed, head to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and grab his painkillers. When I come back, my partner still lies in the same position. I say,"Come on, Hal. You can't lay like that when your going to swallow this." I earn a pained groan from him. I sigh, getting closer to him and sitting at his side of the bed. My hand gently touches his shoulder. "Just a bit?" I ask him. With a pained expression, he turns enough to lay on his back.

"I'm guessing the ribs are fractured on your left side?" I say as I get out his required dosage.

Hal huffs, "No shit, Sherlock." He closes his eyes once more as he breathes out slowly. I snort at his statement, using my hand to elevate his head. With his good arm, he takes the painkillers with the water. I set his head back down.

"You know... you could have given me mouth-to-mouth to make it easier on me," grins Hal. I roll my eyes and get up; I can't wipe the small smile spreading on my face. I should get ready while Hal waits for the pain to dull.

After thirty minutes and trying my best not to smile at Hal's persistently growing flirts, we finally are out the door and driving to the police department. Hal adjusts his sling while we enter the building. We briskly walk to our office, wanting to avoid a lecture from the chief for being late. I close the door behind us to make sure of that.

Like what Jenkins said, there stands a stack of files and papers on my desk. Hal plops onto his swivel chair, humming in delight. I examine the stack and cut it in half. Taking the half, I make my way to Hal's desk and drop it onto the pristine table. He frowns at the smaller tower. "Welcome back," I smirk before returning to my chair. A small displeasured grin emits from him as I work on my load.

The hours run by and if it weren't for George stopping by shortly, Hal and I would have forgotten to put something in our empty stomachs. "That's unfortunate," says Hal out loud.

"About what?" I glance up from a paper I'm reading.

"Most of the guys I've read left Upside except these two," Hal walks over to my desk and sets down two files. The names were Samuel Pilocke and Ethan Jackson. I hold up Ethan's file, remembering the names on the list. They were the ones who were listed in every month. I open up the manila folders and skim through their criminal record.

Samuel Pilocke-rather unfortunate last name- was charged with many juvenile crimes. He has only been sent to juvie as a kid. His shenanigans stopped after the age of seventeen, a good age to finally drop those habits. White male. Currently age 27. Unemployed.

Ethan Jackson. His only charge was burglary when he was 16. Other than that, a clean record. White male. Currently age 26. Unemployed. His photo looks slightly familiar but I brush that off as mistaking him for someone else.

"Because they are still in Upside, Jenkins got more information on their activity. Samuel, coincidently enough, hangs around the Uptown Bar Corner. The report says he kind of shows up to get drunk. As for Ethan, the guy lives in some low-down apartment. I have an address." I let the information sink in me. We either have potential suspects or potential victims

I take out my phone just to make sure I was correct. I pull up the list of names... there, Samuel Pilocke is in every month. Ethan Jackson is in the last month but another name catches my eye: Nathan Jackson. I ask Hal, "How about Nathan Jackson? Anything on him?"

"Deceased. He was shot when he was 16. The report it vague though. It never said who shot him."

What could this mean? Many ideas come into mind. Is it Ethan who's the Hangman and killing people out of revenge for his brother? It doesn't make sense though; why not go after the people who killed your brother? How about Samuel? It seems as if he was always arrested when Nathan was arrested.

I get up from my seat, "Let's question our suspects, shall we?"

Hal grins, "Okay. We should head to Ethan's apartment first before checking out Mabel's bar. I don't think Samuel would show up until later." I agreed with a nod. It's only 2 o'clock and not many people are at the bar.

We get into my car and I drive to what address Hal tells me. Our destination  is more in the east side of town. When I said Upside was a simple city, this area is what I meant. The petty drunk brawls and purse snatchers are common here. Most of our officers are stationed here to mostly break up fights. Nothing escalates to severe harm. I don't know now with how things been going in Upside...

My partner and I reach an apartment complex. I could already tell from looking at how spaced the windows are that the rooms were small. We both enter the building and an old man at the front behind metal bars glares at us. I show him my badge before asking, "Do you know which room is Ethan Jackson staying in?" The old guy turns to his low-end computer; people still use those metal boxes?

While we wait patiently for him to pull up whatever he's searching for, Hal and I observe the inside of the foyer. "You sure Upside doesn't have that much action going on?" whispers Hal close to me.

I shrug and whisper back, "I'm starting to question it myself..." Hal nods but before he can pull away I continue, "I feel as if something will change in Upside, after this case..." My partner touches my shoulder with his hand. I sigh, leaning onto him for a moment. The UCPD will have more on their hands. Whether I like being busy, is not what I want, but the citizens of this city will suffer through whatever Upside is turning into.

"Room 302, cop," says the old man. I give him a small thanks before following Hal up the steps. This building is not disabled-friendly; there is no elevator. Hal is breathless at the third floor. Two weeks of no exercise can deplete an athletic guy's stamina- is what George told me when I said I was going to pick Hal up from the hospital.

We reach the second door on the left of the third floor. I knock on the wood, "Ethan Jackson? This is police." Hal and I wait for a few minutes.

The door behind us opens and a woman in layers of blankets glances at the two of us. Her eyes had dark bags under them and her teeth weren't any better. To me, it screamed, "Drug user," but I'm no narcotics investigator. We look at her in question. She says quietly, "The walls are pretty thin here... Are you boys looking for the man who lives there?" She motions to Ethan's room; I nod. She continues, "I've lived here all my life and I have never seen the man who lives... live there. You won't find him here..."

"Oh, alright. Thank you, ma'am," says Hal. The lady bows her head slightly before returning inside her home. That... was creepy. I turn to my partner who just shrugs. So if Ethan Jackson doesn't live here then what did Jenkins find?

"We could break in?" offers Hal. My jaw drops; what in hell's name is he suggesting? I scowl, "You work under the law, Hal. Don't break it." This is basic criminal justice 101, man.

"Just an unorthodox method," whistles Hal. I roll my eyes as I motion him to follow me out of the building. The old man at the foyer gives us the evil eye as we exit.

Entering my car, Hal says, "To Uptown Bar Corner then. We may have to wait if Samuel isn't there." Luckily for us, the bar isn't that far from the east side of Upside. It's more in the heart of the city with many of the other attractions but it lies closer to the east. That's why the bar tends to attract customers who aren't our biggest fans.

Traffic delayed our short drive by twenty minutes- rush hour started at three. We arrive at the bar around 3:10 and Mabel, who's cleaning currently, greets us with a smirk. We make our way past a few customers to talk with her at the counter. "What do you boys need?" she says lowly.

"Samuel Pilocke. Have anyone by the name come here?" asks Hal.

Mabel laughs out loud as she cleans a mug. She points with her mug, "You mean my regular drunk? The poor kid is younger than me and he's already piss drunk like some old man who's drowning in their own regrets."  Hal and I glance at where's she is directing us.

A man sits hunched over the table with an open bottle of beer in hand. I give Mabel a silent thanks before gently pulling Hal to follow my lead. Four empty beer bottles are scattered on the wooden table. The scent of cheap liquor makes my face scrunch up; it was probably the mixture of the guy's unwashed body odor as well.

"Samuel Pilocke?" I ask after regaining myself.

His head rolls to only reveal half of his face. A dark stubble and lazy brown eye greets us. His gaze turns from nonchalant to hostile. He grunts, "The fuck you want, cops?"

"We would like to ask some questions," I calmly respond. Whatever the man has to say, I know he has a story. My dad used to tell me every drunk has a story in every bottle.