Step into Asgard

This is not a love story. But, if you want to find one in this story then go right ahead. This is about a girl who gets transported to Asgard and begins an adventure that is big. One question still bugs her from the Thor end credit scene and...she'll meet Loki. Still confused? Then read it.


35. Murder

 “When you lie in front of a god for a very long time; expect your cover blown.” Quote of the chapter.

  .  .  . August 17th.  . .

  . . . New York .  .   .  9:49 PM  .  .  . 

Lewis Bart, the guy John had a bitter fight with, puked in the alley. He wipes of the corner of his mouth feeling sick to his stomach. The ‘perfect’ pasta was horrible, Lewis thought backing away from what had been ‘food’ a few hours ago. One of his mismatched boots is dirty, wet, and worn out. The scenery is dark-like. A cat scurried by a couple of trash bags while meowing.

“Ugly piece of raven behind.” Lewis said, shaking his head with matty—the moonlight does reveal some grayness in his hair—hair that seems messy at best. It seems like he hadn’t combed it in hours.

We see a figure in the opening  of the alley holding what seems to be a specifically long ice-pick.

“Hey.” Lewis steps away from the puke. “I didn’t figure you come here.”

“We all don’t find ourselves puking bad food.” The man replied.

Lewis raises a brow at this man.

“Are you pulling a fast one on me?” Lewis asks, taking two feet forward.

“Not if you like punching the living hell out a man.” The man said.

“The living tar, you mean.” Lewis corrects the man, taking out something from his pocket. He takes out a cigarette and a pink lighter revealed by a light hanging from the corner wall. “Your friend will live.”

“What’s the difference?” The man asks.

Annoyed, Lewis sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I am not a boxer or a killer.” Lewis goes on.  “There’s a difference between intending to  punch  the life out of a man and intending to make him decide never to insult a man’s mom again.”  The way he said it sounded logical coming from him. It was like Lewis was making a speech delivery to a jury. “It’s just life, sometimes we say unconventional things.”

 Lewis lit his cigarette using a lighter. 

“And you think punching teeth out answers everything?” The man asks, questioning Lewis’s motives.

Lewis sighs, taking the cigarette out his mouth. Smoke drifts out his nose as though he is a entity to tempt.

“Look man, we don’t want grown men insulting our mothers.” Lewis said, in a serious but genuine voice.  “Do you want a chick saying your mom’s from a planet called Pluto?” He waves the smoking cigarette both ways. “No, I don’t think so!”

The man held the ice-pick behind his back.

“You want to get a punch out of me?” Lewis asks, as he put the cigarette in his mouth.

The man takes a step forward.

“I wish I had ten of these.” The man said.

Lewis pauses while blinking at his unusual reply.

“Wait .  . .” Lewis snaps his fingers. “Have we met before? Like ten years ago?”

We see the man tip up the hat.

Lewis squints his eyes to make sure it wasn’t just a bunch of baloony and the light from the neighboring wall wasn’t fooling him. Wasn’t this a pal of the guy who he had punched to the emergency room? Man that guy was strong but not strong for Lewis and his friend to take care of.

“Kevin?” Lewis said. “Where’ve you been for the past nine years—“

The man held up a silent pistol and shot Lewis four times at the chest. The man walks over to the still responsive man. Lewis’s heat rate went faster. He didn’t want to go, not now! At least he didn’t land in his puke. The man, who he refered to as Kevin, walks over holding the ice-pick. He had dropped the pistol at the alley’s opening.

“Kevin, spare me.” Lewis pleads.

“Spare you?” Kevin repeats what he had said. “Why should I spare a former convict?”

Lewis’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“You’ve lost your mind.” Lewis  states, seeing the reaction on Kevin’s face.

Kevin brought the ice-pick closer to the man’s chin.

“You could have spared that f---f-family.” Lewis said, as Kevin draws back the ice-pick.

“That family was a mob, Bart.” Kevin presses the ice-pick against Lewis’s chin nearly drawing blood. “It was a mob family. You know how they worked.”

“You killed the wrong family.” Lewis vehemently said.

“I am never wrong.” Kevin firmly said. “Never.”

Lewis’s eyes shake watching the ice-pick hover above his chest. Usually four shots would kill a man but Lewis is one of those who’s been in some gun fights before.

 “Why have you returned?” Lewis asks.

“I have some business to finish.” Kevin said. “Some of them have to be attended.”

“You are a serial killer, Kevin.” Lewis said. “Why don’t you ever come to terms with that? What’s helped you to sleep from the cries of dying kids?  What’s kept the wail of a baby before you did the unforgiveable out of your mind? Have you forgotten the innocent people you’ve killed?”

“They were criminals.” Kevin said. “And I am a vigilante.” He begins to go on like a gloating and bragging smart ass I-know-it-all. “Knowing I helped the world helps me to sleep every night. I killed more than nineteen, have you forgotten the murder spree in the suburbs five years ago?”

 Lewis’s face is horrified yet furious.

“You are a serial killer, Kevin!” Lewis yells.

Kevin then kills Lewis with the ice-pick. He stabs the man multiple times in the torso. Kevin takes out the ice-pick then drops it to the side of Lewis’s lifeless body. Kevin makes a strange marking using a spray can beside the dread body, and then, he used the blood of Lewis to write a simple comment. This comment read:  The Ice-Pick is back.

“A suitable trademark.” Kevin said, turning his head towards Lewis’s direction. “Always told me to work on my trade mark.” Kevin puts his hat on Lewis’s head. “Always.”

Kevin gets up on his two feet.

“See you in the news.” Kevin puts his hands into his coat pocket, lowering his head away from the moonlight.

Kevin proceeds walking away from the dead body. Where he is walks is straight into the darkness where no one would likely find him in the morning; well except for one god. You can’t hide under the radar of a Norse God sticking around for whatever is going on.  The crime always catches up to the killer.

   ________                                 _________

.  .  . August 18th .  .  . 

  .  .  . New York  .  .  .   7: 40 AM.

“.  . .Ice-Pick.”  Detective Sarah holds the ice-pick using a rag. She looks down to the writing. Her eyes were so observant to the crime scene. “This is the Ice-Pick Killer.”

“So the Ice Pick killer is back?” Detective Sauce Bittes asks.

“Quite so.” We see, through the disguise of a female police cop, that it is Loki.

“Ah man, this will be a pain in the rear to get through!” Detective Bittes complains.

“Remind me who the Ice-Pick Killer is.” Loki said.

“I told you, Detective Sarah.” Detective Bittes said. “He’s the serial killer the FBI will declare jurisdiection on; again. And then they are never going to catch him like last time.” Bittes shook his head with a sigh. “He killed 19 innocent people. He’s the guy who  shoots, then stabs—but mostly stabs—his victims with ice  picks, leaves the shape of a tooth, writes a verse, and puts whatever kind of hat on their face.

Loki took the hat off the body.

“His calling card.” Loki said, shifting to Detective Bittes.  “Where’s the gun?”

“What gun are you talking about?” Detective Bittes asks, far more confused than the CSI technicians getting the evidence.

Loki rolls an eye at the stupidity of a ‘so-called-detective-‘.

“It’s beside your pant-leg.” Loki said. 

“Oh!” Detective Bittes said, looking down.

Detective Bittes picks up the gun using his handkerchief as Loki begins walking away from the body.

“Hey Sarah,” Detective Bittes said.  “You know, this Victim had been recently in a fight a few days ago.” Loki didn’t stop. “Quite a scare it was. I didn’t understand half what the guy said but his friend did the rest, claiming he’s from Louisiana.”

Loki stops.

“Louisiana.” Loki repeats, looking over his shoulder.

“Yea, that’s what I said.” Detective Bittes said.  “I thought he came from some other country.”

What Loki knew slowly fell together like a puzzle.

“I’m getting some coffee.” Loki said. “I’ll be back.”

Detective Bittes shrugs, looking back to the silent pistol as Loki turns a corner somehow going by countless people. Loki loses his disguise a little bit suspicious; a few days ago Joy was under Tiene’s possession. Also Loki had heard an interesting conversation between the waitress and Joy. By interesting; it was hilarious.

The real Detective Sarah bumped into Loki, holding Coffee. 

“Excuse me.” Detective Sarah apologizes. “I’m heading to the crime scene around the corner.”

“You are getting beheaded at a death scene?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

Mortals really didn’t make sense with their words.

“You are funny.” Detective Sarah said, with  smile.  “It’s an investigation.”

“I shouldn’t ask why.” Loki assumes, walking right past her.

Detective Sarah went to the crime scene taking note of Loki’s pale skin and his odd sense of humor.

“Hey Sarah.” Detective Bittes said, prepared to crack a joke. “You got back from the coffee shop like a bullet.”

“I just got here, partner.” Detective Sarah said, handing him a coffee. “Where is this victim?”

Detective Bittes is startled.

“Sarah.  .  .” Detective Bittes looks back to the corner of the street. He returns his attention back to her. “You know the FBI is going to call dibs on this; right?”

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