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Chapter 1: We Never Forget
I saw my people burn in the fire. I saw them disappear in the ashes. But I did nothing to stop it. I ran like a coward.
The images of his people burning tortured him in his dreams. Every morning he would wake up in his bed, screaming in panic with the cold sweat running down his body. J'onn J'onzz hated being reminded about his mistakes over and over. He thought he could escape everything by exiling himself to Earth. But his mind was still too heavily linked with his home planet, he could never live in peace. This morning he could hear a voice, his own voice, in his dreams. He blamed himself in his dreams.
He sat in his bed, with the morning sunlight forcing itself through the shades in the window. His hands were cold, even in the sunlight. He looked at them, he was still not used to seeing brown hands instead of green. The TV remote lay upside down on the floor. He grabbed it and pressed one of the buttons. The old TV was eventually turned on and showed a news coverage. The young man (wearing a grey suit and a striped tie) stood in front of the camera with a microphone, with a modern apartment building behind him.
"Tonight a horrible murder took place in lower Manhattan. The NYPD is currently investigating the apartment where the victim was found. We spoke with them earlier, but we were left with little details. The only thing they had to say about the murder was 'peculiar'. It appears the police are currently unable to figure out what happened a few hours ago and who might be responsi--"
J'onn turned the TV off. He didn't have to hear more. He quickly stood up and headed out the door of his tiny apartment, grabbing his coat on the way. He didn't shower nor did he eat. He didn't have to. It was just something he never did.
Later, Lower Manhattan
The police commissioner was a large man with a large moustache on his lip. He thought it made him look distinctive, while it in reality only kept alive the cartoony stereotype people have about the police. He was called in earlier that morning by one of the detectives who were in charge of the investigation of the murder at hand. He didn't really like being called to crime scenes. He preferred doing paper work at the station where it was safe. But this was one of his responsibilities after all. Though even after his many years of service he had no idea what to make of the crime scene.
He was standing outside the building on the curb, drinking cheap fast food coffee from a paper mug, when a large man wearing a trenchcoat was walking straight for the building without showing any sign of stopping.
"Excuse me, sir!" The commissioner said while holding out an arm in front of J'onn. "This a crime scene and is under police investigation. No civilians, please."
J'onn was calm. He looked at the commissioner for a few seconds.
"You must be the commissioner", J'onn said, "Tucker, right?" He reached for the commissioner's hand. The commissioner did the same and they slowly shook hands.
"How did you know that?" The commissioner asked. He became very suspicious of this stranger.
"I have a somewhat large interest in crime and solving them", J'onn said, honestly.
"Yeah. I had one o' those as well," The commissioner said. "So I became a cop."
J'onn chuckled slightly. "That's funny."
The commissioner didn't seem to think so.
"Who are you?" The commissioner asked, he almost demanded to know.
"John Jones, sir," J'onn said, "Private detective."
The commissioner became more suspicious. Who was this mysterious man? A private detective?
"I'm sorry, sir, but what made you think a private detective can just barge in on a crime scene?"
J'onn sighed deeply. Then looked straight into the eyes of the commissioner. J'onn's eyes glowed dark red for a short second. The commissioner froze during the time, then regained his usual way of standing. He suddenly became very dizzy.
"So, may I walk inside?" J'onn asked him.
The commissioner rubbed his forehead, trying to collect his thoughts. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't touch anything."
"Of course not," J'onn said as he walked over the yellow police tape that had been put up over the door.
He had to walk up four flights of stairs. On the way he passed several police officers, giving him suspicious looks. Eventually he arrived in front of a door that had almost completely been torn down. Police tape in the form of an 'x' had been put up over the now empty doorway. J'onn stepped inside. The apartment was dark. He walked further inside to the kitchen. It was a modern kitchen, with a chrome fridge and newly purchased kitchen tools. The apartment looked untouched except for the trail of red blood that came from behind the wood table. A young police detective crouched in front of the disfigured corps.
"Hello?" J'onn said.
"Oh! You startled me!" The detective said, she stood up and turned around. "Who are you? Did the commissioner send you?"
The detective was young, couldn't have been older than twenty-five. Her curly auburn hair flowed down on her shoulders and back. J'onn could hardly recognize what was considered beautiful on Earth. But he knew she was. Her name was Jordan Flynn. She didn't tell him but he could read that. It was one of those things that he couldn't help but notice.
"Private detective John Jones," he said and shook her hand as well, "The commissioner gave me authorization to investigate the murder victim."
"Be my guest," she said and made a hand gesture to show him where the victim lay.
The murder victim was a middle aged woman. But it was hard to tell. Her limbs and face had been disfigured. Her arms and hands were crooked and she was sitting in an uncomfortable meditating position. Her mouth was open and her jaw had been twisted. Blood, which was now dry, had flowed from her mouth and from a wound in her stomach. J'onn was hardly moved by what he saw. He had seen worse. Far worse. He began reaching for the woman.
"You can't touch her!" Jordan shouted. "You'll compromise the crime scene."
"Don't worry," J'onn told her, "I have to."
He touched the woman's forehead with his fingertips. A surge of images flashed in his head. Slowly but then quickly the real world in front of his eyes disappeared and was replaced by the world that lived in his mind. The world around him was pitch-black. He could hear his own heavy breathing. He looked down and looked at his hands. They were green now. He was his regular Martian self. He didn't understand at first.
"J'onn J'onzz of Mars," a deep voice called out in the darkness. The voice was emotionless but still full of hateful emotions.
"Who's there?" J'onn shouted.
"You've done things to millions, J'onn," the voice continued, "They burned!"
"I didn't mean to!" J'onn cried out.
"You didn't even try to stop it," the voice said.
"I did!" J'onn said.
Now the darkness was replaced the fiery red of flames. He found himself on the desert ground, surrounded by it. People burned in the flames. His own people. He couldn't move, all he could do was to once again observe the horror. He couldn't get himself to cry either.
"Please make it stop!" J'onn cried out.
"I will kill you for this, J'onn," the voice said calmly. "The blood of my family for the blood of my people."
"Ma'alefa'ak?" J'onn said when the darkness returned once again.
"I'll see you soon, Martian Manhunter." Ma'alefa'ak's voice faded away and so did the darkness.
Reality returned before his eyes and he found himself in the apartment, staring into the ceiling. He layed on the floor. Jordan Flynn stood over him, pushing against his chest. He was spasmic, shaking uncontrollably until he regained his breath. He took a deep breath (as if he had held it for hours) and sat up. He looked at Jordan with relief.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
He nodded in response.
"Good," she said before slapping him across his face.
To be continued...
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