Midnight in New York. Cold and vast, with fine rain silently streaking through neon lights and darkness.

A shrill phone ring shattered the stillness of the police station.

"911, what's your emergency?" The dispatcher's steady, professional voice came through the line.

On the other end, a woman breathed rapidly, her voice broken by suppressed sobs.

"He… he broke in… my apartment… please…" Suddenly, a heavy thud echoed in the background—furniture being knocked over.

"Ma'am, try to stay calm. What's your address?"

"Brooklyn… 78 Greenwood Avenue, 4B… help me—" Her voice suddenly rose into a piercing scream,

followed by something heavy crashing and a man's muffled, deep curses.

Then, dead silence.

Only a monotonous busy tone remained. The dispatcher's expression darkened as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Red alert flashed on the system screen. A life-threatening signal transmitted to the duty officer's terminal at the 78th Precinct of the NYPD.

***

At 1:27 in the morning, an urgent phone ring yanked Ethan Carter from his light sleep.

He snapped his eyes open and grabbed his phone. Seeing the caller ID, his drowsiness instantly vanished—Precinct Captain Marcus Thorne.

A call at this hour never brought good news.

"Carter." Ethan's voice carried a hint of just-awoken hoarseness.

"Ethan, home invasion at 78 Greenwood Avenue. Victim's a woman living alone, 911 call disconnected, looks bad." Marcus's voice was brief and forceful, stripped of emotion. "Patrol's already there, forensics and CSI en route. Need you there now—you're running point."

"On it." Ethan hung up, swiftly rising to dress—dark tactical shirt, worn jeans—then expertly secured his Glock 19 and spare magazine to his belt.

He strode from the bedroom. His living room was spartan—no decorations save for bookshelves packed with criminology and law books—exuding the tidiness and subtle loneliness of a single man.

The door slammed shut behind him as the cold night rain instantly soaked his hair.

Ethan fired up the Dodge Charger. The engine growled low as red and blue lights cut through the rain, casting an ethereal glow on the road ahead.

The same rainy night. The same piercing red and blue lights.

Street scenes blurred past as Ethan's mind drifted back to that night fifteen years ago.

He'd been just a boy of ten.

His father, a veteran NYPD detective, had died in the line of duty during a pursuit.

Now Ethan only remembered being clutched in his mother's arms, the hospital corridor stretching endlessly, reeking of disinfectant and despair.

From that day on, becoming a cop like his father became his only obsession.

"Arriving at Greenwood Avenue…" The navigation's voice yanked Ethan from his memory's undertow.

He took a deep breath, forcing down the surge of emotions, his gaze sharpening with renewed focus.

The past was his foundation, but now, another crime demanded his attention.

Crime in the Midnight Rain — Chapter 8

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