Abandoned Train Station

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"Hey, I did!" Ethan protested after ingesting yet another slice of an orange, the fruit he was more addicted to than a meth addict with, well, meth. "But then I got hungry, and...." He sheepishly shrugged at Lock. "Besides, I don't even know where to start. Everything looks normal, in a creepy, abandoned building kind of way."

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"Which is exactly why we're trying to find out where those chairs came from!" said Lock, absently pointing to a couple of old chairs. "They're completely free of dust, unlike the others, and made of cheaper materials. It's a complete fake."

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Again, Ethan shrugged. "Well... I don't know, maybe some students came here for a picnic?" A poor excuse, but he remembered how a few of his classmates mentioned hanging around this... or a forest. He wasn't sure, both sounded creepy. "How exactly does it even connect to some murder, anyway?"

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He nodded at the seats. "Go rip open a cushion. I believe you'll find your answer," said Lock, already knowing that a dismembered body was hidden in a chair.

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Quirking an eyebrow at Lock, Ethan ran his forearm against his mouth to wipe off the orange juice - he examined his arm for a second and lightly licked off a drop, making sure no one saw - then got to his feet and headed to the chair. It was... Well, he couldn't really explain what the chair was like. It was oldtime-y, the kind that looked as if it were a trap to send even the stiffest man to sleep within seconds. It was almost a shame to remove parts of it, but he had no choice. Ethan leaned down and curled his fingers around the bottom cushion. He tugged a few times before finally getting it to move.
The sight of a corpse greeted him. Yelling in surprise, Ethan tossed the cushion towards it, almost as if the fluff could get rid of the cadaver, and as he stumbled backwards his foot caught on a chipped floor tile, sending him down to his butt.
"W.... Wh..." he stuttered, trying to find enough oxygen to speak, but his terrorized mind froze on him. He only managed to stare at the chair with wide eyes, the only sign of him still alive being his chest heaving and his nervous eyes flickering at Lock occasionally for an answer.

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Already kneeling beside him, Lock held Ethan in his arms, kissing his temple. "The killers have slaughtered many, but display only one. The question is, why?"

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It had taken a few minutes for Ethan to calm down, and had it not been for Lock being around him it might've taken hours, or maybe even days!
"M-Maybe it's to scare you off." he suggested. Lord knows it sure scared me. Ethan's mouth twitched as another suggestion tried to come out, but he didn't want to hear himself say it.
"What if it's a threat?" he finally heard himself say.

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"It probably is," admitted the young man, rubbing his lover's arm. "But everything will be okay, Ethan. I swear to you. Just be patient."

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"Patient?" spouted Ethan as he snapped his head in Lock's direction. "How long have you been on this case? What if they get you before you get another clue?"

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Lock tilted his head, gazing at Ethan with an astonishing tenderness. "Are you really so worried about me?" he asked, unused to anyone caring about whether or not he made it home after a case.

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"What? Yeah! Why wouldn't I be? You're my boyfriend, aren't you?" Ethan demanded then, after a few long seconds, looked away at the floor next to Lock with a strange expression on his face. "I'm... I'm not really used to relationships, especially with a guy, but I still freak out that you'll get hurt all the time!" He lifted a hand and curled his fingers together, very lightly punching Lock's arm and keeping his fist against the limb. His eyes were still downcast but there was a small blush on the expression he tried to keep steady. "Just... don't expect me to be some worried housewife, chump."

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"You're so cute when you're worried," purred Lock, kissing him sweetly. "I really, truly adore you."

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Ethan's blush only deepened. "H-Hey, you can do that stuff another time." His arm falling to his side, he turned his head towards the chair. The tossed cushion covered the corpse, yet he could still feel it there watching them. He shuddered. "You've got a mystery to solve right now, Mr. Detective."

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"That body was placed there so I could find it," he said, standing and bringing Ethan with him. "But it wasn't placed by the murderer. It's an afterthought, by a tipper. You can tell by his nails."

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"Nails?" The brunette followed, or was more dragged, towards the chair again. He could hear the flies fight over their newest home/meal, and it made him sick. He could feel the citrus-y bile rise up his throat but kept it at bay. Throwing up on evidence wasn't really the best thing for an assistant to do.

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