I want to do a detective type of tale soon, so here is my first attempt.
It’s midnight. The staggering moist summer air creeps in through the broken window as he stares below. No sign of forced entry, he thinks as he bends down over the corpse—the window was broken from the inside, probably from the struggle. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and rubs his blue eyes—a few tears fall through his fingers. Some police officers scour the small one-bedroom apartment, poking through drawers, shuffling through photos, moving precious objects, and dusting the remnants of the naked body. He has only been in the city for two weeks and he already has a serial killer on his hands.
“What do you think, Turner?” a policeman asks silently,
“How’d you find her?”
“Neighbor called in a disturbance.”
“And this is what you guys saw?”
“Yep, she was lying here dead, fucking crazy right?” The lieutenant takes off his cap and shakes his head, wiping his forehead gently, then continues, “So what do you think?”
“I think it is going to be a long night…”
Turner peeks into her light brown eyes, they stare up as though in awe of what happened, she must have gotten a glimpse of him before he did her in, he thinks. Her blonde hair is sprawled out on the wooden floor by each strand, her pale body is exposed with a jagged cut across her throat and under her breasts—blood drips sullenly down, her thick red lips are still vibrant, with a few freckles over her cheeks and a bruise on her left jaw that has molded purple with a few green marks around it. I must have just missed him, he thinks. He reaches over and pulls her eyelids down with his fingers gently, covering his mouth as he does.
“Did you know her?” The lieutenant asks.
He journeys his eyes around the room. He notices her red dress is thrown on the floor, the crease that exposed her breasts, the two thin strands that revealed her naked shoulders, and the soft silk of the bottom hiding her sensuous legs. Her large brown bag is hung on a chair near her bed. Her bed is ruffled, the soft white sheets torn off by force or through a struggle and her crimson pillows are muffled by slight black spots—he attacked her while she slept, he thinks. Her pink silk gown is cut down the middle and placed at arm’s reach from her body; he feels a warming sensation as he touches it. He rises and turns away towards the broken window, the city is hazy, and a few streetlights glimmer from the road. The buildings are black, rusted, and are blinded by shades pushed far down. The police lights cycle below casually. He pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one. His hand shivers and he takes a deep breathe.
“Turner, did you know her?” The lieutenant reiterates nervously.
The only sound he hears is a motor in the distance. The trees rasp against the window. He must have knocked her out with chloroform, which explains her stunned state, after he raped her, he then proceeded to cut her body apart—he is almost unable to continue his thought. He adjusts his gun holster, his finger itch for a chance to pull the trigger on this monster. His lips quiver, but not wanting to show remorse. He was supposed to stay the night, but was held up. He covers his eyes and digs his fingers into the side of his head.
“Yeah, I knew her…”
“A Are you going to be alright?”
“After I catch this bastard I will be.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to follow his trail.”
“What trail?”
“On the desk he left a thumb mark, probably due to the struggle on the bed; which led to the ground before she was knocked out. It wasn’t till then before he ravaged the body with his knife and probably pleasured himself before he left. I noticed, under her finger nails, some fragments of blood, hopefully it is his. He seems to target blondes, in single apartments, and who work in banks—due to the previous two murders. I wasn’t sure if those were accurate assumptions until this case. There are bite marks on the body around the neck, and some blood on the window seal—he might have been thrown into it as she tried to fight him off; which might offer some insight into who he is.”
The lieutenant shakes his head with bewilderment in his eyes. He takes off his cap and rubs his head. The other officers begin to leave the room as a corner comes in to bag the body.
“Well, looks like you got more than we did. Do you need any help?”
“No, I will only be a few minutes more…”
“Alright, man. Sorry bout’ the broad.”
He reaches out his arm to place on his shoulder, but stops halfway and leaves. Turner finishes his cigarette as the body is zipped up. He turns around and sees the apartment as though it were a ghost town. Emptied, ravaged, and torn apart. He slowly walks out; his head is low as he closes the door behind him.
