this, then I was going to do it. A lot of people were counting on me to be this person, to see the horrible things, to kill the horrible beings. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to be this person anymore.
I gathered myself together and breathed deep. Mistake! Big mistake. The scent of sweet metal, blood lingered thick on the uncirculated air, mixing with the heady stench of torn bowels. I almost gagged as I stepped into the room and the stench hit me full in the face. The confined space made the smell worse than in the open air of the hallway. Raising the back of my hand to my nose, I tried to breathe through my mouth. That didn’t work either. I tasted the scent of raw meat on my tongue and shivered as my stomach growled and my mouth watered.
I tried to see everything else first, everything but the heap of flesh stretched across the bed. The walls were bare; no pictures, paintings, or memorabilia of any kind. The paint on the walls was chipped and cracked, peeling at the ceiling; evidence that the room hadn’t been painted in a very long time.
There wasn’t enough whitewashing in the world to cover up the brown blood and fecal matter splattered against the faded olive-green walls. The carpet, a burnt orange shag, was full of flesh, blood, and little bits of gore that I didn’t want to identify. This house was going to be hard to sell.
A vanity in the corner had a few eye shadows, some mascara, and pink lipstick. Sitting next to the mascara was a cheap bristled brush filled with long strands of dark, jet-black hair caked to the brush like plaster. The hair in the brush was so thick only the little plastic tips of the bristles showed. Of all the gore in the room, the hair in the brush was what was challenging my stomach. I turned to face the victim instead of the hairbrush and felt better.
The woman’s skin was a deep, rich bronze, Hispanic with curves where women should have curves. She was more on the lean side than heavy and tall. From the length of her on the mattress, she was about six feet tall. She was strapped to the bed at all four corners with anything they could find. A scarf. A sock. The ankles were tied down with something so soaked with blood I couldn’t tell what they were. Her dark panties were shredded across her pelvis and hooked around her thighs like they had split them down the middle.
“How long has she been dead?” I asked. The air-conditioner was off and the windows were closed. “Was the air off when you showed up?”
“Only a few hours and yeah, it was.” Derek pulled out his notepad.
Why would they have turned the air off? The heat only made the smell worse.
“The neighbors heard screaming at around 1:45 a.m. and called the police. It took a while for the local sheriff to call us in,” he hissed. Contempt dripped from every word as Derek turned to the sheriff’s deputy standing near the bedroom door in the hallway. That was as close as the Deputy Sheriff was going to get.
“So whoever did this was still close when the police arrived?” I prayed that maybe we’d finally found a lead.
“They might have been here when the neighbor called but the response time was . . . what was the response time Deputy Harris?” Derek clipped, anger making his tone harsh and his words sharp. He sounded angrier than I’d ever heard him. Even I took a step back.
“Twenty-five minutes, sir,” the deputy spit out at Derek with just as much venom. There was clearly no love lost between these two departments.
“Twenty-five minutes? They were long gone by then.” I sighed in frustration.
I inched toward the body, small steps through blood-drizzled carpet to get a better look. The gut wound was similar to the other woman, but cleaner, like one of them was a messy eater. The woman’s face was intact, thankfully. The only place that they’d really done any damage was the victim’s gut and soft tissue. Her intestines were flung all over her chest and the surrounding bed, soaking the sheets,
I gathered myself together and breathed deep. Mistake! Big mistake. The scent of sweet metal, blood lingered thick on the uncirculated air, mixing with the heady stench of torn bowels. I almost gagged as I stepped into the room and the stench hit me full in the face. The confined space made the smell worse than in the open air of the hallway. Raising the back of my hand to my nose, I tried to breathe through my mouth. That didn’t work either. I tasted the scent of raw meat on my tongue and shivered as my stomach growled and my mouth watered.
I tried to see everything else first, everything but the heap of flesh stretched across the bed. The walls were bare; no pictures, paintings, or memorabilia of any kind. The paint on the walls was chipped and cracked, peeling at the ceiling; evidence that the room hadn’t been painted in a very long time.
There wasn’t enough whitewashing in the world to cover up the brown blood and fecal matter splattered against the faded olive-green walls. The carpet, a burnt orange shag, was full of flesh, blood, and little bits of gore that I didn’t want to identify. This house was going to be hard to sell.
A vanity in the corner had a few eye shadows, some mascara, and pink lipstick. Sitting next to the mascara was a cheap bristled brush filled with long strands of dark, jet-black hair caked to the brush like plaster. The hair in the brush was so thick only the little plastic tips of the bristles showed. Of all the gore in the room, the hair in the brush was what was challenging my stomach. I turned to face the victim instead of the hairbrush and felt better.
The woman’s skin was a deep, rich bronze, Hispanic with curves where women should have curves. She was more on the lean side than heavy and tall. From the length of her on the mattress, she was about six feet tall. She was strapped to the bed at all four corners with anything they could find. A scarf. A sock. The ankles were tied down with something so soaked with blood I couldn’t tell what they were. Her dark panties were shredded across her pelvis and hooked around her thighs like they had split them down the middle.
“How long has she been dead?” I asked. The air-conditioner was off and the windows were closed. “Was the air off when you showed up?”
“Only a few hours and yeah, it was.” Derek pulled out his notepad.
Why would they have turned the air off? The heat only made the smell worse.
“The neighbors heard screaming at around 1:45 a.m. and called the police. It took a while for the local sheriff to call us in,” he hissed. Contempt dripped from every word as Derek turned to the sheriff’s deputy standing near the bedroom door in the hallway. That was as close as the Deputy Sheriff was going to get.
“So whoever did this was still close when the police arrived?” I prayed that maybe we’d finally found a lead.
“They might have been here when the neighbor called but the response time was . . . what was the response time Deputy Harris?” Derek clipped, anger making his tone harsh and his words sharp. He sounded angrier than I’d ever heard him. Even I took a step back.
“Twenty-five minutes, sir,” the deputy spit out at Derek with just as much venom. There was clearly no love lost between these two departments.
“Twenty-five minutes? They were long gone by then.” I sighed in frustration.
I inched toward the body, small steps through blood-drizzled carpet to get a better look. The gut wound was similar to the other woman, but cleaner, like one of them was a messy eater. The woman’s face was intact, thankfully. The only place that they’d really done any damage was the victim’s gut and soft tissue. Her intestines were flung all over her chest and the surrounding bed, soaking the sheets,
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