Murder was built to fit in with Practical Society
The first murder of the summer was reported through the hot line established by the police force. It was disturbing and it wasn't going to get any easier for Laura Kimber. She was looking for the address as she drove the opposite way just minutes before, and she didn't even recognize the city she was hired to protect. That day, everything looked different. Congress Street and I95 looked different. The buildings were lit up a dull gray and there were no views to the sides and I95 had no horizon ahead or onto the ramps. It was like passing through an endless nightmare, the sun was gone, but the heat was still streaming.
Kimber and four uniforms were the first on the scene. It just seemed nowadays that murder was built to fit in with practical society. Kimber wanted so much to disprove that, but the challenge was getting more difficult everyday.
One of the uniform's face flushed as his eyes darted around the basement. It was his first time witnessing a dead body. He felt he was up to it, but his stomach would beg to differ. Kimber frowned moving toward the lump on the floor covered in a dirty blanket. She bent down and pulled the blanket back from the corpse's head. She turned the head around to get a look at the face. Taking a deep breath, fighting the nausea that rose in her gut, she steadied herself as two of the uniforms turned away.
The woman's eyes were still open, and the passage of fear that had twisted her delicate features remained frozen in place. But what startled Kimber the most was the amount of damage done to her before or after she was killed. Most of her teeth were smashed out with a hammer, and her tongue shoved way back into her throat. Her neck was slit leaving a gaping slash, several inches long. Chunks of muscle or veins were popping out of the wound. It almost resembled canned dog food, but Kimber knew better.
Once again Kimber fought to control her churning stomach when she noticed a six inch nail hammered up her left nostril. The damage to the face alone was just overkill. It was needless, but the murderer wanted to send a message. That had to be the only reason for the overkill.
Kimber pulled the blanket further back, exposing a wound near the shoulder blades caused by the claw side of the hammer used for removing nails. All four of the uniforms threw up at the same time. Each load hitting the floor simultaneously.
Kimber just dry heaved, but kept everything down.
“Permission to wait for you outside,” asked one of the uniforms.
“Granted,” she replied and all four of the uniforms made a line for the door. She didn't blame them and wished she could have joined them, but she had business to conclude. She would throw up later in the privacy of her own bathroom.
Kimber was wondering why the hell did he do that much damage to that poor soul. She closed her eyes and was just imagining a dark stranger standing over the body shrouded in black. But in the glimmering light of the moon, his eyes glowed brightly from two holes in the blackness that concealed his features. He moved toward the victim and removed a hammer from the back side of his pants. He lifted the hammer up into the air and then his eyes finally fixing on Kimber...
“Laura,” Chambers called from the basement door snapping her out of her trance.
She stood up and moved away from the wrecked body and began flexing her knees. “The uniforms couldn't stand the heat.”
“This woman had no chance to survive her ordeal,” she whispered.
The sadness in Kimber's voice betrayed the truth. If a flash of hope had ever entered the victim, it would have vanished as quickly as it had come.
© 2015 Frank Atanacio