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“Shut up!” I hiss. I stop and listen. I identify and dismiss each distant sound: the wind rattling tin against tin, the dripping pipes, scurrying animals. There’s nothing else. This building is fucking empty. Or the fucker’s already a rotting corpse, because it sure does fucking stink like decay in here.
It’s dark, apart from the light streaming in from the door we just kicked down. There’re no windows in here. Looking around, I see a switch on the wall. When I pull the lever down, the warehouse lights up.
As soon as the lights come on, I see the reason why it stinks like rotting corpses. I look back at Sam. His face is pale, a few guys behind him already leaning over and losing the contents of their stomachs.
What the fuck did we just walk into? I can’t help but feel like this is a setup, somehow. “Nobody touch a fucking thing,” I say as I step further into the room. The sight before me is enough to give the fucking devil nightmares. It’s a damn good thing I don’t fucking scare easily.
There are three bodies, three female bodies. These women have been brutally tortured; ripped clothing hangs from their rotting flesh. As I inspect closer, my skin crawls. All three women have long blonde hair, their vacant blue eyes open and damning. I feel like they’re staring right at me… accusingly. I didn’t get here sooner. I haven’t caught the bastard before he could do this to these women. The part that disturbs me the most is they all look like Emily.
This could be Emily’s lifeless body lying here. Fuck! Turning around, I’m about to walk out when I spot the far wall. Sam’s already over there taking photos with his phone of everything on display. As I walk up next to him, my hands are shaking. Spread out all over the wall are images of Emily. Old ones, and more recent ones of her at my apartment and out at the ranch.
How long has this fucker been watching her? There’s image after image of her beaten and bruised, a few with casts on her arm. There’re images of her spread out on a bed, naked, bruises and cuts all over her body. My gun drops to the ground, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent room.
I start tearing at the images, ripping them from the wall. I don’t stop until every single one is in shreds. Once I’m satisfied that every photo is destroyed, I bend down, pick up my gun and walk out.
“Torch the fucking place,” I grunt as I walk past the men standing at the entrance watching, waiting and unsure what the fuck to do.
I need to get home to Emily. I need to hold her living, breathing body in my arms. I need to breathe in her fruity scent, feel the pulse in her neck beneath my hand. This fucking prick of an ex-detective is going to have one hell of a fight on his hands if he thinks I’ll ever let him get even an inch near her. I should have fucking shot his ass back on the side of the road when the asshole had the audacity to pull up behind me and question me about Emily.
