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‘But that’s not all,’ Daniels continued.
There it was. Ella braced herself for the worst.
Ripley chimed in, ‘He’s struck again, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, and this one is…. a little different.’
Ella suddenly choked on her breath, her voice trapped in her throat. ‘He’s killed inside someone’s home, hasn’t he?’
Chief Daniels said nothing.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As she approached the home, Ella’s attention was drawn to the child’s swing hanging limply in the front yard—a poignant reminder of the life that flourished here, now overshadowed by an act of inexplicable violence. Ella’s heart raced; the horror film similarities were getting too real, too close for comfort.
The details had been scarce. All Daniels knew was that a dead woman lay somewhere inside.
Ella grabbed Ripley’s arm and froze on the pathway leading to the house. ‘Mia, if there’s kids in there, I can’t…’
A uniformed officer guarding the door overheard and jumped in. ‘The children are fine.’ He pointed across the way towards a horde of bodies. Amongst them were two youngsters, still clad in pajamas.
Ella breathed a bittersweet sigh of relief, but equal horrors were still to come.
The front door was ajar, revealing brief glimpses of commotion within. As she made her way to the entrance, the subdued conversations of officers and forensic techs echoed in her ears, punctuated by the distant snap of a camera.
The living room had been turned into a makeshift forensic scene. Blue-gloved hands moved methodically, cataloging and bagging evidence, their precision contrasting the violence that had occurred here. Warm beige walls, lavish furniture, family photos – all of it punctuated by the body of a young blonde girl lying on the living room floor.
The victim, no older than twenty-one, lay sprawled amidst a pile of broken porcelain. Perhaps she had been holding a tea cup or a plate before everything went awry. The fabric of her nightgown was marred with a dark stain that had spread across her midsection, a sharp contrast to the pristine white of her attire.
Ripley, possibly sensing Ella’s distress, whispered, ‘Focus on the evidence, not the victim. Remember, we're here to catch this monster.’
Ella nodded, forcing herself to examine the room with a detached eye. There was a shattered vase on the coffee table and a trail of blood that started from the doorway and led straight to the girl. The struggle had been brief but intense.
‘It's strange,’ Ripley observed, ‘The other murders were staged with almost theatrical precision. This one feels...hurried, chaotic.’
A forensic officer signaled to the agents that their work was done. Ella moved in, bent down, gently moving a strand of blonde hair from the girl's face. ‘Maybe he was interrupted, or she fought back harder than he anticipated.’
‘Stab wound to the stomach. That’s different. Simple.’
‘A far cry from evisceration or impalement, but why has he changed so suddenly?’ Ella asked.
Ripley put her hands on her hips and gazed from corner to corner. ‘The scene must have called for it, but what horror movie is he reenacting here?’
Ella tried to place it, but there were a million horror scenes that took place in domestic settings. ‘No idea, but something stands out. The subtlety, the lack of theatrics, the almost...personal nature of the attack.’
Ripley cocked her head, her gaze fixating on the shattered porcelain. ‘Most of his previous scenes were grand, they were all about showmanship. But this... this feels intimate, almost spontaneous. Maybe he knew her personally?’
The living room filled with the silent cacophony of its own tragic story: spilled liquids hinting at a disrupted evening, a book propped open about fifty pages in. The TV was on but muted.
Chief Daniels entered, face pale, eyes red. He’d even foregone his sheriff’s hat. ‘Awful,’ he said.
‘Who called it in, chief?’ asked Ripley.
‘The homeowner, Cliff Martin. Victim was their babysitter. He’d been out with his wife, and when they got back…’ Daniels’ voice cracked, unable to finish the sentence.
Babysitter,Ella thought. She felt the weight of the statement and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for the parents to walk in on such a scene. A night out, a little break from the kids, and then coming home to find your safe haven had been invaded.
‘Where are Mr. and Mrs. Martin now?’ she asked.
