Where all G's have their story
Written by Kathryn J Barrow
It's normally simple. I was to come in, review the scene and discover what had happened. It was how it worked every time.
The room was dusty. Not a footprint or fingermark soiled any surface. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling to the light but not an occupant insight. Yet, in the corner of the room, in the brown leather chair, sat a body, death clung in the air of two-day-old decay. The team stood behind me waiting for me to let them in.
A gamut of human emotions washed over me. From sorrow for the young lady who'd suffered what appeared to be a long, painful death. Confusion, lack of understanding, anger because of that, determination, hysteria at the craziness of such a quest. I was experiencing the entire spectrum and, for once, I didn’t know where to start.
Her arms lay over the rest. Blood had dripped onto the floor before, now dried to her tips. Eyes stared blankly, lifeless, mouth sewn shut bulging from whatever had been forced to stay there. She had a pink dress on, I can see that from a corner of it which wasn't soaked in blood, cut through the middle as her entrails lay upon her lap. I was feeling each emotion, my gamut of them, you know a span, a sweep, a compass of them, in a series, as if I was playing them out in my head.
The room was littered with clothes, a pile here of her underwear, a pile over there of similar-looking dresses to the one she was wearing. Photos of her and her friends, her family, holidays, pets. They’d been left where they were when she’d been registered missing twelve years ago. She was nineteen then. She still looked nineteen by the sorrowful look on her face. That was creepy in itself. Her parents hadn't touched this room. They’d visited it every so often, you could see that by the slight door mark on the floor where it had been opened and brushed the dust away. But it was the only sign of movement in an otherwise untouched room. It was the smell that had made them open it this morning.
They’d gained their daughter back but twelve years had been lost. I feared for what she’d been through, what was happening, what had happened and it was up to me to find out. I don’t seem to have a single clue to go by.
“What are waiting for boss?” I heard from behind me and a gruff laugh emanated from my mouth, apparently, I was feeling slight humor from all this too.
“A bloody miracle Bobby,” I answered and shook my head.
The sun began to shine through the window. I followed the beam from the wall, through the room, watching the dust move slowly through the light to the window, the tiniest speck of something glistened over the dust on the window sill. I had somewhere to start.