There was a lot more blood than Detective King remembered. It covered the first step completely and a pool next to where Andrew Wood’s body used to lay. The wall had splashes of blood on it and the second and third steps. There was even some on the front door. King couldn’t help but be amazed on how it got there.
The voids between the blood and the floor almost made a perfect outline of Andrew Wood. Made things easier. King saw where the body laid. Still didn’t give him any clue how the woman killed him if she did at all. He found it hard to believe that the petite woman he saw overpowered Andrew Wood, who was slim but strong. There were always more circumstances to consider. The body was found near the bottom of the stairs. He might’ve fallen, and the woman took advantage.
(He refused to believe he saw the woman hurdle the fence.)
King tore his eyes from the blood and headed toward the kitchen. There, they found a butcher knife (it’s always a butcher knife) with blood on it. It had already been bagged and taken in for evidence. In its place stood a folded, yellow card with the number six stamped in black. He was still waiting to hear on the blood and fingerprints. It was prioritized, but it would still take weeks or months to see results. At least, they can eliminate Andrew Wood’s fingerprints- King refused to call him the victim. The only blessing of this investigations. The woman found they alive wasn’t a blessing, but a miracle.
Olivia Gray was the name of the survivor. She vanished from her home over a year ago, right before Wood has started his little “artworks.” Much to her luck, Andrew Wood kept her. Infatuation had to be it, but King wouldn’t know until the woman talked. King wanted badly to go to the hospital and speak with her, but the doctor advised against it. Olivia had gone through a traumatic experience, and would scream at every man that walked into her room. She gotten violent with one had to be sedated.
She also wouldn’t slept until they gave her the sedative, too afraid to close her eyes. King understood. Olivia believed that if she closed her eyes, she would wake up chained in Wood’s basement. To her, being rescued might have been all in her head, having envisioned it so many times during her captivity. Fortunately for her, when she opened her eyes, she would still be in a hospital bed, albeit restrained.
Giving the kitchen one last glance, King headed into the dining room. There, they found the corpse of Penelope Adams. Wood’s latest victim. There were already depictions of a Bible scene carved into her body, the branded crucifix on her chest. King knew his Bible pretty well, but didn’t know the scene was on Penelope’s corpse. It might be because it wasn’t complete. Not that it really mattered anymore. The Crucifix Killer (he hated calling him that) was dead and it would not help him catch his newest murderer. He was sure she didn’t give a damn about the Bible. Just like Andrew Wood had known nothing about the Bible.
“What’cha thinkin’?” someone asked from the kitchen. King turned and spotted Kevin Anderson, a fellow detective and friend. Detective Kevin Anderson was tall, broad shouldered with short blond hair and blue eyes. Some ladies at the office liked him to a Norse God, especially when he smiled. King saw Anderson was extraordinarily handsome. Could have been a model or an actor, but he was a cop instead. King never bothered asking why. Didn’t matter. Anderson did what he loved, and that was enough. Though if he had chosen a different path, it might have been easier to take care of his wife and kids.
“I’m thinking if your shirt was smaller, you wouldn’t have buttons,” King shot at his friend, eyebrows raised. Anderson’s light green button up shirt was on the verge of busting at the seams. Normally, the man took extra care of his appearance, but it seemed he was in a rush that morning. Not that King could say much. He was in the same clothes he wore last night.
The man’s laughter sounded good on King’s ears. Been awhile since he made someone laugh. “Yeah, it shrank in the wash. Made it to the station before I noticed.” Anderson looked at the shirt. “Got no one else to blame. I tried to give Gabby a break. She’s always looking after the kids.” Gabby was a sweet and quiet woman. Sometimes, King thought something was wrong, since she looked no one in the eye. Anderson said she had always been like that so he ignored it. The kids, three of them, were outgoing like their father though. Nothing but smiles and laughter.
King nodded, feeling a little pang of loneliness. He had yet to tell anyone Tabitha, his wife, had left him. Wasn’t any of their business, and he didn’t want to talk about it. The only people he had spoken to about the separation was Tabitha and their daughter, Amber. Amber said she had seen this coming a long time ago and was surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner. That stung. Stung more than he would have liked to admit. He knew it too, that Tabitha wanted out, but said nothing. Tabitha needed to figure it out, and then she finally did.
“So, what’re we looking at?” Anderson asked.
King couldn’t be happier at the change of subject. Though this topic wasn’t much better. “I have no fucking clue,” he admitted to his colleague. “We got a bloody knife in the kitchen, but the only blood in the house is from our dead suspect. We got a body with its chest ripped opened and no sign of its heart. A witness that claims our murderer had a dog with her, but no sign of any animals even being near the house.”
“Don’t forget the woman that can jump a six-foot privacy fence like its nothing.” Anderson was lucky looks couldn’t kill. “Woah! I’m not making fun of you, this time. The techs checked the fence and there were no scuff marks,” he explained at King’s confusion. “The neighbor confirmed that someone went into his backyard, too. Shame he didn’t see her face.”
Shame indeed. Jessica Matthews had been little help in that department. She had been inches, inches, away from the suspect, but couldn’t describe her. The sketch artist got so frustrated that he walked away. Just took his stuff, and walked out. No one at the department contacted him since. He left a partial drawing, but it wasn’t enough to put out in the public. It resembled nothing human.
Jessica had burst into tears when she saw the picture, apologizing for not being any help. King had given her a gentle pat on the shoulder, an awkward “there, there,” and sent her home. They would try again another day. Tensions were high and emotions wild with lack of sleep. King was feeling it though he refused to sleep. He wanted to look at the crime scene one last time, hoping to find something. All he found was frustration.
King glanced around him one last time, then headed to the front door. He was the murderer. “I come in through the front door,” King said, speaking loud so Anderson could hear. Physically running through a scene helped him get a clearer picture of what happened. Anderson was the only one that understood and will help him. “The light to the dining room is on, and I go there.” He headed to the dining room.
It was Anderson’s turn, playing Andrew Wood. “I’m hiding in the kitchen, waiting for the perfect time to kill you.”
“There is a body on the table. I look at it and then headed to the kitchen.”
“That is when I strike.” Anderson moved toward King and made a motion of stabbing the man in the stomach.
“On reflex I shove you,” King remembered about the scuff marks on the floor, “and remove the knife, dropping it on the floor.”
“This scares me. I get up and run to my bedroom and grab my bat.” This was where the re-enactment stopped. The blood kept them on the first floor.
“I follow you up there. I walk, knowing I have enough time to kill you.” They both move by the stairs.
“This is the part I don’t understand,” admits Anderson. “Just how the hell did she get him to fall?”
This is the part you don’t understand, King started to himself, not the fact that the woman was stabbed and kept moving? Aloud he said, “She kept moving until he was at the top of the stairs and shoved him.” It was what he would have done.
“So he falls, is dazed, and she cut his heart out while he’s still conscious.” Neighbors heard screams. “Man, that’s pretty fucked up.”
“Yeah. Even more fucked up is she took it with her.” Anderson’s eyes were wide with awe when he turned to King. “Yeah. We couldn’t find it anywhere.”
“Man. I’m happy I’m not the lead on this case.” Anderson laughed and gave King a hard pat on his shoulder. King winced. Anderson was a lot stronger than he thought and his love taps was hard.
“The biggest question,” and the case was riddled with them, “is how the woman knew Olivia was in the basement.” King looked at his friend and got a shrug in response. It wasn’t helpful, but it wasn’t Anderson’s fault, even King didn’t know the answer. They already ruled her out as an accomplice. She would have known where he lived and hadn’t needed to scare the piss out of Jessica Matthews (literally). Maybe Wood told her while she slowly dug out his heart, but that was even more doubtful. According to neighbors, there were no breaks in his screaming except for breaths.
“You should sleep on it,” offered Anderson.
Sleep sounded good. Sleep sounded amazing. It also sounded unobtainable. No harm in trying though. “Yeah,” King conceded, “you’re right. I’ll see you later.” King walked out the door, got into his car, and headed home. During the drive, he phoned the captain and explained what he had found, or lack there of. Captain gave him a “good job” and “see you tonight,” before hanging up.
The house was quiet when he got home. No one was there to greet him. He thought of getting a pet but pushed it away. He had barely been home enough to care for his wife, how would a pet fare? No. Being alone was best for him. Give him time to think about what he had done.
But first, he needed to clear his board. He had a new case to focus on. Sleep? There was no time for sleep. He would sleep when he was dead.
Sin Eater 