The scene itself was morbid, yet there was no denying the artist qualities that were underlining it. A person couldn’t help, but be drawn in by how captivating it was or notice the beauty. Every detail was carefully planned out. From the choice of the victim all the way down to the color of the light sheen of lip-gloss on her lips. Weeks, months, maybe even years had to go into the planning. This wasn’t some random mugging in an alley way gone wrong or a scorned love one seeking revenge. A murder this precise could not be haphazard.
She lay as if she were asleep; draped across the center of a gothic canopy style bed. Her blond, wavy hair spread across the pillow and her pale skin blending in with the lily-white sheets. The crimson silk sweetheart dress she wore was an exquisite piece with long lace sleeves; the hem barely reaching the middle of her thigh. A dainty ribbon choker wrapped around her neck with a red stone that dangled at the middle of her collarbone. Her hands were folded into fist, crossed at the wrist, tied together with a thorny vine, and rested just below her chest, the shape resembling a heart. Beneath them rested a stem with sharp thorns that belonged to a single black rose that lay just below the collar of the dress.
The only light in the room was that of the full moon leaking in through the two windows on either side of the bed, giving her a ghostly glow. Void of any furniture besides the bed and the granite color of the walls made the room seem cold and open. No pictures of family or little pointless trinkets people buy just to collect dust. It seemed to resemble a dungeon or a castle tower. On one of the bedpost was a black envelope, which was meticulously tied with a burgundy ribbon. Scrolled on the front in neat gold cursive were the words ‘Read Me.’ It read:
To Whom It May Concern:
I would like you to take a look at my beautiful creation. Isn’t she breath taking? All my time and hard work seems to have paid off, this once invisible girl is now a beautiful piece of artwork for the world to see. I call her Sleeping Beauty.
Sincerely,
C.P.
P.S. All little girl’s dream of being pretty princesses and know she is one.
The letter, a small gateway into the mind of this villain, was a jumble of cryptic phrases and double meanings. Handwriting so proper, neat to the point, carefully depicted in black ink, it was on the borderline of perfection. From the curves of the k to the swoop of the s, their weapon of choice was loud and clear, a quill, an old fashion one to be exact. This showed the murderer also had an abundance of patience in order to take the time to dip the quill in the inkbottle before writing each word. Despite all of this information none of it was useful. With no finger prints on the letter or envelope as well as any other surface of the room the FBI was at a dead end.
Newspapers were running articles on this event like there was no tomorrow. Three to five different articles were spread throughout only one newspaper with different commentary and opinions from different writers, but each one showing heavy interest in the placement of the body. Headlines such as ‘Sleeping Beauty Never to Wake’ and ‘Storybook Killer on the Loose’ were plastered on the fronts. The most memorable article was entitled ‘Sleeping Beauty, the Wilting Rose,’ which was about Sleeping Beauty herself.
Her name was Aurora Rose, a twenty-one year old college student, majoring in fashion design. She was orphaned at a young age without any family to take her in, spending most of her young life being moved from foster home to foster home as frequent as a person would clean a fish tank. At age sixteen Aurora graduated high school and was granted emancipation in order to go to college. Her past didn’t shed any light on the FBI’s investigation. After a month of going in nothing, but circles the case was labeled unsolved, but there was one person who fought a losing battle to try and keep it open.
*******************************
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights sounded like thunder in the deserted office. Only a few poor unfortunate souls remained seated at their desk absorbed in their work, instead of sitting at home eating dinner with family or watching TV. Justin Cole was one of those unlucky people.
He was currently hunched over his desk rereading file #114829 for maybe the hundredth time, every line and detail practically memorized. The crime scene photos were like a movie set on repeat 24/7. Knowing that he shouldn’t torture himself by rereading a file for a case that should have been closed, but the FBI agent in him was screaming that there was something they missed. Justin was so engrossed in his thought that he did hear the clicking of his partner ‘s heels approach him.
““Why are you still reading that file, Justin,” she asked, causing him to jump.
“Isabelle, do you always have to do that,” he questioned.
“Yes, now stop avoiding my question.” Shaking his head at his brunette partners antics, Justin looked back at the Sleeping Beauty murder file before answering her.
“I know there has to be something we missed. No one is careful enough not to leave behind any evidence at all.”
Isabelle nodded her head in agreement with his statement, but she knew he wouldn’t find anything. Justin was the type of person who wouldn’t let something go until he figured it out, even if this case was a dead end she knew he still wanted to figure it out.
“Well have you found anything,” she asked hesitantly, knowing that they were about to start a discussion. Sighing Justin looked up at her and shook his head, looking like a defeated three you old.
“I’ve analyzed these pictures countless times and they reveal no hidden secrets. Yes there is the obvious stuff like the attention to detail, but other then that nothing. It’s almost as if she was placed there by a ghost,” Justin ranted in frustration.
“Then why torture yourself like this,” she asked.
He looked away as his green eyes darkened slightly. His lips started moving with words flowing out of him before his mind even realized it. “Every time I see these pictures or think about the case, I see how much she and my little sister look alike,” Justin sighed knowing it was to late to stop talking and take back those words. “Did you know they went to school together?” Isabelle looked at him shock as she simple shook her head no, since her tongue seemed to have been captured by a cat.
“I know this is going to sound stupid, but what if it had be my sister that was in those pictures. What if he had seen her as the better choice,” he asked with panic lacing his words. Looking at him with sympathy in her eyes Isabelle spoke.
“It’s not stupid, Justin. I know your thinking of all the what if’s, but it didn’t happen, alright.
Anger began to manifest as Justin clenched his hands into fist, his knuckles instantly became white with hits of pink marbled throughout. Glancing at Isabelle from the corner of his eye to see her staring at him with a worried expression.
“I understand that it wasn’t my sister, but the killer is still out there,” he seethed, “meaning that there could already be another picked out.”
Isabelle understood what he meant and that his over protectiveness for his sister was only from the good of his heart. Not wanting to say anything that might upset him more, she slowly placed her hand on his shoulder before giving it a slight squeeze in understanding.
“Well I’m going to head home then,” she said as she turned to live.
“Good-night,” Justin replied.
As Isabelle was about to turn the doorknob she thought of Justin pulling another all nighter which he didn’t need right now. “Don’t stay here all night.”
Nodding his head Justin refocused on the file with only one thought running through his mind, ‘Don’t let there be another victim.’
**********************************
Thunder echoed in the distance as lightening streaked across the sky. Rain falling from the clouds in thick sheets. The wind blew relentlessly against trees along with those few people cursed to be caught out in this storm. Flood and tornado warnings flashed at the top of TV’s warning people of the possible dangers, but all of this seemed to be nothing to a cloaked figure that lurked in the shadow of a weeping willow.
The figure seemed to be gazing into the French doors of a small one-story house. Inside the house sat a young woman with long blond hair and stunning cerulean blue. She was petite in size, but had a girl next door hidden beauty.
Some might assume this figure was a stalker. If a person could get close enough to see they might have been able to make out a sinister smirk plastered across the figures face. A hood set most of its face in shadow making it difficult to tell the sex of the person, but from the height most would assume male.
Inside of the figure’s head only one thought was making itself known, ‘The slipper fits,’ before they disappeared from sight.
 BloodKatana · Wed Oct 22, 2008 @ 01:04am · 0 Comments |
