WA6 Rough Rough Draft

I lowered my gun in utter disbelief.  After months and months of searching we had finally found him.  Late night stakeouts, scanning file after file, record after record, photo after photo.  I mean the guy had been like a ghost, no fingerprints or hairs were ever found at the crime scene.   There were only two things that were ever constants; was the cause of death.  All of the victims were choked judging by the marks left on their necks the murder weapon was always the same beaded rope. The second thing was a small trinket stolen from every victim.  Nothing valuable, just something the victim had for memories. Other than that we didn’t no anything about him, we didn’t even know his name, heck we didn’t even no if he is a he.  I think my partner was beginning to lose his mind.  He couldn’t sleep at night.  He wasn’t eating.  This guy was getting into my partners head like no criminal ever should.  My partner was becoming too emotional, he was frustrated and in effect, he became sloppy.  He missed way to many opportunities.  But there was one opportunity that was not missed.  It started about a week ago when an anonymous caller wanted to leave a tip about the “ghost” murders (that’s what this case was called, can you believe that?).  This was nothing new we had gotten so many false tips on this case that we almost ignored them completely.  Whether it was a drunken high school punk claiming to be the “ghost” or just a random idiot using a corny movie line like “Breadcrumbs, follow the breadcrumbs” we had heard it all.  However there was something different about this caller.  I don’t know what it was but if I had to guess I would say it was the voice.   It was a low raspy voice that spoke cautiously, like it was tiptoeing in a minefield.  It said, “the ghost is dying” It paused and then said, “If you wish to catch him, you must let him come to you.”  There was a click on the other end of the line and my conversation was over.  The next day I received another call, but this time it was from a more familiar voice, my partner.  He told me that the investigation was being called off, and marked as a cold case.  It was because of lack of evidence and other leads.  In immense frustration I went home and took the next few days off.  I needed a mental rest after realizing I had spent the past 5 months wasting my time on an unsolvable case.  After my break I was walking back to the station when my partner called and said that they had been sent a necklace that matched the marks found on the victims necks.  The most valuable on the necklace part of the necklace were the fingerprints of several victims, and an unknown set.  We checked to see if the computer had a match for the unknown pair.  Sure enough the fingerprints belonged to Mr. Henry Lannes.  He had committed small crimes but more importantly had lived in an insane asylum until about three weeks before the first murder.  We looked his address on the criminal database.  Rushing to his apartment we saw him sitting outside weaving a bead necklace.  It was so easy.  This couldn’t be him.  This wasn’t him.  I lowered my gun in utter disbelief. 

Wa 5 final draft

     Part 1:

     This was no dress rehearsal. My perfect day had come. The priest walked by asking if everything was going smoothly. “Yes,” I replied, “and it better stay that way. This is my perfect day and nothing will ruin it for me.”

“Yes ma’am” the priest replied.

“Good” I said turning my head away from him. “Don’t you have some blessings to do or something.” He turned walked away with a swift gait. I stood up and peered around the church. There he was. I walked over to him as he admired his sugar look alike that rested on top of a tremendous wedding cake. “Harold, I need to talk to you.”

 “Well if it’s that urgent” he responded.

“It is.” I said. “This is my perfect day. Do you hear me?  It’s going to be perfect or else. Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-Yes honey” He stammered. I hesitated for a slight moment, then I left him standing there as I walked back to my dressing room. I needed one final glance into the mirror before the ceremony. Gazing into the mirror I noticed my dress, it was perfect.  The sound of an organ resonated through my head. I heard the shuffling of feet into pews. As the shuffling died down and the ceremony was about to commence I heard the church doors open. A It’s late guest ruining my perfect day. Why did the music stop?  Whose voice is that? It’s so rough and barbaric. Suddenly an outburst of screams accompanies the sound of a brawl. I open the door and in horror see a disgusting animal mauling my poor Harold. I shriek! The beast is hauled off of Harold. Harold grasps his face and screams. Blood runs down the side of his face and stains the rug. My perfect day is ruined!  Everyone is going to pay. I run out of the church tears streaming down my face, freezing and falling into the snow. I run to my car.  My perfect day was ruined. I drive away from the church my heart beating furiously.

 

Part 2:

     The cold winter air is stinging at my face. My grimy, matted hair spilling from my skull like pieces of thin, bent wire, scraping all the way down to my gnarled, blackened hands. The only thing that groans more than my stomach is the wind as it rips through my tattered clothing. A heavy snow falls as make my way to the church, a warm place with loving people and plenty of food. While walking up the main stairs to the church entrance the sweet sound of an organ blesses my frostbit ears. Opening the heavy wooden doors brings a rush of warm air filled the aroma of incense. I take a long deep breath of holy air and as I look up a hundred eyes stare at me. There are no welcoming face offering me food and shelter, only eyes that isolate me. A beautiful cake rests on a table tantalizing me. The priest asks me to leave explaining that the wedding is a private gathering. The groom examines me as if I were an animal. That’s what I am to these people. A different species. I tried to explain that I would be quiet and not bother the ceremony. However the groom now enters the conversation commanding me to leave.  I became enraged.  Distilled hatred, lust, and hopelessness spilling forth from my every orifice. My mind, driven by hate sent a signal to my hands. I lunge at the groom scraping his face with my long filthy fingernails. He begins to push at my face with a soft tender hand. Ravenously I sink my teeth into it, tasting the first meal I have had in days.  Many hands grab and restrain me. I resist with the force of a man with nothing to lose. Several men wrestle me to the door and throw me onto the ground.  I curl into a ball. I feel a tear freezing on my face and falling into the snow. I lie lonely, hating the animal that I have become and let my cold and loveless heart beat its last beat.