Today seems to be a day of inescapable wetness. The downpour lashes the air furiously. The smell of fresh coffee, turning cold, fuels my stamina as I fill in the paperwork for the case that would be closed by tomorrow.
CASE FILE: Damian Fox
Overview of case:
On September 21st 2016, 28 year old Damian Fox, Homicidal Detective, was found strangled to death in his apartment. A solitary crimson rose, in half bloom had been placed vertically upon his chest; his body naked. The case resembled Keirra Shepard’s, a 29 year old, whose naked body was found on April 13th 2016, with a rose between her breasts.
Forensic reports showed no sign of forced entry, no hand/foot prints nor partial prints. There was however, a journal with an entry for 14th April 2016, tying the victim to Ms. Shepard’s murder:
Your eyes though, seek every one’s but mine.
In this vast expanse of the universe,
How come my heart was tied to none but thine?
I came to claim then, what rightfully belongs to me.
Beside me, you belonged, Oh Clementine.
I drank of your wine, I tasted your flesh,
How sweet a combo, your body a shrine!
Why though, darling,
Why choose to let go, your life line?
Oh heavens be cursed! What great a tragedy!
Our love in half bloom,
until we meet next time..
The case was closed for lack of evidence|
The cursor blinks at my unfinished sentence, prompting me to continue. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since Damian’s death. He had been my partner for the last two years.
Exhausted beyond words now, I stifle a yawn.
Glancing up to ensure the door is shut, I take out my journal and flick the pages until I reach an incomplete entry.
August 17th 2016
I have beseeched the rising sun
For a ray of its darkest hue,
And the mourning earth has promised me
The best of its kind too.
A few more weeks to go, beloved,
Just a fortnight or two:
Until I have the perfect half bloom
The earth has promised to give for you,
With mounting adrenaline, I hasten to complete the poem, but the door bursts open. The rooky barges in.
“Sir, the case, as you suspected, has been declared close for lack of evidence.”
I heave a sigh. Shaking my head, I say, “I’ll get on with the paperwork.”
He leaves without a word.
The raindrops trickle down the fogged pane, leaving a trail of clarity in their wake.
Damian’s hearty chuckle when he had seen a poem I wrote for him once, echoes in my mind.
“Your poetry is going to be the death of me, Will,” he had laughingly complimented me.
I am sure he didn’t mean it quite literally then.
I take a sip of my coffee that’s become cold now, and complete my poem.
“A rose in half bloom, for your betrayal:
Crimson core through.”