Chapter 4: The House at the End of the Alley

On the seventh day after my death, the detectives finally found a clue at a local market. The case broke open.

The air was thick with the smell of raw meat and cigarette smoke. Shoppers bustled past, unaware of the horror lurking nearby. Normal life, hiding something awful.

At the butcher’s stall closest to the entrance, a piece of rotten meat stood out among the fresh red cuts. It had been tossed in the corner, mixed in with the other meat. The sight was sickening.

The butcher frowned, poking at it with a gloved finger. The detectives exchanged glances, dread settling over them. They knew.

Dad’s face darkened, and everyone else looked grim. The mood dropped even lower.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing. The other officers stepped back, the realization hitting hard. It was almost too much.

It was hard to imagine what kind of monster could chop up a victim like that and mix the remains with other things to cover their tracks. The horror was unimaginable.

The thought alone was enough to keep you up at night. The city felt less safe, the shadows deeper. Fear spread.

Guided by luminol, they traced the scene to a dilapidated house at the end of a narrow alley. The trail was clear.

The alley was narrow, lined with trash cans and broken bottles. The house at the end looked abandoned, its windows boarded up, paint peeling from the walls. It reeked of secrets.

Seeing that gray, rundown house, I started shaking uncontrollably, terror swelling in my chest until it nearly burst. I couldn’t breathe.

My breath came in shallow gasps. Every step closer brought back flashes of pain and fear. My knees went weak.

Horrible memories flooded my mind. This was where that man tortured me. The terror was alive.

His face was a blur, but the pain was sharp, unforgettable. I wanted to run, but I was rooted to the spot. Frozen.

I watched as my own legs were hacked off while I was still alive, my body cut open. The pain was endless.

The memory was a nightmare, looping endlessly. I screamed, but no sound came out. The world went dark around the edges. I faded.

“So this is the crime scene,” came Julian’s gentle voice beside me. His tone was steady.

He stepped into the room, his gaze sharp and focused. Somehow, his presence made the darkness feel less suffocating. I could almost breathe.

For some reason, I suddenly felt a little relief. A tiny spark.

Maybe he would be the one to finally see me, to bring the truth to light. I hoped.

With Julian and the others in charge, the case gradually became clearer. Piece by piece, the puzzle formed.

Evidence piled up, the story coming together piece by piece. The detectives worked late into the night, driven by something more than duty. Determination burned.

“First, the victim was dragged here and tied up. The killer broke her bones, then used a cleaver to hack off her legs while she was still alive, then her arms, and finally her head. The struggle marks are obvious,” Dad said, pointing at the marks.

He walked the room, his voice steady but strained. The horror in his eyes was matched only by his determination. He wouldn’t give up.

“The victim was about eighteen, no older than twenty, five-foot-four to five-foot-five, with an old scar on her thigh. She suffered inhuman abuse before death,” Julian added, reading from his notes.

He read from his notes, his voice calm but heavy. The details were clinical, but the pain behind them was real. It weighed on everyone.

“This is just too cruel,” Uncle Jeff said, unable to bear it. “We need to find out who she is and notify her family.”

He wiped his eyes, his voice trembling. The weight of the case pressed down on everyone. Grief filled the air.

“By the way, Savannah hasn’t been home in days. Shouldn’t you call her? It’s too dangerous out there.” Uncle Jeff’s voice cracked.

He looked at Dad, worry etched into every line of his face. The question lingered, unanswered. No one wanted to say it.

“Enough!” Dad snapped, annoyed. “I’m working here. Stop bringing her up. Are you obsessed? Why do you keep thinking of Savannah Carter?”

His voice was harsh, cutting off any hope of reconciliation. The pain in the room deepened. It was suffocating.

“Anyway,” Julian said, each word cold and deliberate, “Captain Carter, you’d better hurry up and find something to confirm the victim’s identity so this case can be closed.”

He met Dad’s gaze, unflinching. There was a challenge in his eyes, a demand for the truth. Tension sparked.

Dad frowned. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt that Julian really didn’t like him. The suspicion was mutual.

He shifted uncomfortably, the suspicion growing. The tension between them was palpable. The air crackled.

“Julian, do you have some… misunderstanding about me?” Dad tried to keep his voice even.

He tried to keep his voice even, but the strain was clear. The room felt colder, the shadows deeper. Everyone watched.