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|A Very Rare Find (standard:mystery, 2576 words)|
|Author: Spotlight||Added: Aug 04 2001||Views/Reads: 1479/922||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Back again, with more editting. About Detectives and Heaven and hell and Disturbed Grandmas.|
A Very Rare Find ...by Spotlight 25 days ago, two children may have been alive. Half their bodies, were cut-up decomposing on a tree, legs gone. Stretch marks across their faces showed that at time of death, some person had grabbed their skin and pulled, forming, blueish purple slashes at the cheeks. Dried blood was imbedded into the tree around them. Someone had rubbed their bloody stumps against the bark like sandpaper. And they were not important. Two yards away from the tree, on the ground, lightly floating on a patch of green grass, was the killer. One clean bullet was through the head; a clean hole, with one trickle of dried blood. No blood stains on a sundress. Handgun in hand. Her eyes were open. She was looking up at the clouds when she died. The coroner flashed pictures. The long search for the missing children ended here, with this dead grandmother. Her body was still, a smile on her face, a face-reddening smile, with the corner of her mouth revealing dentured teeth relaxedly apart. Cindy Lazaruth: she looked like his grandma. She looked like anyone's grandma, warm, and inviting, the homely smell of potpourri and old-lady overpowering any aroma of stagnant death. His hand come-hered the small crowd of awestruck police. "Lets bag her up." Jake said nonchalantly. His demeanor was stoic, stone-faced to the ripped souls, splayed across the tree. The scene was already blocked from his mind, his level eyes staring at the warm face of the grandma, smiling. A cold-blooded killer lay before him, and yet she seemed so at peace, arms crossed about her stomach in a tomb of grass. The original call, 25 days ago, was from a hysterical parent, and three people were deemed missing, most likely kidnapped. A search headed by Jake, surveyed the surrounding houses, local businesses and relatives of the family, yet nothing resulted from the extensive questioning. The search went on for almost four weeks, Jake losing hope, solemnly committing himself to the fact that no one would ever be found. There was no evidence of struggle, no strange footprints or fingerprints, no leads whatsoever. As hope dwindled, a neighbor of Cindy's on her drive home from work, reportedly spied the two children and Cindy together, entering Cindy's BMW. Before she had a chance to park and greet them, the car was speeding West down the suburbs. Luckily, a BMW was discovered deep inside Mt. Holly Springs Municipal Park by a local policeman the following day. Jake was contacted immediately. Once more his eyes surveyed the smiling face as the zipper of a black rubber bag was opened. Some men in paramedic uniforms crowded around to either side of Cindy, pulling the bag underneath her. Jake lifted the woman's head, cradling it between his hands. His fingers felt the jellowy brain give underneath his fingers, a sensation of quicksand and disgust swallowing the tips into her skull. He kept his composure, letting go of the grainy coagulation, but feeling his hands begin to bore further inside against his struggles. Bones cracked as white blood dripped up his arms, defying gravity, curling around his elbows; the paramedics worked, unnoticeing. Screaming unnaturally, the white, changed pink, then purpled, crawling beneath his shirt and tie, screaming up his chest. His whole body shuddered and was quickly forced through her brain, gel and muscle-like tissue exploding outward. Then, a perfect living room. Doilies covered tables, soft brown couches, a piano bench, shelves, a Televison, while dried flowers lined the walls and candies lay dormant in crystal jars. Candles illuminated the room, along with standing lamps, accenting the beige colored walls and tan flooring. Handcrafted gifts from countless grandchildren and professional basket weavers, filled the room, giving it a sense of cluttered beauty. Homecooked meal aroma wafted from unknown corners of the closed room. No doors were present, only windows covered in pinkish lace that tinted and gleamed in the orange afternoon sun. Jake seated himself behind a coffee table with a pile of Handcraft Click here to read the rest of this story (247 more lines)
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