So, as I lean over the body, I feel a surge of courage through my bloodstream, rising up from my feet and tingling toward the tips of my fingers. I’m strong because I’m on a mission to learn the truth. I just pray that the truth doesn’t mean that my husband is a monster.
I take a deep breath as I curl my fingers around the shoulder of the body lying on the floor. It’s time to find out more about the victim. What was he shot with, and what gang is he affiliated with? Is he an innocent man, or is his death no tragedy to speak of?
I’m not really sure what I expect to find, but something has to help me dig deeper into the mystery. I’ve poked through a few crime scenes recently, but I’ve avoided the buildings that actually had bodies still in them. I didn’t have the guts to find out who these people were, but today, that changes.
I pull back the body, flipping it over and jumping back as I catch a glimpse of what should’ve been the man’s face. I guess whoever is behind this horrible act didn’t want the bodies identified, because it’s been blown clean off. I was wrong about it still being intact.
I expected more for my trouble, to be honest. I’m disappointed that once again, I won’t know who died here and why. If I could just see a face, then I could at least tell if they were part of some gang. I’ve found that nearly all of the gang members I’ve encountered had some sort of marking on their face, whether it be tear drops tattooed beneath their eye, or more recently, symbols burned into their cheek. It would go a long way into telling who died here if I could just find a person who still had a face left at all.
I guess whoever is doing this doesn’t want people to know who is being killed, but I’m determined to find out, even if it puts me in danger of becoming one of the victims. This has to stop.
I turn away from the body and tiptoe out of the room, weaving through hallways until I arrive at the back entrance of the building. I’m sure someone called the police when they heard gunshots, but unlike the police, I arrived on the scene just minutes after the gunshots rang out. I could still smell the acrid odor of gunpowder when I got here. I was able to get in and out before the police had a chance to send a unit down to investigate.
This is the first time that I’ve been able to come close to the victims after I began hearing about the slayings in my city. Everywhere that I’ve investigated in the past has been abandoned after the bodies were moved. People don’t even bother to clean up crime scenes anymore. The city has gotten that bad.
It may be bad here, but I still hold some good in me. I’m not entirely rotten, not yet anyway. I’ve kept my purity despite the world’s best efforts to steal it. I’m strong, and I won’t let the darkness rule me without putting up a fight. My name is Alice Gromova, wife to the ruthless Russian mafia lord Zane Gromov, and this is my story.
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