My dress from the school dance sits in tatters on my body, its beautiful material damaged beyond repair. Tiny sequins litter my bedroom floor like fallen stars. Pain in my chest numbs the bruises to my jaw and throbbing ache below.
Nothing feels real.
My life will never be the same.
The girl who dreamed of a different future is now standing in the tomb of her reality. Lava pours into my brain, melting all sanity.
Seeing dead bodies isn’t like the movies. It’s so much worse. As the muscles in my mother’s body relaxed, her bowels emptied. She would have hated knowing how undignified her death was—that people witnessed her in such a way. Her silk nightgown sticks to her pale flesh, damp, coated in fluids. Brain matter mats her once blonde, pristine hair. Blood is her only makeup.
My father’s skull exploded like a watermelon dropping from a balcony, decorating the walls that once offered so much comfort and safety.
I wonder what’s on the other side for them.
Tears well and drop to my cheeks. A silent scream violently rips through me. Acid races up my throat, dispelling across the carpet. Will the new owners ever get the smell out? When something horrific happens in a house, it leaves an echo, the dark memory seeping into the foundations. Who cleans up a scene like this? Is there a special team dedicated to such a thing?
A cold chill tiptoes up my spine, dancing around my throat. Buzzing sounds in my head, fogging my thoughts. I can no longer, think, stand, breathe. Strength flees from my limbs, and I crash to the floor, my chest spasming with each sob that ruptures inside of me. My lungs seize. My airways close.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I’m dying.
Clawing at my throat, I will myself to take in air.
A phone.
I need to call the police.
The sound of footfalls from outside the window chills my blood. A silhouette peers inside, darkening the glass. My heart pounds frantic in my chest, fear washing through me. This is it. They’re coming for me. I huddle into the closet, pull the door closed, and try not to pass out. My knees come up to my chest as I try to make myself as small as I can. The darkness taunts me in here, phantom voices, phantom hands crippling me, plunging me into the depths of reliving the nightmare. The weight of his body above mine.
“No, stop.”
The cruel invasive entry, stealing my power.
“Stop, stop! Mama, help me!”
His breath on my cheek.
“No. No. No.”
It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.
I will my mind to come back to me, to leave the memories in the past. Time slows and eternity passes. A voice calls out from the nothingness.
“This is officer Adams. The door is open. I’m coming inside, and I’m armed. Identify yourself.”
Terror holds my voice hostage. My heart thunders. With every second that ticks by, I die a little more. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the door slides open, stealing the air from my lungs. “Please,” I croak. Tears blur my vision before leaking down my face, offering a clear view of a man with the bluest eyes peering down at me.
With a creased brow, he says, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” His hands reach out, and I startle backward. “It’s okay. I promise, it’s going to be okay.” The words are soft but hold conviction. “Trust me, please.”
Salty streaks sting my cheeks a shiver rattles my bones. Taking a deep breath, I reach out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong. He guides me out of the darkness, his cologne wrapping around me like a blanket of safety. I breathe him in, then exhale, allowing his scent to spread through me, wash away the pain, the torment, replace the nightmare.
Chapter One
Nine years later…
Detective Nick Adams
Rain punishes the crime scene, washing evidence away faster than the forensics team can unload their equipment. A man, maybe late thirties, lays on his back in an alleyway not far from the nightlife of uptown. Three gunshot holes in his face, what looks like scratch marks down his right cheek, a bloody lip, his slacks gaping open at the crotch, sitting low on his hips.
“Three shots, all to the face. This was personal,” my partner, Wade Snow, grunts, bending on his haunches to examine the injuries more closely. All murders are personal, doesn’t necessarily mean this was targeted. “There are defensive wounds,” he adds, gesturing to the scratches.
“We have a female in the ambulance. Looks like an attempted rape. She shot him with his own gun,” an officer informs me, pointing to the ambulance at the back entrance to the alleyway. “We’ve bagged it for evidence, sir,” she says, like she wants praise for doing her job.
“We’re losing vital evidence by the second. Keep everyone away and let forensics do their job. Get me a name of the deceased and find out for sure who the gun was registered to.” I gesture toward the growing crowd at the other end of the alleyway. “And get rid of the reporters. We don’t need his face on the news before we know who he is,” I grunt, taking off in the direction of the ambulance. If this was self-defense, the fucker deserved the bullet holes.
Rain soaks through my jacket into my skin, and I want nothing more than to get home for a hot shower and glass—no, fuck that, a bottle of bourbon. The lights from the ambulance dance up the buildings, illuminating the shithole this place is.
My feet falter when I round a paramedic and see inside the ambulance. Heat spreads through my chest like a raging fire as my eyes devour the woman before me. A mop of blonde locks stained with crimson streaks, large brown eyes seeking me out, blood
