Posts Tagged ‘mystery’

Vitural

Thursday, February 18th, 2010

  The virtual re-creation is not finished yet, but I’m guessing they did not go down easy. While waiting in the lab, I look at the photos of the arcs of blood; that means this was a battle. There is castoff on the walls and ceilings, hell even on the light fixtures. The guy who did this was good at killing people though, as the preliminary results did not betray anyone but the couples’ DNA in the room.

 The Fightsim notifies me that it is ready for the re-creation. The first cut hits the male victim’s right forearm. His blood travels along the blade and hits the left wall just over the couch. The female victim gets punched and knocked unconscious in between the couch and coffee table. The second knife wound is across the palm of the male victim’s right hand. Blood lands on the coffee table and TV.

 He must have attempted to fight back at this point because the following wound is to his left bicep while the arm was extended. This upward cut created some of the blood on the ceiling and light fixture. With both arms hurt, he must have attempted to flee because the next gash is across his back. This injury is not superficial like the others though, it is over an inch deep at its deepest level and cut through some major muscles. He was on his hands and knees when the attacker started stabbing his lower back and kidneys.

 I pause the re-creation. Over ten stab wounds in the back. That should indicate passion and personal connection. With the absence of evidence of the murderer at the crime scene, that would suggest professional work. I make a note of the inconsistency and resume.

 The man crumbles to the ground and is stabbed three more times in the chest. Then he goes back to the woman, pulls her to her knees, slits her throat and then threw her over the couch.

 I rewind the re-creation, watch the woman’s murder again and zoom in on the knife wound. The slice is clean, so most likely she was unconscious on her knees and facing the couch. After slitting her throat, he picks her up and throws her on the couch.

 Why didn’t he just kill her where she lay?

 I put away the re-creation and start scanning the video footage from the Evico. I change the room around virtually and look at the various blood patterns. I look to see if any objects have been moved since the murder and do not find any evidence of it. Sometimes it is fooled into believing curtains are a obstacle or a tablecloth makes a solid wall, so I look for a region which might have been missed by the Evico and do not find any.

 I set up the virtual bodies as they were found. The woman is 5’7”, wearing a mini-skirt and a lacy blouse. She is wearing more makeup than she needs, and her rotten teeth and gums mark her as a drug user. She was probably pretty once, but now she just looked worn out. He did not have as much anger for her, so maybe she was just collateral damage.

 I pan over to the male victim. He has got fake animal-skin boots, and not the expensive type, denim pants and a tattered band T-shirt. Methamphetamines were found on his person, but located in his boots. The killer might have missed it, so I can not rule this out, murder for drugs, but that does not seem to fit with the violence of the stab wounds.

 I zoom into his back and examine the wounds. They are uneven as if he was moving during the struggle. He was most likely in shock, but his body was still trying to run and hide. The murderer must have flipped him over because he would not have the strength to do it himself. The final three stab wounds were made while he looked him in the eye; a cou ‘de gra, if you will. I checked the DNA results for someone other than the two victims in the house, but there are still just two sets of DNA.

 The murder feels spontaneous to me, as if they were killed in a fit of rage or fury. They typically present themselves to me in one of two ways: Either the killer leaves his DNA at the crime scene or he uses something to cleanse the crime scene. No chemicals were used at this crime scene, and the murderer left no DNA.

 I walk out of my virtual projection room and head for the vending machines. The manner in which he killed the woman nags me while I walk. Why did he put her on her knees? Why did he then pick her whole body up to put her on the couch? It would have been so much easier to just push her forward. Picking her up took unnecessary effort.

 I wave my hand over the front of the machine so it can read my RF chip and select a Honeybun. The device charges me and dispenses the goods. I open the Honeybun and some of the icing drops to the ground. Rather than cleaning it up, I just use my shoe to smear it in, no one will be the wiser.

 Then it hits me! He used her blood to smear in his blood. The Evico alone would not be robust enough to separate the two bloods, so it would have just returned the woman’s DNA. The theory is sound; however, to prove it I would have to actually go to the crime scene, and I do not go to crime scenes.

 When I was in the academy, they require investigators to do one crime scene to pass the course. It was the worst day of my life, and it still haunted me. The cops there had the nerve to tell me I was lucky, and it was not a bad one. I still have nightmares about it.

 If I tell someone of my suspicions and it ends up being true, they will recieve credit for cracking the case and it will be a negative rather than a positive. The spectrograph used to identify intermingled blood is light and works quickly. I could be in and out in less than 15 minutes. I suddenly have an urge to pee while I contemplate going into that blood-filled room.

 I prefer my virtual world, and I do not want to add to my collection, the sights and smells from actual murder crime scenes. I toss the Honeybun as I enter the bathroom. My hands are shaking as I urinate. “What’s the big deal”, I keep thinking to myself, “You’ve seen hundreds of crime scenes.” After I wash my hands, I splash water on my face. I can do this.

 I call for an escort and sign out the spectrograph. The cop picks me up downstairs and I sit in silence as we travel to the house. The cop looks old and bored. He is likely to have seen many of these kinds of crimes. I make up stories about his life to distract myself.

 The house is covered in yellow tape and he has to break the seal to allow me access. As he opens the door, the smell assaults me. It is a combination of bowels, urine and something rotting. The little bit I ate threatens to come back up, and I have to walk away from the house before I even go inside. I breathe through my mouth like they taught us, while the cop seems to be waiting patiently.

 I need a few more deep breaths and to steady my nerves. I can feel sweat forming on my back and armpits even through the Fall chill. My eyes do not seem to want to focus and it is as if I can taste the blood in my own mouth. I know its shock, but that does not alleviate the terror. I want to get away, and never go in there again.

 Is this really worth it?

 Is some small note in my file worth adding to my nightmare collection?

 The cop coughs and I wish him dead. He is right, though, I need to either do this or leave, and I am already here. So I straightened up and headed back into hell. I move quickly before I lose my nerve and enter the crime scene.

 The virtual view did not effect me, but standing here does. I move over to the couch as I try to work to keep the Honeybun down. I set up the device to scan the patch I suspect to contain the perpetrator’s blood, and now I’m left to wait for the system to do its work.

 The floor is covered in blood, so I look upward. The blood on the ceiling looks like red stars in a night sky. It is better than looking at the floor or walls, in any case. The waiting is killing me, though, so I try to see constellation in the dead man’s blood. I sit in the man’s house where he was murdered and I create images from the drops of his life that hit the ceiling.

 What class of person does this?

 As I contemplate what a horrible person I am, the device alerts me to being finished. I scoop it up and run out of the house without even checking the results. Once safely outside in fresh air, I look to see if I was correct, and I was. I tell the cop I’m done, go back in the car and upload the data to find and capture this guy.

 Travis Putnam was brought in a week later. He had a record and a temper. He also was a germaphobe and daily removed layers of skin and hair in an attempt to stay clean. Seeing how he was entirely hairless, he would not leave hair behind, and the scrubbing removed any dead skin which might have sluffed off.

 The fight started because the victim would not let Travis borrow his boots. The effort had cost Travis a tooth which landed on the couch. He believed slicing the woman’s throat would spray blood over the couch. When it did not work, he resorted to picking her up and moving her.

 Right before I fall asleep some nights I dream of the murder. I feel like I’m falling into a vat of blood and I jolt awake to the smell of bowel, death and decomposition lingering inside my nose.

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Banshee’s Mourn

Wednesday, January 20th, 2010

I stalked the family of three, as they trudged through their day time routines. I formulated a plan to steal a closer look at the infant. The search of the village over the past week left only this house and one other possibility. Salt deterred me from entering the other house. The salt also made it more difficult for my nemesis Boglamore to switch the infants in that home. I, as a fairy, loathed banshees, Boglamore was one of the worst. The pain of seeing Boglamore’s scream kill 10 of my fairy brothers still haunted me. I was close to catching the banshee’s offspring. I just needed to find the child. I believed, this house held the child.

I watched as the father of the family brought the sweet milk from his cow. It was the magic time for fairies: dusk. My power was strong now, but hunger would set in later. I could taste milks warm wholesomeness on my tongue. My mouth watered.

Stay focused! I told myself.

I watched the wife cook to pull my mind away from thoughts of milk. I floated within 4 feet of the woman undetected. I found the brown of the mother’s eyes unremarkable, but her hair was long, like wisps of golden smoke. The breeze through the window created the illusion of her hair barely hanging on, like the dying leaves of a tree in fall. I measured her normal human height. (it’s hard for a fairy to tell these things) She seemed plump.

She’s still heavy from the pregnancy. I thought.

I peered across the room at the soundless crib. A quick flight through the window would let me look at the infant. That’s the human type of blunder, not the fairy’s way. I finally came up with the trick. It’s fun to prank humans. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

Stealthy I moved to a position in the field next to a cluster of grapevines. I waited for the husband to come near. He crashed down the row of grapes. I released my spell. The vines sprang forth to entangle my prey underneath them. I smiled as he tried to dislodge himself. The spell was subtle although ancient, the vines healthy and many, a human didn’t stand a chance. That will subdue him for an hour or more. I expected calls for help and rushed back to the house.

I smiled proudly as the sounds of a struggle grew. The mother dashed out of the house to check on the disturbance. Now was my chance. I sped to the crib. I tugged the covers down to inspect the child. I could see no outward appearance of defects, mutations, or telling Banshee features. I began to cast a spell to reveal the infants true form.

“Iszera batogaloo, misdara da revealous cretarsemba,” I cast, looking for signs of the banshee’s magical voice.

I concentrated to maintain the spell to see deeper, past any illusions. I felt fairy dust pour off my body. I cursed my slow fairy magic. It takes time to break a banshee’s spell, time which I did not have. In the back of my mind I knew the dust might give away my presence to the family. My worry was threatening to break my concentration, this spell is not easy.

When I heard the mother return from the field the spell broke. Hiding in the rafters of the house, I punched the wood. The mother checked on her babe. She finished the meal just before the father came in covered in leaves.

How had he freed himself so quickly?

The father gave the mother a tight hug. His kiss on her check was quick, but his gaze lingered on her even after he took his seat at the table. She filled his plate with large portions, setting it in front of him. Steam swirled off the plates with a gamey aroma of deer. My mouth filled with saliva again. I might do something stupid if I couldn’t control my hunger.

He inhaled the food, he couldn’t enjoy the feast she provided. Bits of food fell to the floor while he ate. The father then moved the table and pulled out the bed. The infant laid there still quiet. The male sat on the bed. He looked at the female with food hunger in his eyes. The woman smiled. Her hair cascaded across her face as she tilted her head. He growled at her showing teeth. She slid to him. He tackled her down on the bed.

“eep” she cried

The male stripped, and forced her into nudity even as she attempted to flee the bed. She futilely tried to free herself from his restraint. He pinned her arms above her head. He began nipping at her breasts.

This is some sort of attack. I thought.

The man forced the woman’s legs apart with his thighs. She watched him as prey watches predator before they strike. The mother wore a calm helpless look of resignation on her face. I know nature, the woman did not have long to live.

The death of this woman would make my mission easier. I struggled with indecision. I wanted to keep the woman alive, but her death would mean less humans to interfere. I decided not to break my morals. I cast a spell.

There was a knock on the door.

The man stopped the violence to look around. The color flowed back into his eyes. The male animal was perplexed by the knock, he didn’t seem to understand what it meant. I cast the spell again.

There was a knock on the door, again.

The males face flushed red. He jerked his clothes from underneath her, grumbling. He slapped the bed in frustration. The woman burrowed into the sheets for protection. The killing blow prevented! I was very proud of how I understood and handled the situation.

Humans are just like any other animals. I smirked.

The man ripped the front door open looking for whoever interrupted his sport. The house groaned under his strength. I now understood why the vines couldn’t hold this human’s strength for long. I prepared another spell against this beast just in case. The woman put on her clothes underneath the covers, while the man banged around outside.

“Who’s there?” He yelled repeatedly.

No ones there human, I thought.

“Come back inside, they’re gone,” the woman finally called.

The man stomped into the house. Slamming the door behind him made bits of dust fall from the roof. He blew out all the candles, slipped into bed, and drifted to sleep. The woman stared at his back for many minutes crying softly.

She should be happy, I just saved her life. I puzzled

As the woman fell asleep, I focused on the quiet baby, his eyes following me as I floated down to the crib. I locked gazes with the child. I drifted closer to see the intelligent gleam in this so called human. He did not make a sound. I wanted to know for certain that he is the banshee’s child.

“Iszera batogaloo, misdara –,” I began to cast

The banshee child’s scream was horrid, but not fully developed to it’s killing potential. I was forced from the sky like a pheasant shot with an arrow. Dropping from the air saved me from detection, as the humans shot up in the bed.

While the woman nursed the child, I crawled under the bed to recover. The man crashed back to sleep. I didn’t doubt the origins of this child now. I waited for the family to lay back down to bed.

I collected fairy dust I cast to the ground earlier, arranging the dust in a circle around the crib. I etched eight symbols in the circle with great detail. Eight fresh leaves, from the fathers clothes, worked well as the nature element present in all fairy magic. An hour from dawn I finished the circle.

Dazed with hunger, I scavenged what scraps I could from the floor to eat. The last gel like mass, of hard and cold deer stew resisted my throat. As I ate my mind cleared of everything but the spell at hand. The spell required perfection to place the human child in the crib. I was now mentally ready to weave my magic.

In a low voice I chanted, “barbalama, tusorulagosmar, tiscamakpeck, eeknarboo masgonar.”

Fairy magic grew around the crib. I could feel it working. I felt it seek where the true child was hidden. My magic found the child. A dim pulse of light returned the human child to the crib. The changeling imprisoned in my enchanted pouch.

I checked the pouch to make sure Boglamore’s infant was secure. The infant banshee could do no harm in there. The elder’s spell would make the child’s voice harmless forever, when I returned. The human lay in it’s rightful place. I headed to the barn for a warm glass of delicious milk. It was my reward for fulfilling the vow to my fallen kinfolk.

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Wikipedia on changelings  states that our society use to put children believed to be changeling into ovens, and fires. Children with physical or mental problems were beaten or killed in an attempt to “cast out the demons”. If you believe that this type of child abuse is in the distant past I suggest you check out these articiles.

Unsolvedmysteries.com has a page for Exorcisms that have ended in death.

Couple Bit Child More Than 20 Times in Fatal Exorcism from Tyler Paper in 2008.

How about letting someone die because you believe they are beneath you? Fox news reports also in 2008 Woman, Baby Die After Doctors Refuse to Treat Them in India.

Reference site: What’s the Harm. If you want to look at pages of dead children with supersitious parents. Also worth checking out: Things Atheist didn’t do and Still More Things Atheist didn’t do.

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