I started the Death and the Detective series from the writing prompts challenges at Creative Copy Challenge. The words in bold are the writing prompts from the challenge.
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Challenge #65
Let the games begin. It was time to leave his first clue. The killer lifted his victim’s lifeless body, wrapping her in a final macabre dance without sound.
Driving in a race against dawn, the killer glanced at the illuminated dial of the clock.
“There’s time. So much time,” he muttered.
Hints of dawn created a divide between the secrets of darkness and the horror of a new day. A thick fog clung to the darkness in its final grasp of evil. The sad, lonely sound of a crying seagull pierced the early hour.
It took him to another day. Another horror. One he tried never to recall. But, it was always there – a constant reminder of what he never had.
The rough edges of memory sharpened into focus and silently he wept. This is what brought him here. This was his torch to bear.
Let the games begin.
Challenge #67
Brett could only imagine the agony this poor girl had gone through. The double binding had sliced through her wrists from a last, desperate struggle for freedom.
Her eyes, frozen in a sightless stare, brought an instant chill, no matter how many times Brett saw that same lifeless look. The eyes of the dead haunted him in his 25-years as a homicide detective. They all asked the same soundless question – why?
The waves from Mission Bay stretched long ocean fingers closer to where the body was half-buried.
“Hey Johnson, you’d best get your butt in motion before the Pacific swallows your evidence,” Brett chided.
“Genius doesn’t let a little thing like an ocean get in the way,” the technician smirked.
“Well, Genius, unless your middle name is Moses, kick it up a notch.”
Slipping under the oval confinement of the roped-off area, Brett walked over to the young man, shivering on the boardwalk’s wall. It was more than the early morning chill that had his body shaking in an uncontrollable dance.
A blanket of fog hid the royal blue of the ocean, covering it in shades of mourning. Brett waited as the early morning runner shifted his troubled gaze to his.
“Who could do such a thing?” His voice choked by a sense of horror.
“As a rule, I’d say far too many. I’m sorry, but I need to ask you some questions.”
The runner shifted his gaze to track the slow progress of the body, now wrapped in its plastic tomb.
“Catch the bastard,” he whispered.
“That’s the plan.”
Challenge #69
He told himself he was not anxious for a response. He was in control. It was his game, his rules. He did not need their validation. No, he would control the game. When he thought of the chain of events leading up to this moment, the emotion was almost too much to bear.
Looking over at the tall, slender woman, bound and gagged, he ran a long finger down the smooth surface of the Bowie blade. Smiling with coercive diplomacy, his heart quickened at the visible shaking of her body. And, such a fine body it was. Hers was not a conventional beauty, but indeed, she was beautiful.
Setting the knife aside, he slowly moved to her side. Reaching down, he grasped the dangling electrodes and attached them one by one. Muffled cries mixed with tears of torture, but this was his game. The anticipation of the agonizing current was almost as entertaining as the act itself. It brought such a sweet disposition to the game.
He loved the dynamic of each new player. Each brought her own style, her own inward fears, her own social grace.
He lifted the pure white lily from its glass embrace. Holding it by its thick, long stalk, he laid it across the trembling woman’s lap, and ran that same hand gently down her smooth, pale cheek.
“Let the games begin,” he whispered.
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