Page 32 of Unholy Bonds

With a knife in my hand, warm blood seeping down my fingers, I found meaning in the meaningless. It was such a rare feeling—watching as life faded from their eyes—plunging their soul forever into darkness, knowing they couldn’t hurt others anymore. Purely poetic.

Murder was how I had learned to survive the world riddled with bastards like Victor, Keaton, The Strangler, and my father. And so, with every death, I wrote another story. They didn’t deserve to be immortalized, but I gave them something in return for their help to feed my demons.

“You look like you’re sleeping, Victor,” I said, wiping my fingerprints from the storage unit.

Millicent was still sleeping soundly when I went back. Taking some of Victor’s blood, I swiped it under her fur coat, making sure it wasn’t obvious. With a smile, I pulled her to the driver’s seat and left her there.

I walked through a maze of dark alleys until I finally reached my sedan. I had only a little time to set the scene before she woke up. Heart pounding, I started the engine and drove to Millicent’s house.

I left puzzles for the detectives. They would connect them until they reached the climax of Victor’s story. Every clue would fit to form a bigger picture, bringing them one step closer to the killer.

“Do you think you’re a good person, Yara?” Katelyn had once asked me, and I told her no.

I didn’t believe that this was some kind of rational, if somewhat twisted, justice. I knew it the very first moment I killed my father and didn’t even blink. I knew it when I stabbed the man who was the reason for Tany’s death, without a drop of sweat. I knew it when I stabbed the knife into the neck of a man who had cheated on me and got angry when the spray of blood stained my favorite silk blouse and stabbed him again for that.

I was just as bad as all of them, but I chose a way to feed my demons without hurting the good ones. I found a leeway, a loophole.

I wouldn’t say I was good just because I found a less guilty way to satiate the demons in my mind. Oh no. That would make me a hypocrite. I was not that.

I was simply… a hungry woman. Always hungry.

Hungry for blood.

Hungry for death.

Hungry for stories.

I woke up, rubbing my eyes with a yawn, when my phone rang. “Doctor West, we’ve got a deceased male, mid to late twenties, found in a storage unit on Charleston Street. It appears to be a homicide. We need you at the scene ASAP.”

“Yes, Detective. I’ll head over immediately.”

“Thank you, Doctor West.”

I quickly dressed in a dark blue suit, pairing it with black heels. Grabbing a cup of coffee from the coffeemaker, I walked to my car.

Detectives Rosario and Myers were waiting for me at the front of the storage unit.

“Sorry for waking you up early in the morning,” Detective Myers said, handing me a cup of coffee. Thanking him, I took it. I needed more caffeine to survive this morning.

“We think someone was very angry with this man,” Detective Rosario said as he walked inside the storage unit, motioning me to follow him.

Oh, yes. I was.

“Damn,” I said, walking toward Victor. He looked pale, and his blood stained the floor, creating a bizarre map. The man who vowed to hurt me was now waiting for me to help the detectives catch his killer.

“Murder weapon is something sharp,” I said, measuring the wounds on Victor’s body. “The wounds caused excessive blood loss,” I continued, pointing to the blood-soaked floor. “Of course, I can only confirm after the autopsy, but I’m sure he died of exsanguination followed by hypoxia.”

The two detectives nodded. “The wounds are consistent with stab wounds. Most probably a kitchen knife,” I said, examining the wounds with a straight face.

When the Crime Scene Response Unit arrived at the crime scene, they immediately began collecting evidence around the area.

“Dust for fingerprints on the headboard, Jackson,” I instructed the blonde woman in her late thirties, who looked at me like I was beneath her. Keya Jackson and I had never gotten along.

“Of course, West. This isn’t my first rodeo.” Her eyes were cold as she bent down towards the body. “Bastard did a number on this one.”

The CSRU packed every broken thing inside the unit for evidence processing and collected blood samples.

“There are a lot of fingerprints here, Detective Rosario,” Keya Jackson said to the detective with a frown. “A lot. This is going to take a while.”

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