A Strategy She Never Expected: The Crimson Blood Discovery

 This is my first (real) attempt at a murder mystery story. I will post this story in 2-4 page chunks occasionally, so it will in a sense be displayed in a serial manner.

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Blood splattered on the ground, quickly losing momentum as it made its way across the pavement; though its fluidity was no longer apparent, the crimson hue suggested a very fresh lack of oxygen. At the same time, a person who had been up until that very moment been breathing fell to the ground, as if all moments had converged onto this end where motion ceased. Upon that grisly occurrence, a fell sequence began in motion. Above the still corpse, a purple sky hung in silence, a crescent moon slowly peeking out. Massive trees rose around the corpse, capturing some northwestern gothic aesthetic, as if horrible murder belonged in a nocturnal forest. And along similar lines, no bloody murderer could be found in the vicinity – none who would give in and admit to that which they had done. Though this village has pavement, the buildings are wooden and haphazardly weaved into nature, capturing fear and reverence. The entire village has an orderly feel to it. This is all beside the point for the dead girl– who would not be discovered that night. Not until the following morning would any beginnings of reparations occur.

What had happened they may wonder? Was the social fabric torn apart or was something just transiently awry?

The next morning a girl with medium-length brown hair discovered the carcass; she raised the dead girl’s bloodied and battered arm with a long stick that had fallen to the ground long ago, revealing an obvious gash that started below the corpse’s neck and proceeded down towards the chest area. The work was startlingly precise: it followed a downward path in a pristinely straight manner. Unnecessary movements in the form of minor cuts on the shoulders or other places on the body suggested cleanliness of method. But that was not all. The body was turned on its side, revealing bruises on the superior half of the body. On the neck, near the ligamentum nuchae, was a sizable bruise. The body was returned to a close approximation of anatomical position in order to ascertain a better view. Blood had run down the corpse’s clothes towards the ground, leaving small clumps puddled on surrounding leaves. Carefully kneeling, the observer grabbed one such leaf and held it gingerly in her palm as she made her way back to the village.

She closed her eyes and grimaced, followed by subsequent limping – the girl took on a new gait, one legs being spaced further out to ease her weight. Her eyes opened again as she continued to walk in her awkward manner. She made a conscious effort to breathe in and out deeply, as if direly preparing for yoga. Her task was clearly delivering the evidence to the community center, where all would be revealed. This center, a simple building on the outskirts of the, appeared before her.

As the sun peeked out from the clouds, a few people accumulated in the community center, mainly people tending towards elderly age. She quickly handed the leaf to a man with graying hair. His eyes widened in seconds and his mouth fell open ever so slightly: he ruffled his hair and observed the leaf again. He finally responded slowly with “I hope this is a mistake.”  The girl – who is named Gillian– said little and sank into a free chair at the table a little faster than would seem totally normal. Amongst the elderly such an action did not stand out. The old man hurriedly discussed with another man present. The alarm had been sent: the elderly man exited the community center, headed in the direction of the town hall, which lay only a few minutes to the west.

Gillian’s breathing subtly returned to normal, following several minutes of sitting and gazing downwards at the floor without saying a word. Her eyes remained dilated but the effects were slowly subsiding. Her hand went to her posterior leg and massaged vertically along her gastrocnemius slowly but deliberately; this action lasted for a solid minute until she suddenly raised her hands. Despite such actions, she was not shaking; instead her behavior can best be described as slow and methodical, pensive but not apprehensive, thinking intensely about what had happened. She grabbed her brown sweater below her neck in a fist and held on tightly for a few seconds before letting go; she glanced to her left at nothing in particular but something that differed from the carpet-covered ground. Today was a cool day where the slight breeze drifted in, carrying cool air that mixed with the warmer air. Gillian shivered slightly. Again she tried breathing in and out deeply to invoke serenity, the only way to pass idle time in a tense situation such as the present one.  The clock’s hand shifted by one hour before the elderly man returned – he still carried that air of being worried but also at peace and understanding with what had to be done.

“Well, they went to the place you described and found the body…” the man uttered quietly. “Just go home and everything will be resolved. The town detective will analyze the results and let everyone know what happened.”

Gillian nodded slightly and walked out of the community center, feet no longer dragging, towards her abode, which lay towards the center of the village. Even though a dramatic event had happened, not many people were hurrying to and fro – or at all. There was an odd quiet; it wasn’t just the chilly breeze but also the lack of people who were often bustling. Perhaps it was just the cold, or maybe something even more sinister. After several minutes of shivering and walking cautiously, eyes focused on the ground. She unlocked the front door of her house, slipped in, and closed the door. Towards her bed, she walked; standing in front of the bed, knees tending towards buckling. She fell on the bed, face falling into a pillow; though tired, she couldn’t fall asleep due to what she had witnessed today.

It only took one attempt to reawaken. Her eyes opened suddenly and she sat upright, awake for the new day. She dressed and got ready to leave the house, just like any other morning. This morning, however, seemed to follow the previous day. She stuffed bread into her mouth and chewed it while walking back to the center in the brisk winter weather.  Here the detective waited, ready to report on his full findings.

He pointed to the open folder before him and drawled, “Time of death could not be precisely determined. Physical force was applied harshly to several places on the body, resulting in bruising. The force was used to instill fear and convince the victim to stop fighting. It is clear that the cutting itself is far more damaging than the bruising. Her hematocrit and blood iron levels were low, resulting in anemic blood. Furthermore her blood is not as viscous as normal blood, reinforcing low hematocrit. This condition made it difficult for her to evade or resist the killer or to even cry for help. Her brachioradial artery on her left arm was cut, resulting in excessive blood loss. The victim likely died in only a couple minutes, especially considering her anemic state. A lot more work than was required for murder was performed, however. The obvious gash running from the cervical vertebrae down towards the thoracic vertebrae alone could not cause death due to its shallow nature; rather, this action only serves one purpose: torturing the victim before her untimely death. The cutting was clearly performed with a knife sharp enough to cut muscle and skin easily. There are no misplaced cuts, indicating the premeditated nature of this murder. Someone this sick and twisted – someone who can murder so cleanly as if it’s nothing - needs to be stopped at all costs.”

The crowd that had gathered before him – mainly just the more actively concerned town denizens, and Gillian, who had discovered the corpse – stood in silence, though Gillian stayed seated. How would anyone know how to react to that? The detective, having completed his spiel, opted to leave without saying anything more. Defeat was in the air – the hunt was ultimately derailed, just as the victim’s life was. That was why nobody noticed when the brunette girl cautiously approached the strewn files and the vial of blood and swiped them; she returned to the site of the crime, where innocent blood had been shed. Here she was adamant to solve the murder.

She was at least a few steps ahead of the detective who had given up on the case barely after reporting his initial findings. Body speed was slow but changing awkwardly as she limped; she rested at home for a few hours (lying on her bed, back facing the bed) before returning to the murder site. The body had since been removed but had otherwise been untouched. Gillian had looked at the site, closed her eyes, blinked, and seen almost the exact site she had been to days ago. (The body was properly buried at the request of the family.)

Dropping onto her knees forcefully, Gillian began searching the area around her; she moved forward to spread out a conspicuous pile of leaves that glinted under the sunlight. Her eyes opened widely: in front of her, pointing to the north was a knife that, if not for the dried blood, was quite beautiful. Bearing a slight curvature, the knife featured an indecipherable inscription in black. Holding the cold black handle, she examined it carefully by holding the blade directly to the sunlight; her bottom sunk to the ground as she kept staring intently. The knife had only been a meter or two away from where the detective had stood when he gave his soliloquy of anatomy. Even more spectacularly was the apparent lack of scratches that dampened the knife’s sharpness; judging from memory, it seemed too small to inflict the injuries found on the corpse but perhaps the killer was simply that skillful. In this era, the sword seemed much more preferable to the knife except for a select few. But this individual had instead opted for a knife.

Suddenly standing up, she held the knife upwards, trying to see if the knife could behave differently than expected from visual analysis. Whatever the knife truly was, it was not just a knife – not simply a murder implement. She, while looking downwards, mused about what a rational conclusion could be….but it was beyond her knowledge at the moment. Gillian rummaged through the rest of the murder site as best as she could but found nothing except for leaves and some shockingly blue sunflowers. Suddenly, a subtle path seemed to form starting at the knife’s handle, leading away from the site. It was betrayed only by slight parting in the ground and a crushed plant, revealing human intervention.