The moon tried hiding behind a blown over valley of saddened clouds, but the night was too young and in tune with the excitement of the city, so that astral speck of supposedly lifeless rock shined brightly upon that damned California city.
Detective Windsor Alvarez stubbed out his cigarette on the forehead of the lifeless bum passed out on crystal meth in the alley's corner entrance before making his way to the crime scene. He could smell the murderer from ten feet away, not because the bastard was near but because the douchebag had left that condescending scent behind.
After dressing his hands with the latex gloves, Detective Alvarez pressed his hands upon the descended driver's side window, peering his head through the opening, knowing that The Strawberry Slasher had struck again.
The alignement was different but the murdering premise was the same. The corpse was splayed out across the front seats. Its left arm had been thrown over the passenger's side seat. The killer wanted the visual to make more of an impact this time. The bastard was gaining confidence.
Downward, all along the chest and stomach area was where the victim had been sliced open, probably again with a razor, but this time the wounded area was surprisingly clean. Strawberry Slasher had cleaned up the slaughtered areas before implanting the freshly picked pseudofruits, outlining the trajectory of the brutal incisions. The fact that the killer had enough time to execute such a detailed scenario made Detective Alvarez hate the city even more. But not as much as he hated Florida. And not as much as he hated his first name.
No comments:
Post a Comment