Topic: The Threshold of Life.
Title: The Key to Apartment 46B: Part I.
The winter winds cascaded the landscape with awkwardness,
while sleet’s serpentine lips licked the manmade metropolis.
The city was overcast, with the denizens enslaved to terrestrial ways,
as the thunder crackled in vivid defiance of man’s bestial displays.
This was Downtown Mercer…
A city deprived
by the expedient and guiltiest minds of malefactors;
An urban detritus where innocents die on the city’s calloused pastures.
And today was no different. Sgt John Clifton paced the corridor
of Apartment 46B; his boots echoing on the hardened floor.
“Sarge, several neighbours have reported an imposing stench
comin’ from this apartment.”
Constable Harris choked then said,
“Sir... I think you might wanna hold your breath.”
They approached the scene, passing beneath yellow police tape,
as John glanced at his colleagues and the masks covering each face.
It was true; the stale stench of the room aggravated his lungs.
“Sarge, you must know…”
Harris’ words could hardly wait on his tongue.
“We called in a locksmith.”
“And?” John suddenly sighed.
“Well, it appears the room was locked from the inside.”
John paused, turned towards Harris and searched his face,
and knew the rookie was still eager to tackle a murder case.
“It’s alright,” John smiled, as his arms enclosed his chest;
“You’ll get a taste of murder…
But as you said;
You just gotta hold your breath.”
* * * * * * *
John removed his jacket and used it to wrap his fist,
as he punched the door’s opaque window. The glass shattered in
splintered shards across the floor; he winced his arm
through the broken glass,
found the key in the handle and twisted hard.
Suddenly, a noisome chorus of decrepit air attacked silently,
and hit John so hard he stumbled back and gagged violently.
“SIR!?” Harris roared as he fumbled and motioned forth
while their colleagues in masks ran in through the open door.
But John coughed again, buckling over as he clutched his belt.
He thought he’d seen it all, but this
stench was something else.
Suddenly, he stumbled; his eyes welled as he brazenly swayed,
and all went black as the sound of Harris’ screams faded away.
The little girl lay angled in a coldly zone;
Her face was battered,
Her waist was shattered,
She had many broken bones.
She rolled sluggishly, a pitiful sight as she tried to rise herself,
But her body was so mangled she couldn’t even cry for help.
That’s when he found her; and with no one else in sight,
He approached her in the svelte of night and knelt by her side.
He wrapped his jacket around her, bent awkwardly forth
Then lifted and carried her to the nearest hospital doors.
“I’m Constable Clifton…”
he said as the doctor speedily stepped in.
“I found her fallen in the street, she needs some attention.”
When John came to, he was crouched in position
as he wrestled off the image of his first encounter with a victim.
“You’ve been out for a few minutes,”
Harris said and held his gaze
as John shook off the cobwebs until everything fell in place.
“What’s in that room?”
John collected himself.
“What do you have to share with me?”
“Sarge, you must know…”
Harris considered his next sentence carefully.
“Sir, they found a girl,” his words echoed in awkward movements,
“I’m afraid it’s not good, John; they found your daughter, Susan.”
John bolted upright, enraged, feeling himself crumble to pieces.
He ran into the room as Harris yelled;
“
YOU DON’T HAVE TO FUCKIN’ SEE THIS!”
And that’s when he found her; she was sprawled in a position
of morbid macabre, her body mangled beyond all recognition.
She was a horrid cadaver, a sight that nightmares envision.
Her skin was peeled back;
the organs oscillated with careless ambition.
Her face was slashed apart, and her smile was clustered tight,
as John held his face in his hands, then all of a sudden cried.
He felt sunk and vanquished, his heart was crushed, abandoned.
And as he saw the key in the door handle,
he asked;
“How could this have fuckin’ happened!?”
To be continued…