CHAPTER 6

Apart from the very naked propped-up dead body with a black sheathed knife buried to the hilt through the heart and lifeless eyes staring back at them, there was no other evidence that a murderer had been to this part of town. And in as much as that fact was terrifying, the more chilling aspect of the whole affair was the fact that whoever had murdered that man knew exactly what the police would be looking for. The scene was wiped clean, not even the victim's fingerprints could be found.

In her entire career as the I.A, Alexis had never come across such a calculated monstrous piece of art created by a human hand. Just how much hatred did this murderer possess? How twisted was he?

Alexis had finally composed herself enough to be productive and now was focused on the crime scene in front of her. There was no sign of a struggle meaning whoever took out Alcan or whomever this is was someone they knew well. There were no other knife wounds, just the one clean cut . . . 'like in the dre'. No, not this again.

Alexis quickly squashed that line of thoughts. She didn't want to think about it. At least not now. She would break down her walls one at a time when she was alone and had the audacity to allow herself to be vulnerable. In the meantime, she had a crime scene to investigate although by the time she was done, she didn't have much to show. So she instructed for the body to be lowered.

That's when she discovered the tender bruise swollen on the side of the neck where he had possibly been punched by the assailant. That explained why there was no sign of a struggle. She removed the 'organ gag'. The dilapidated manhood was erect stiff, a sign that he was sporting a boner by the time the organ was cut off. How did that even make sense? From what she could deduce, the punch to the neck had been how he was knocked out, then the natural order would be to tie him up before he regains consciousness. So, how he ended up sexually excited in that situation was anyone's guess. The bed was still made meaning he was yet to retire for the day. She wandered to the other parts of the house and there was no evidence in the entire house of any other presence apart from the victim.

After noting all that she needed for the investigation, she wandered off leaving Collins still sniffing around and snapping photos. Something was nagging her at the back of her mind, something she was trying to place a finger on without much success. What had she missed? Or is it that she was forgetting something? The air in the room was too suffocating, her skull had started throbbing and the walls seemed to be closing down on her so fast she had to breathe so she headed out. A horde of reporters surrounded her immediately she stepped out, cameras flashing in her face, and questions were thrown at her at random. She internally cursed herself for carelessly forgetting that the vultures would be circling around now that they had smelled a carcass. It didn't surprise her how fast different cameras were rolled out at this time of the day. Did the vultures never sleep? If she didn't know better, she would easily think they knew in advance that a murder was going to happen. Thankfully, the potbellied police officer they met earlier was in the vicinity and helped her heard the bunch off her path.

'They really need to get a life' she thought to herself as she evaded a reporter and quickly swerved left.

She ducked behind the house for the much-needed breath of fresh air after the horror she had just witnessed. Leaning on the wall, she closed her eyes against the reality of the murder, the morning chill, and hopefully her pounding head and allowed her mind to roam just a little bit. As far as she knew, Alcan was a loner, and seeing how he lived on the very edge of this small town, he clearly was hiding from something. What exactly is it?

And the issue of there being nothing on his history, who exactly was he? And the question of the century is why was he appearing in her dreams? What was the connection between that dream and this murder? And that knife, how comes the stab in her dreams is similar to the one on that man's corpse? Yesterday he had recognized her. What does that even mean? Who the hell was he and what connection did they have?

Her heart hammered like it wanted out and her hands were shaking. She tried hugging herself but the unwanted reactions were not going away. With a jolt, Alexis realized that she was scared. 'Scared Alexis' had not existed in a long time. Not since Joel had revealed to her that she was not part of the family she had always known to be hers. On that day, she had felt like the world was crashing down on her, but then, her loving parents had pampered the fear away with lots of love she even forgot why she had been afraid in the first place. But now, as she stood hugging herself with frozen hands behind this cottage which had a murdered man inside, a man that was somehow connected to her though she didn't know how she felt completely and utterly alone. She could not share with anyone whatever this is, she wasn't even sure what the whole situation entailed. She needed answers, and she needed them fast. If only dead men could tell tales. . .

With the questions and the fear of performing a crazy salsa dance in her head, Alexis rubbed her throbbing tempo. She could feel a migraine coming and she willed it away with all the willpower she could muster. She couldn't afford to have an attack now, not when she would have a full audience to witness. Not when Collins was just a scream away.

Collins.

It doesn't matter how much she denied it, she had started developing feelings for him. He was handsome, funny but what attracted her to him was his ability to make her laugh and just live. She felt more alive and more daring when she was in his company and despite what her intuition told her, and against all her beliefs and principles, she had begun getting just a tiny bit comfortable with him. She didn't even know when that started but somehow, she didn't want to ruin whatever friendship they had by scaring him again. She wouldn't want a repeat performance of. . .

Right, yesterday.

He had looked at her like she suddenly had horns. He was tense, no snide remarks, no love quotes, and no weird jokes as they drove home. She remembered snippets of their trip, how he had tried to force her to go to the hospital, how he had been extremely cautious, throwing her glances after every few seconds, and worst of all how he had insisted on tucking her in like she was a baby.

The realization hit her like a power train, her friend and colleague had been spooked. What exactly had he seen? Would asking him open a can of worms that she'll rather leave closed? But how would not knowing be helpful?

Distracting herself had always worked to abate the migraines although temporarily, and today was no exception. Alexis felt slightly better as she pushed herself off the wall and started walking slowly towards the house entrance.

She was yet to round the corner when a piercing scream was heard and her headache came back with a vengeance. Even as she broke out in a run, she wondered what awaited her at the other side of the house and if she was going to survive this day without scaring Collins with her migraine attack after all.