It's time for the Blogfest of Death, hosted by Tessa! My entry is a bit different, but I hope you all still love it!
It's from my very first WIP, named Shutter Click. Here goes!
Holly tried to focus both her camera and her wits on the task at hand. She snapped a photo of the gashes on the girl’s wrists, the bruising around her slender neck. She captured the serene sadness emanating from her faded blue eyes. The girl had also been dressed post-mortem. The killer had meticulously placed every vital part of the pose. Her body was wrapped in a breathtaking Victorian gown. Every button was fastened, every lace tied securely. The royal purple material gleamed in the sunlight floating through the soft curtains. The dress flowed around her body in a plum waterfall of silk. Holly took notice of the gentleness the killer took tying her curls back with a sweet violet ribbon.
Another memory was ingrained in Holly’s roll of Kodak: the disparity between the dress and the girl’s skin. Her skin was a remarkable contrast of milk white porcelain, drained of all life, and yet still retained a crimson set of lips and a flush on her cheeks. This killer was creepily focused on details. Her eyes were softly lined with black, her lashes curled neatly with mascara, yet her gaze was racked with broken blood vessels. Her eyes retold what the marks on her neck had shared; death by asphyxiation.
The girl’s fingernails had even been painted with the same crimson from her lips. Under her exquisite manicure was some residual dirt. Holly spotted it in a close up. That would need to be gathered for evidence. Hopefully it had not been flushed away by the killer’s thorough cleaning. Holly noticed something small and white in the girl’s hand: a business card sized note. It was a creamy off white and on the front in flowing script read:
Freedom in Death
Holly shuddered at the haunting script as she flipped over the card. It was covered in a photo of bright purple orchids with screaming yellow centers. She swallowed hard at the sight. She placed the card into an evidence bag, her mind careening. She needed to remember to stay grounded, so she returned to the victim’s wounds. Holly was engrossed in her victim’s wrists when Detective Hudson came crashing into her thought space.
“Price! Hey PRICE! Yo! Snap out of it!” boomed the burly man, snapping his fingers in Holly’s face. Coming to, she jumped, startled at the screeching voice interrupting her contemplations.
“Was that really necessary, Hudson?” she questioned, one hand on her hip, one on her camera.
“Well you’ve been standing there starin’ at your girlfriend for over thirty minutes now, and we kinda have a job to do! Hurry your little picture takin’ up, would ya?”
Holly huffed at him with a sneer and spun back around to face her model. While she contemplated the beautiful yet unnerving corpse, she reeled about Hudson’s ‘picture takin’ comment. He was such a brutally disgusting old man; he made her edgy. She started to lose focus when she noticed she had forgotten to take one last picture. It was always the most important to her: the feet.
A pair of sateen amethyst heels adorned the victim’s angelic feet. Holly was ecstatic that the killer did not over look this part of the girl’s body. She kept her morbid oddity to herself, as most would not understand how much can be told from the special belongings on a victim’s body.
As her camera concluded the photo shoot with a resounding mechanical note, Holly was energized with thoughts of her next task. Developing the film was almost as exciting as taking the photos.
Love from a Stranger - 1937 film review
4 hours ago