After the Morning After

Author's Note: Hello. Thank you for reading my works. I hope that you have enjoyed them as much as I have enjoyed writing them. This piece is part of a short story about a serial killer, Zachary Leach. As those bits before, i trust that you will enjoy this one. More will follow, I will the next installment next week.

Enjoy.

The Morning After

The alarm had been turned off more than an hour ago in spite of it being a work day. That was his way of telling her that she could get to work a little late. Craig always covered for her. Morning light filtered in through the filmy curtains lighting the room with a warm, golden glow. Gabrielle woke slowly, smiling. The scent of last night's love hung in the air. Wistfully, she looked over at the now empty bed. She knew he was going to leave early, still, she felt a twinge.

Pouting a little, she sat up in bed. The thick carpet was warm. It felt like the rug was hugging her toes. It always tickled a little and made her smile. Gabrielle pushed the last of the sheets away, stood up, and walked over to the curtains. Opening the huge French doors beyond the curtains to allow the morning sun and breeze in was almost as good as making love for her.

The cool morning breeze made her skin tingle with goose bumps, her negligee somewhere in the tangle of blankets and sheets behind her. It reminded her of days long past, a youth in spent in woods and mountains far away. The moment only lasted for a few moments before she yanked herself back to the moment.

Looking back at the clock on the far wall of the bedroom she swore softly, “Damn it, Craig. Why can't you just let me get up and come in on time every time?” Her bare feet slapping on the bare floor of the bathroom.

As the shower was warming up Gabrielle looked at herself in the floor to ceiling mirror. She was not very tall, about 5'5". She was, though, very athletic and trim. Her belly was flat, the reward for endless repetitions of twists and crunches. Legs were shapely and firm from running. She managed to maintain a decent bust, too. "All in all, Gabby, you are a sexy minx." 

She dressed quickly and left for work. Gabrielle stopped at the door to the apartment. She looked back and, for the first time, really considered what had been provided for her. The large living room with soft leather furniture. The kitchen and dining room, which saw little cooking but lots of heat. All of it. Just the one caveat was that she also had to spend most of her nights in that cramped little roach trap of an apartment that her salary really paid for. “You pay for it one way or the other,” she sighed. Then a sense a conspiratorial secrecy sent a shiver up her spine. Then, last night, and all the other nights, ran through her mind, and she smiled a wicked smile as she left. Still smiling over their secret as she closed and locked the door. She could feel the warmth of his touch, the heat of his breath on her.

At the elevator she stood and waited impatiently, it was already after 8:00. Coming in late like this was getting to be too much. “What reason are you going to come up with for me to have been doing this time, dufus?” she said, smiling, to no one.

The bell rang, signaling the arrival of the elevator. The doors opened and Gabrielle's blood went cold. Her mouth dropped open, knees went weak. The memory of his touch turned to hollow, aching pain. He was hanging from the access hatch. Bloodied and mutilated, his body swayed and turned slightly. His blood, still dripping from his fingers and from his feet. 

Gabrielle's world had suddenly, in one horrific instant, become silent and blood soaked. She did not even hear herself scream. She could not hear that Craig was still breathing, struggling to take another breath, blood frothing from his mouth as he spent his last breath trying to say her name. Maybe, one day, long from now, she would be able to remember seeing the light of life flicker from his eyes and die like an ember in a fire pit.

Gabrielle was not aware of the people around her, catching her, cradling her as she fell. The hallway with its high ceilings, white walls, vases, flowers, expensive carpets had become a tomb. A tomb that swallowed life, color, sound, and warmth. The last sensations Gabrielle felt as she finally was passing out were silence and cold. She could hear nothing as people spoke at her, moving their mouths in silence as darkness enveloped her world.

The lobby of The Bradbury was teeming with reporters, all of whom had caught the scent of fresh blood seemingly before the detectives did. Uniformed police officers were busy keeping the photographers and the curious site seers out of the way. Reporters eagerly shouted questions at detectives.

Detective Amy Love tried her best to ignore the crowd by admiring the architecture. The place had always captivated her with its sky high ceiling of glass, the ornate gilded railings on the stairs at the end of the lobby, the décor that seemed to take you back to a more elegant age of years, decades gone by. Amy wondered at the artistic nature of the building she was now in as she waited for the one operational elevator and considered the hell of the scene in the other elevator that was waiting for her.

She stepped out into the hallway of the 8^th floor into the organized chaos of technicians collecting evidence while uniformed police went about interviewing everyone who lived on that floor. Love looked up and down the hallway and at the ceiling considering what might encompass the crime scene.

Stepping to the next elevator she surveyed the gore there with a grim detachment. Still, there was something about this killing that turned her stomach. His shirt was in bloody shreds, as were his pant legs. He had no shoes on his feet. The pooled blood beneath him covered the floor of the elevator, and more was still dripping out. Amy stood there staring, in shock, at the brutality of the scene.

A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of her shock and back into the hallway. “Hey. Are you OK, Detective?” It was Stewart Wausau, the coroner. The two had known each other for several years now. “I wasn't sure if you would've gotten your coffee. Here.” Smiling, Stewart held out a large styrofoam cup.

Amy forced a smile as she took the offered cup. “Thanks, Stew.” It was almost a reflexive response as she looked at the body hanging in the elevator. Amy shook her head and snapped herself into the moment, “Seriously, Stewart, thank you. I appreciate the coffee,” and smiled. Amy was about to step into the elevator when Stewart stopped her.

“Umm, the floor needs to be cleaned up, first, Detective.”

Amy looked down at the blood soaked floor. Most of it was still red, but there were some areas that were turning brownish, indicating that coagulation had only recently begun. “Whew, that's really fresh.” Amy then focused on the smell, the citrus and metallic smell of fresh blood. “Damn.”

“Yeah, damn.” Stewart agreed. “The freshness of the blood and the amount of it tell me that this is likely the crime scene.”

“It looks like it could be,” she looked at Stewart, “I want to hear what the other residents have to say about the elevator being out of order last night or this morning first.” Amy turned away from the elevator and waved to signal the other junior detectives in the hallway to her to get their assignments.