A month ago today, I started this blog to put my "writing journey" on paper and give the people who know me a peek into the world that I wouldn't have normally shared. Since then, I have introduced you to some of the characters who have become a part of my life over the past several years and posted a few chapters to see what you thought. Also, in this time, I have also shared the frustrations of self-editing, serious rewrites and how this process was enough to toss out all the work that I had put into this book and call it quits. (This is usually until I go back and reread the end, which reminds me of why I started this in the first place.)
Also, in the last month, I have finally gathered enough courage to submit my manuscript to a couple publishing companies to see if it was even something that would be considered and received a response from Dorrance Publishing last week, which I am going to turn down for a few reasons. Despite this, it's good to know that I may have a chance to share my story with people outside of my circle. In the meantime, I will continue working and doing research on the publishing companies that are out there accepting manuscripts from new writers.
So in honor of the one month thing, I am posting yet another chapter for your enjoyment. As always, leave your comments! :o)
On her way to the morgue, she stopped at Wendy's for lunch. Even though the lobby was starting to fill up, she opted to eat inside anyway. She sat down with her food in the corner and read over her notes as she ate until a little after twelve. There was no real rush since the morgue was about five minutes away.
Devyn signed in at the morgue and was taken to the room when Ms. Wheats was in. When she walked in, a wave of nausea hit her instantly, causing her to lean against the wall for support until it passed and the room stopped spinning. Taking a deep breath, she walked up to the table where they had laid the body and lifted the sheet off of the woman’s face and saw that her mouth was still stapled shut. She uncovered more of the body and thought she was going to throw up when she saw the woman’s chest. It looked as if he had dissected her and left her to die.
The door opened behind her and a white man in his mid thirties walked in. He extended his hand to her and introduced himself. “John Walker and you must be Detective Devyn Williams.”
“Yes, I am and it’s nice to meet you.”
“You must be new here,” he said, donning a pair of gloves and a lab coat, motioning her to do the same.
“I guess you can say that. I just transferred here from Seattle,” she replied.
“Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I was born and raised right here in Chicago and then after the academy, I worked in Seattle for four and half years.”
“And why would you want to come back here?”
“Because its home,” she replied as she watched him set up.
“That sounds like a good enough reason to me.” He looked down at the dead body and asked,
“So, Thelma, what happened to you?” Slowly, but carefully, Walker removed the staples from her lips, which were still caked with blood. “Thelma, don’t be shy, you can tell me,” Walker said, still talking to the dead woman on the table. He looked up to see the look on Devyn’s face. “Hey, if you dealt with only dead people, you would be just like me,” he said laughing.
Devyn raised her eyebrow and asked, “So what killed her?”
“I would have to say by looking at the rope burns on her wrists and ankles, she was tied down and then cut open. What killed her and the other nine victims was that the main blood artery leading to the heart was severed and when that’s done, not much can be done to help them after that point.”
“Hmm.” This triggered a memory from her past, when her father was murdered. “This was how the other bodies were found, right?” she asked him, although she had already looked over the other photos earlier that morning.
“Yes, it is and if he’s trying to prove a point, he seems to be getting louder,” Walker said with a small penlight in one hand after cocking Ms. Wheats’ head at an angle.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because every mouth Carson staples shut, the closer the staples get and this time, there is something lodged in her throat.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. It looks like something rolled up,” he said, shining the light in the dead woman’s throat. He handed Devyn the tweezers and asked if she would do the honors. While he held the light over her head, Devyn carefully pulled a piece of paper that had been stuck in the woman’s throat and unrolled it. It said:
You know who I am.
Now come find me.
No matter how many times John Walker and Devyn read the note, they were still confused, since no one knew who he was. The note was put in an evidence bag as Devyn wrote down a few notes in a pocket notebook. She would spend another hour going over the body with the medical examiner.