Body Jump Prologue Revisited.

A couple of months back I posted the Body Jump prologue. Now I love this story and the characters in it. Since its first posting it has been worked and reworked again & again, so now I can put up the final edit, this is what you will read when it comes out in hard copy or E format. A big thanks once again to Maggie Anderson for her unwavering help and support with this, as well as her belief in Body Jump

Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee ©
It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming. Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the one thing she can’t get accustomed to. A uniformed Sergeant leads Susan to the apartment where Bryce is already working the scene. The cop hesitates at the open door. The putrid smell of rotting flesh wafting into the hallway is enough to turn his stomach, although he's a seasoned cop and has seen his fair share of murder victims, he doesn't want to see what’s waiting for the detective in that bedroom.

Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up the phone.

‘What have you got for me, Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she’s been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.

Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘How could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.

Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks. As if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.

Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim.’

‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’

‘Do we know that for certain?’

‘Forensics hasn’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at the bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard the silk has embedded into her skin. I can only assume he removed her hands and feet for trophies. I’m hoping she was dead at this point. Lack of blood seems to suggest it. Could be the bindings acted as tourniquets.’

Susan looks intently. ‘It’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not.’

‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but none of the previous victims were flayed. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’

Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up. ‘Not sure, Jim, it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’

‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz. Age 32.’

Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush into his head, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood spattered walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.

Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth, and tries to dislodge the thought. All of a sudden, he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention - he can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen. And he’s seen a lot of them.
There’s no sign of the knives or a hacksaw anywhere. Both cops try to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.

‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’

Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’

‘No...I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’

‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take. I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.

‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’

Susan nodded. ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body can be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’

Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake. He concentrates on the blank eye sockets staring up at him. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, where is her soul now?
The detectives stand at the bloody bedside in silence, until Susan turns to Bryce and says, ‘Where the hell do we start?’

Are Writers Broken? Part 2

I'm a bit melancholy at the moment and I'm not sure why. It could be the fact that I have no work for a few weeks, thanks to the GFC. It could be life or it could be the ghosts of the past haunting me again/still. I asked a few months back if all writers were broken and do we to try and mend ourselves with the soothing caress of the written word? I know from personal experience that this is true of myself. I haven't written for a couple of weeks and this could have something to do with my current state of mind.

It does seem that writing is an outlet through which I funnel my steam. Writing this blog right now is lifting the clouds. I sat down tonight not knowing what I was going to put up on my blog wall, but knew I had to write something. I must say I'm glad I have this blog here. I know that very few people read it but it is a comfort knowing it's here. So to those of you who do read this thank you, and know that I'm battling my demon's just like you are. So I guess that answers part 2 of the question. Yep still broken.