The Dead Crime (Draft)

Chapter#1:

[Before I begin the story there's a note for the readers. Please do read: This is my first draft hence its not very improved and edited. Still if you want to read it go ahead. I'm sure you'll love the story. Also it'd be great help if you mention any weird mistakes I've made. I can make sure to make changes and soon have motivation to edit the draft. ]

In a garden covered with a sheet of fresh green grass with water drops sparkling on it, Camille-who wasn't more than 4 years old-was crouched down beside a flower bed. It had rows of vibrant coloured flowers, their fragrance blending with the smell of soil and dirt; there were daisies and roses in the front and tulips lined on the back. The wall on the other side was veiled with a curtain of beautiful trumpet vines of red colour which stretched across the wall on all sides of the garden.
She had brown coffee eyes with a pair of soft cherry lips over her salt white face and smooth textured hair that fell over her back and shoulders in golden curls. She was wearing a white frock with puffed sleeves and a pair of black buckle strapped pumps that gleamed under the sun. She hummed a pleasant tune while plucking the daisies from the soil, gripping them carefully in her hands so the stem won't snap short. She weaved the flowers into a crown, a cheerful smile across her face. Her joyous appearance with the house in the background made her look like a little princess from a fantasy fairy-tale.
Her smile widened with the success of completing the flower crown she was making. She stretched her arms in front of her to get a proper look at it, her smile told that she didn't make it for herself but for someone precious to her and she couldn't wait to give it to that person. She got up, holding it to her chest, and ran towards the house. A gentle breeze blew across, swiping her golden hair back from her shoulders as she moved up the steps. She halted in the doorway, and her smile dropped to a horrified expression, taking over her face. The crown slipped from her hands, falling to the floor. She tried to speak, but her voice had died in her throat, and her already pale face turned paler.
Ahead in the living room stood a man-his back towards her-beside a young lady, who was her mother, lying on the wooden floor covered in blood that leaked from her abdomen, painting the white carpet beneath her. Her lifeless eyes were half open, staring into nothing, and her lips turned blue. The man turned around, revealing his face to the little girl behind him.
"Dad...?" She squeaked a voice through her throat glancing at her father at a distance: blood was splattered across his face which he didn't even care to wipe off and he was holding a knife stained with blood which dripped on the floor drop after drop as he turned all the way to face Camille.
She switched her gaze from her father to her mother's cold, dead body on the floor,
"What's wrong with mom. Why's there red paint all over her?" she asked. Her voice didn't tremble at all, and her face welcomed the lively colour back after being relieved to see someone familiar in her house.
"She went to sleep in the middle of a game." He laughed, looking back and forth between his wife and daughter while swinging the knife in his hands as if it was some toy.
Camille picked up the flower crown from the floor and ran towards her mother sitting beside her on her knees. She placed the crown on her chest and smiled,
"Gift for you." She rejoiced, "Sleep well."
She didn't flinch or scream or cried, looking at her mother dead on the floor, killed by her own father for what a 4 year old would know about death. She just thought what her father told her was true and watched him carry her dead body out of the living room with a smile on her face.
He took the dead body through the kitchen to the backyard and placed her on a side before digging a grave in the front. He wiped his sweat panting as he stabbed the spade in the ground several times, throwing the dirt on one side until the hole was good enough for his wife to fit in. After he was done, he swiped his arm again across his temple to wipe off his sweat, smearing the blood splatters along with it. He placed the spade on the ground and dragged his wife's body to the grave then carefully laid her inside folding her arms over her chest gently and respectfully as if trying to feel guilty about killing her, but his slight mocking grin showed as if he was saying, you brought it upon yourself darling. He brushed his fingers across her forehead and pushed her hair back, curling them behind her ears, making a pitiful face-his brows showed sorrow, but his lips curved into a smirk. He climbed out of the not-too-deep grave grabbing the spade and looked at her for the last time, "Rest in peace honey, I'll miss you" he spoke and then scooped the mud with the spade and threw it over her body until it was covered.
After finishing, he dusted his hands, clapped against each other, and placed the spade by the door before going in. He got startled to see Camille standing right in front of him, her expression perplexed.
"Why did you put mommy in there?" She inquired, her voice cracking into a sob. Before she could speak anything else, he grabbed her in his arms and glared into her eyes,
"Your mommy wanted to play hide and seek. Don't worry about her, you want some hot cocoa?"
Camille tugged a smile and hummed. He sent her to wash her hands while he prepared it. The smell of sweet chocolate spread in the air around the kitchen. He poured a white powder in the hot cocoa he had prepared and stirred it. Then he closed his eyes and sniffed it, smiling.
Camille came running to the kitchen impatiently, her hands so wet that water dripped from them. She pulled a chair and climbed over it, swinging her legs and waiting for the hot cocoa. He placed the mug in front of her, steam levitating from it, then moved to the sink to wash his hands. He ran the water over his hands, slowly rubbing them as he gazed out of the window at his wife.
Camille pulled the mug closer to her, blowing on it, producing waves over the cream layered on the top, waiting for it to cool down so she could drink it. She looked over at his father and then asked concerned,
"Are you not going to find mommy? She must be scared all alone."
He paused. His hands went still with water rushing over them, and then he grinned and continued washing his hands.
"Is that what you think?" He looked out again at the empty backyard with his wife buried in the middle.
Camille touched her lips to the brim, slowly tilting the mug to drink it. First, she took a short sip, then a little bigger sip, and then after confirming that it wasn't very hot anymore, she drank the whole thing in one single gulp. Her father finally closed the tap and turned around to Camille, who was wiping the cream from her lips with her hand.
"Was it good?" he asked.
"It was really good" She giggled drowsily. She got off the chair and fell to the ground.
"That was fast" He commented, raising his brows. He bent down and lifted her in his arms and walked up to the attic, placing her on a bed set beside a window that was shut completely with no ray of sunlight passing through. He sat down beside her and embraced her head, brushing his fingers through her hair,
"This is not how I expected it to be. Why do you have to ask about your mommy? Always." He gritted his teeth, suppressing his anger, "Am I not enough for you?" he yelled, grabbing her hair too tightly, but she wasn't in her senses to react to it. He sighed, relieving all the rage in one deep exhale. He kissed her on the forehead and whispered in her ear, "Just forget everything that happened today and have a good sleep."
He got up and went towards the door, glancing at his daughter for the last time before locking her inside the dark room.