30 Hours to Nowhere: a collection of short stories

"The Murders of Onyxford"

She sat amongst the covers, not completely submerged in the comfiness, but just enough to be warm. She was alone, as she always was when she awoke, but not completely this time.

Her eyes fluttered open and she sat up, losing the warmth the blankets provided. Taking a deep breath, she flung her legs over the bed and stood, unsteady at first, but she regained her balance quickly.

As she hurriedly packed up her stuff and cleaned the premises of her presence, she worked around the unusual tumor in the center of the room. It covered most of the crochet carpet, blanketing the rest in its spilling liquids. It wasn’t originally scarlet red.

The lady looked down at it in disgust every now and again, but ignored it for the most part.

She didn’t escape unscathed, though, it gave her a cut before she slaughtered it.

The body was of Edward Cadell, well known lawyer and high functioning sociopath. Still, he didn’t deserve to suffer as he fell into the terrible, black oblivion.

She nursed her miniscule flesh wound in bandage and antibiotic spray. It most likely stung.

And she left.

“Danny?” The unexpected voice broke me from my trance and I found myself kneeling next to the bed and the body.

“Hm?” I asked as I looked away from the gruesome scene and to my partner.

She frowned, “have you found anything yet?”

“Only speculation.”

She let out an audible sigh, “do you want me to check the parking lot to see if she left any tire marks or- anything, really?”

I mimicked her expression of disappointment, “go ahead, but I’m at least ninety-eight percent sure that you won’t find anything. But! We must have optimism, Rach!” I stood and pointed a finger in the air for emphasis.

Rachel nodded not sharing my enthusiasm, “Good luck in here.”

I gave her a quick smile before she exited the small motel room and I went back to kneeling above poor Edward.

She left in less of a hurry this time, and she was getting sloppy with her method of killing, that’s why he was able to fight back- even if it was just a single scrape. It must’ve pissed her off because there is a bit more mutilation around the neck and the many smaller cuts on the wrist. She was getting cocky.

Motive is still unclear, as it probably will remain that way until we catch her. No money was stolen off the body and as far as we know, he and the few suspects we’ve narrowed it down to have no other relations. Her known victims were only men, which was as surprising and confusing as any other small detail we’ve found. Perhaps she was hurt by a boyfriend, or a father, or her mother fed her lies about how all men are bad after her father walked out on them. Maybe she was just a lesbian who was forced to hide her whole life.

Our prime suspect is a missing person in Oregon, Ms. Lily Clay. She’s been gone for a year and that’s when the killings started, and the first that was found was in Oregon, but that’s all just a working theory.

This was the fifth murder that related to the same killer. The second killing in this small forest town, related closely to the one in Oregon, the one in Nevada, and the one in Utah.

She’s not America’s first serial killer, but she might end up being one of the ones that get away if we don’t catch her soon.

It was then that I noticed an irregular dark spot by the door. I shuffled over there, careful not to dirty my new boots with evidence and blood.