With Eyes Wide Open And Mouths Sewn Shut

THREE

Journalists seem to attract two things: a good story and a knack for getting ourselves in trouble. Sometimes I think they really did model Lois Lane after us. We're willing to sneak around to get exclusive details to make our stories unique. Unfortunately, I don't have a Superman to come and save me when I go too far.

Carly's house wasn't terribly hard to find. A few times Shae had talked about her visits with her. She lived in Franklin, roughly thirty minutes outside of Nashville. It's a small town filled with historic Civil War sites and streets filled with locally owned businesses. Her house is roughly ten minutes from the downtown area.

When I pull up, I see a sea of reporters and other media outlets standing in front of the canary yellow police tape. The house is a beautiful one-story, brick building with a candy-red door. Chrysanthemum flowers decorate the garden area beneath the two front-facing windows a brilliant red and yellow. A copse of trees sits to the left of the building.

I park my car on the already crowded street. When I slip into the crowd, all I hear are rumors of what's happening inside.

"I heard they found her in the tub," I hear one woman say.

"Did you hear about her eyes?" A man says.

"No. What about them?"

"I heard one of the officers say something about them being missing."

"What? Really?"

I try to drown out the gossip and rumors and focus on the traffic coming in and out of the house. The officers entering the house walk straight down a hallway and then take a left at the end.  My gaze shifts to the tree line again. I wonder if I could get a closer view of the crime scene. My own exclusive information.

Breaking away from the crowd, I walk on the sidewalk until I'm out of sight. Then, I cut through the trees until I can see the red brick of the house. There are two windows on this side of the house. One with movement in it.

I check my watch. It's half past one. I still have three hours before I need to head back home.

It's possible that if I wait until the police have left, I may be able to snap some exclusive photos and pick up some details other news outlets wouldn't yet know.

But it's not just for the paper that I'm interested in this case. It's hard to explain. Shae has taken such good care of my mother and me. If I can dig deep into this case and help point someone in the right direction, not only would it be a huge story, but it would mean I helped Shae find some comfort. It's something she's offered me over the last few months.

I sit behind a bush, keeping a close eye on the bustle of officers in the window. Bright white light temporarily floods the room over and over again.

Time crawls by. I get a few texts from Dave as I wait. He's checking in on me, curious what case I've picked up. I tell him I'll fill him in later. The last thing I want is to tell him I'm working on a case of unfortunate opportunity. I don't want him to think I'm taking advantage of the situation.

I've learned that when you have a gut feeling, you go with it. Even if it may seem wrong.

An hour passes. It's been at least fifteen minutes since I've seen an officer pass by the window. I stand up and brush off the leaves and dirt from my jeans. The smell of grass and soil fills my nostrils. Streaks of light brown stain my jeans.

I hesitate before passing the threshold of the tree line. My heart pounds in my chest. Another thing I love about breaking the rules is the adrenaline rush that comes with it. It clears my mind and helps me focus on the task at hand. And I'm all about a clear mind right now.

Maybe I should try skydiving. I bet the adrenaline rush of falling through the sky is nearly euphoric.

I make it to the window, pressing my body against the cool brick. Standing on tiptoes, I peer through the glass. Clouds have stolen away my sunlight, and my eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

The first thing I see is red. It's everywhere― the sink, the floor, the walls. I've never seen so much blood in my entire life. The crimson liquid sits in a shallow puddle in the white tub. Streaks of blood run down the side of the bath, staining the crevices of the tile flooring a rust color.

Bloody footprints cover the floor. Unfortunately, I will not be able to capture an untainted image of the crime scene.

Immediately my mind takes notes. Is all the blood from Carly or is it possible she manages to get a few blows in on her attacker before succumbing to her injuries?

My gaze travels to the mirror, or better yet what's left of it. A few jagged edges of the glass remain, but most of the shards litter the floor and the countertop of the sink.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to snap a picture.  The room flares white for a moment, my phone's camera automatically adjusting to the dimly lit room. I nearly drop my phone when I look at the image.

Where the glass in the mirror once was are five scratch marks. They sit deep in the wall, the gray paint peeling backward around them. Above the marks is a phrase written in jagged text. It looks like someone took a knife and etched the words into the wall.

A chill runs down my spine. What did it mean, Two words and three chants is all it takes?

Just then I hear music. I look around the room trying to identify where it's coming from. There's a radio sitting on the tank of the toilet right underneath the window. I recognize the song but the pitch is lowered and sounds distorted. The song is "Forever" by Pete Drake. It's an older song from the sixties.

What caused the radio to start playing? Then a thought stops me cold. What if the killer was close by, watching me, waiting to strike yet again? Some killers are known to return to the scene of the crime. They love inserting themself into the investigation so they can relive their crimes over and over again.

A branch snaps behind me and I gasp. Slowly I turn my head around to look at the trees. I see movement. My head screams at me to run, to hide, but I'm paralyzed by fear. The only thing my brain can think about at the moment is how fast it can make my heart race.

The movement reaches the tree line and I stare with wide eyes as something breaches the brush. It's brown and furry and... it's a squirrel. It stops for a moment to stare at me and for a moment I almost believe it's making fun of me for being terrified of it.

I sigh a breath of relief and turn my gaze back to the bathroom.

There's someone standing in the room.