Trails Of Blood

Chapter 1

Picture of Alisa 

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          Typing fiercely, each word appeared on the document writing down the notes and quotes that I have collected the past two days that had led me to finish the story I been tracking. Still, there was a police statement on the news where the old tv-butt hung on the wall's corner where the static sizzled. The rectangle windows didn't have curtains, but the blinds were pulled up high to the top, displaying the continuous thunderstorm we been having.

            There were thirty people in this factory-like building having three buckets collecting water from the leaky ceiling, and with our boss in her office making calls for repairs, everyone was busy with their share of stories. There was a break room before exiting the building by the stairs that led to the lobby, where we had three assistants working and two retired cops as our security. 

           The second-floor door was opened to the journalists when someone reached this floor, but several offices were in hallways. Other than that, the building used to be a factory for the assembly line workers where shoes used to be made then it was closings, now it's been a newspaper company for the past ten years.

             After finishing the story, I emailed Stephanie, one of our editors and our photojournalist, since he took a few pictures. Looking at the tv, the Police Chief informed the public that the serial killer was draining his victims with IVs that the victims were both young college students. This was the fifth victim to be found within a ten-mile radius of most colleges; there was going to be an open tipline.

            I tapped the tip of my pin on my chin, eager to get my hands all over this story, and now that it's gone public; I won't be getting hassled by the police anymore, grabbing the leather jacket off the rolly chair and the umbrella that leaned on the desk. I strolled over to the stairs until Stephanie comes over with a foam cup of coffee in her hands.

            "I see that look in your eyes missy, where do you think you're going?" She asked curiously; pushing away a lock of her curled brown hair, she sipped her coffee again, raising one eyebrow expertly.

            "You know exactly where I'm going." I winked, kissing her cheek, descending the stairs while I swung on my sweater, planning to take a stroll to where the murders have taken place, there had to be a pattern, and with enough information, I could figure out who's the murderer.

          Bursting through the front doors, the clicking from the boost of my boots clapped on the ground; excitingly, a daring smirk played on my lips; there was part of that desired these sort of reports that I was investing my time with. Three other reporters worked in a similar department, but I dealt with the gruesome stories while dealing with corruption, politics, or world-wide crime news.

            Releasing the umbrella to stretch out its wings, the rain splashed on it, sliding to the edges of the umbrella; the scent of the rain spread warmth throughout my body; it brought a sort of nostalgia as if smelling pumpkin coffee in a cafe. The streets were busier due to the holidays coming.

          While I passed several hipster stores flooded with badly dressed folks, I went into an alley where the first murder happened. I entered the alleyway; the scent of past blood flooded me; squeezing the bridge of my collared jacket, I closed my eyes, tracing the blood that led to the dumpster where the blood begins.

            Following the blossoming trail of the scent, I looked around before jumping into the dumpster; there were dried trails of blood here that led to the alleyway opening where a group of teens found a man paled. Jumping out of the dumpster, I looked around, wondering if the killer led the man here and killed him here, which he had to be drugged, but the last I checked, the ME (Medical Examiner) couldn't find any drugs in his system.