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onaipwolf

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Kasey woke up abruptly. The sound of a shriek burst forth like a fog horn into the air, shattering the calmness of the night. She sat up, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed her hands over her ears to suppress the unbearable sounds that flooded her senses in a cacophony of confusion. Make it stop,” she thought, “Stop!”  Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face contorted into a grimace from the unearthly sound. She felt herself beginning to slip into darkness once again. Dreading the return of a yet another horrid vision, she forced her eyes open. She grasped at reality, but try as she might the scene began to play unwillingly before her eyes.

The scene faded, leaving Kasey feeling shaken. So a woman killed them. She thought. But who? And how in these scenes do I know the intent behind her actions? The thought chilled her, and she pushed the memory of it from her consciousness. She looked over at the clock. It was 6:20. Almost time to get up for school.

She got up and started to get ready to go. By 7:00, she was finished with her morning routine. She heard her foster mother, Mrs. Wayley, banging around in the kitchen, and knew if she went in there she would probably have breakfast all ready for her. But today she felt like walking to school instead of taking the bus, and considering the events of the past month there was no way she’d let her go. Besides, if she wanted to get there before classes started, she’d need more time. She grabbed her backpack from by the front door and walked out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

It was a brisk morning, with a chill in the air, but the sun was shining brightly, warming her face. In the several weeks she had been here, she realized this was the first time she had been completely alone. The thought was refreshing. As she continued down the street, there was a strange spring in her step. She felt like something of significance was going to happen today.

Detective Bray sat at his desk feeling exhausted. The past three weeks he had spent every spare moment working on the case and he seemed no closer to figuring out the killer than he had when he first started. He took a drink of his morning coffee, now lukewarm, and decided to go over all his notes once more before working on one of his other cases for awhile.

He took out the folder and opened it up. He spread the papers out over the face of his desk. The grisly photos of Mr. and Mrs. Holt still shocked him. He set them aside face down and turned to the initial report of their daughter, Kasey Holt. He looked her sophomore school picture. She was a pretty girl. There was a series of facts listed at the top of her report. Age: 15 years, 8 months. Hair color: light brown. Eye color: blue. Height: 5’5”. Weight: 115. In regards to her initial injuries, the doctor who treated her had written: “One laceration to the patient’s left side, two inches below her ribs. Several cuts and bruises in various stages of healing over the patient’s entire body. One recent bruise on the patient’s left cheek bone. The patient also appears slightly malnourished.”

He flipped the page to look at the psychologist’s report: “The female, Kasey Holt appears to be suffering from mild depression, probably due to the recent traumatic deaths of both of her parents. She is cooperative and congenial, albeit a bit aloof. She appears helpful in answering all of my questionings without actually giving much information. She is guarded, but appears to have taken the traumatic events well, all things considered. I see no problem with foster care at this point in time. However, I would recommend a follow-up visit in six weeks and sooner if she displays any signs of serious depression, or any other abnormal behavior.”

He looked at his own report of the interrogation. It read much the same way. She was guarded, but helpful. Didn’t give much information, but appeared to try all she could.

Feeling frustrated, he looked at the coroner’s report of Mr. Jason Holt. The cause of death was officially listed as “blood loss caused by 57 knife wounds to the deceased’s head, face, arms, and torso.”

He heard the door to his office open. He looked up to see his partner, Detective Vince Rivaldi walk through the doorway. Rivaldi gazed at Bray and his desk then commented, “Still working on that Holt case, huh?”

“Yeah. I can’t seem to make a breakthrough though.” He sighed in frustration, running his hand back through his hair.

Rivaldi smiled and dropped a manila folder on his desk. “Good luck. Here’s the update to Kasey Holt’s file.”

Rivaldi smiled again, and turned to leave. “I’ll be back later, I’ve got some leads to follow up on the Marks case.”

“Ok. See you later.” Bray said as he picked up the new folder.

According to the report, Kasey had disappeared this morning, missing the first two hours of her morning classes. Once she finally showed up at the school, she went straight to the office, where she called her social worker, a Mrs. Gail Mathers. She apparently told Mrs. Mathers she wanted to move away from the area as some of her fellow students had been giving her a hard time about her parent’s deaths, and she didn’t get along with her foster parents. Mrs. Mathers consented, and now she’s being transferred from the district into another foster home in Wilmer, 200 miles from St. Paul.

Bray sighed. This was going to be another long day.

Kasey continued to walk down the sidewalk, now busy with early morning patrons hurrying off to various bus stops along the street. She considered getting on one so she could get to school faster, but she didn’t have exact change, and she liked the feel of the cold air in her lungs anyway. She walked by a watch shop and saw her reflection in the surface of the window. She felt a tingling in the back of her neck, and knew another vision was beginning.

Kasey gasped in surprise as the vision ended. She was the girl. She had brutally murdered her parents. Before she could stop it, the memory of that night five weeks ago, flashed across her eyes. She finally understood. She searched her mind, trying to understand the feeling growing inside her. Fear? Guilt? Grief? Anger? Pain? No, she felt…calm.