Bewildering Stories

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Imagine Dead Imagine

by Norman A. Rubin

No trace anywhere of life in the bedroom, no difficulty there. The dimly lit room allows niggardly rays of sunlight to filter through the gathered organdy curtains. Streams of light play on the still-life flower decorated wallpaper; no life is displayed there. A painting of a mountain landscape with the still flow of a waterfall hangs over the bed; yet there is no life. Furnishing calls out it luxury in the decorative and spacious room; yet there is no life.

Imagine dead imagine. All is quiet and still as the inspector searches for an answer that will reason to corrupt dead.

Lying on the floor and on the bed are two white bodies, naked in the bloody tattered shreds of their skins. Each cadaver is in a different position in the final throes of their last breath. The fading whisper of life’s flow is an inaudible sound to the shock of horrific death. Evidence to the act of committing a foul crime to the naked remains is visible to the sight.

Imagine dead imagine as whispers are faint to the investigator as it faintly beats to the rhythmic damnation of murder.

One body is that of young man, muscular and well-built, lying face down on the hardwood floor near a double bed. His once handsome features slashed in wounds, he lies in a pool of blood. His broad back is striped crudely in cuts inflicted by the twist of sharp instrument. The band to his undershorts is cut apart in shreds, revealing bloody buttocks. A sack of cut, gory flesh lies between the legs. The young man’s bare, hairy legs are twisted and slightly spread as if for some reason he had fallen in chase.

Question after question enters the investigator’s inquisitive mind. What terror did the youth witness when he turned and tried to raise himself from the bed and fell to the floor? What drove him in the fevered madness of attempted flight? The answer might lie in the pile of his clothes lying in a far corner mixed with dainty underclothing of a woman, jumbled in the signed passion of the moment.

Imagine dead imagine and see the act of the trysting hour as the inspector tries to piece together the finality of the scene that followed with its ending in the horror of blood and gore.

The other body is of a young woman lying with the curve of her back on the wide, luxurious bed. She is spread on the white of the sheet that is reddened with her blood; her blond hair awash in the flow from vicious beaten wounds to her head. Her piercing blue eyes opened wide are an exposure to her death that is beyond what is humanly possible to decipher. Her smeared mouth is open to a silent scream that in its muteness tells of the terror that enveloped her in last moments. The woman’s youthful body, with its curvaceous lines and fleshy flaws is bare to the tan of her skin. Her legs are spread apart with knee to one leg raised in readiness. Her ample breasts are torn deeply with multiple wounds inflicted by a sharp and cruel instrument. A wide smile flashes from an open gash on her once pretty neck.

Imagine dead imagine and the terrible crime committed is shown to the witness in all its passion of retribution and the deadly horror of an exacting moment of revenge.

Trails of bloody shoe prints lead from the corrupt scene of death, fading slowly in the sight as they distance from the bodies. The shoe prints are light with the imprint of well-crafted soles and heels: There is an undefined sign of a worded name that leads to the possibility of a well known manufacturer, which indicates a pair of comfortable loafers of a popular and expensive brand. The sight of the fading imprints lead to the adjoining bathroom, spacious in its luxury. Signs of blood are on the wide enamelled sink and simulated gold taps; blood spots are splattered on the wide nearby shelving. On the wide mirror etched in flowers above the dressing table are the bloody dripping words, “WHORE!”

Imagine dead imagine and an investigator can understand the tempest of vile retaliation and the severe temper of punishment.

The fading prints increase in their sign as it leads to the tread in the pool of blood that drained from the man; skid marks near the head of the remains indicate numerous hard kicking blows that bruised the corpse’s skin. The visible eye had been jellied and the sockets bear evidence in their blue-black marks signing vicious blow by a foot. A bunched scatter rug near the corpse displays a wet towel wrapped around a heavy knobbed walking stick; it too has the splintered signs of a heavy and angry hand that was gripped in fury.

Imagine dead imagine and an onlooker to the stage of murder can feel the temper of tormenting anger that wielded the club to inflict such deathly wounds.

The shoe marks lead away from the corruption and lead to an opened walk-in dressing room. Women’s clothes and furs are scattered about, some torn apart with an angry hand that wielded a sharp knife or scissors. Fashionable shoes of all makes are crushed in their heels and strewn within the closet and beyond. The signs of abject violence can be seen by dragging marks on the shelves of pseudo-leather boxes filled with costly items of wear; their contents strewn on the hardwood floor.

Imagine dead imagine and the spectator to the crime can see the crimson handprints smeared haphazardly on the bundled and scattered cloth.

The telltale trail of bloody footprints leads from the bedroom fading towards the open door. Reddish finger marks stain with erratic lines the flower patterns on the wall. Drops of the elixir of life dot the ornamental doorknob with the mark of its slamming against the decorative paper. The smear of red on the light-coloured pattern in the entrance hall lead in their fierceness to the kitchen. Faded marks of footwear lead to the stainless steel sink where the basin is awash in crimson droplets of water. The silvered sheen of the decorative taps are discoloured with smears of reddish signs. Atop the nearby dishwasher a towel has been torn apart with strips missing. The sight is then focused on a pair of scissors smeared in streaks of blood lying alongside, forgotten in the agony of the hour.

Imagine dead imagine and the spectator might be able to hear a muted cry of hurt and damnation echoing silently.

A dog, spaniel by breed, lies in comfort and silence on the soft of his cushioned lined box in a far corner in the allotted and spacious kitchen. The animal has the symbol of death marked by the slight touch of red on the hairs of its head.

The inspector enters. The dog is alert now as it leaps from his comfort; growls issue from its mouth to the smell of a stranger. Then his head turns to the closed back door to the kitchen crying out in a repeated barking sound. The spaniel scratches the door till it is opened. Then with a bound the animal sniffs the fading footprints, which ends at a sealed garage adjacent to the dwelling.

Imagine dead imagine as the attendant to the investigation can hear the noise of a running engine with wisps of vapours seen issuing from the closed sliding door.

Imagine dead Imagine!

Copyright © 2003 by Norman A. Rubin

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