Death of a Hundred Kisses

Torn roses, scattered around everywhere. That was how it started. Well, it wasn’t exactly the start, at least not for me. I knew that I was dreaming. Nobody could wake in a haunted house with rose petals everywhere. The aroma was quite soothing, yet I felt nauseous. I had every right to feel that. I started reading something, without my will. It was very much awkward for me. I heard myself whispering, ‘O saint of rotten roses, thy curse be fallen, I pray. I pray for thee, for He hath the blessed nectar. I pray for thee to be blessed like the heavens, and pure as the city. I shan't be needed thy nectar, for I have a lover to wed blessedly.’ Damn! That couldn’t be my words in any way. But anyway, it can be a catchy wedding vow. I heard nothing more after that, until my alarm shouted at me fearlessly. I woke up. No, not any shady haunted house, let alone any aroma free scattered pedal of roses. It was my messy apartment. Not so good to be true, but yeah, I should have never woken up. Sometimes dreams are too much enjoyable than reality. It really should be. No one wants to repeat that hectic day after every waking up. It was 9 am. I went to the kitchen. It was messier than the bedroom. I couldn’t remember the last time it was clean. That’s the pushback of living alone. Either you clean up your own mess, or you live with the smell. I opened the upper fridge. There were some coffee cube there. I took three, and put it in the microwave. Let me give you this little advise. Never waste any time making coffee in the morning. Make some at night, and freeze them to enjoy them at the next morning. I know it’s weird, but effectiveness is more important. My phone rang from the bedroom. I had to rush to take the call. It was my work phone. ‘Agent Ephron here.’ ‘Sir, it's John' Something wrong at the office? Maybe. ‘Yeah, John. I can hear you. What can I do for you?’ ‘Are you heading for the office?’ ‘Not yet. Was about to. Why?’ ‘Come to the Dixton Springs Park. There's a case.’ I hung up the phone. What could possibly be there? Some robberies, breaking ins, or maybe a murder. These things didn’t excite me. It was unethical, and too much easy to predict. I mean, there's a big database in federal agencies, to identify any fingerprints or DNA. I just had to pull out some favors. It wasn’t hard. So more or less, it was another day in the calendar. I took the suit hanging in the closet. There were other dresses, not nearly fancy. But at least I wasn’t forced to wear any dead uniform. Maybe selling coffin would be an exciting job. I looked at my ID card, that was a pure joke. ‘Agent Lazarus Ephron Head of Homicidal Department Illinois Bureau of Criminal Investigations' I was just proud of the name, nothing else. It took me ten more minutes to get in the car. Being lazy was my only constant. Why should I be more active? There was literally no need for that. I remembered Dixton Springs park. It was near my foster home. Ah, it was somewhat of a good memory. At least, it wouldn’t remain messy. Or maybe would, I haven’t checked on them for two years. Last I met was my foster brother George. He usually was a joke, a dimwit in the family. But yet, he was close to me. Maybe he was the only one from the family who I would bail anytime for any crime. The roads were quite empty. Usually it wouldn’t be, people in Illinois are quite serious about earning their bucks. I am no less, does that make me hypocrite? Maybe, but who cares, when you are ignorant about your own judgement? I drove past the office. It’s my haunted building, the office of IBCI. No one calls it IBCI yet, and I don’t think they will. The ghosts are in paper shapes here. The paperwork, the daily reports, facing criminals, facing attorneys, facing yourself as a law-abiding individual, these are some nightmares I have to live every day. But you know, beggars can't be choosers of their own fates. At least not yet, for at least two years. They call it agreement; I call it self-atonement. The environment outside the park was surprisingly quiet. In any crime scene, a little number of curious people is seen for their eagerness. At least some reporters should be lurking around here, whispering about a late agent. Maybe they were all inside. I wasn’t quite a bit late. I mean, it’s not a pleasant journey when streets are empty in Illinois. The nerves were quite uncomfortable. I went inside the park. I thought it right. It was a media havoc. The cameras snapping, the reporters blabbering about the justice and whatnot. Maybe it’s a curse to be a media person. You have to sell your soul to the devil for a power of ruining any life through the lenses. I could see agent John lurking around the body. Somehow the environment around the body was less chaotic. I mean, I had dealt with many homicidal cases. And truth be told, this was the first time I saw less people around the body. A policeman stopped me near the tape, ‘Sir, this is a crime scene. It’s closed for the civilians.’ I realized the irony, ‘I respect your concern, but I am with the bureau.’ I lifted the card out of my pocket. And that was enough. John was happy to see me, ‘Sir, you are right on time.’ I could imagine a thousand ways to kill John, but that would be unethical, ‘Yes, I noticed. So, what is the case?’ John sighed, ‘Well, it's a male, Caucasian, by judging the hair color and skin pattern, I assume the age is around thirty-five.’ I went near the body. And that was the first adrenaline rush. The body was quite weirdly decorated, with lipstick. Like, the body had too many kiss marks. One in the forehead, two on both cheeks, one in the chin, one in the neck. There were several kisses on the chest and belly part. I could assume there were more in the back. But that wasn’t all. Two things about the body would get attention more. Firstly, he had no lip, the lips from him had been cut off, maybe painfully. Maybe the hiss marks around the body were made by his own dead lips. I would say, this killer was too much patient. Secondly, there wasn’t any lower part from below the belly. The lower body was missing, and no traces of the blood. So, in short, we got a dead half man, who either had a lucky night before the luck ran out, or the killer has some fetish over kisses. I kneeled down to get a vibe. There was a thin smell of rose seeds. They have quite awful smell, and enough awful to dislike. The eyes were in peace. People say that a dead man dies with his last reaction capture in his eyes. So weirdly it was a peaceful death. But there was something strange. The skin didn’t seem so white to me. Though it was pale, but it maybe wasn’t white. I looked up to John, ‘So what’s the time of death?’ He was confused, ‘Our new coroner hasn’t arrived yet.’ I remembered. Our old coroner, McGill or something, quit the job after a serious clash with the director. Well, clashes were just an ignition, sir was already pissed on him. I asked, ‘Has the evidence team arrived?’ John simply nodded. I was relieved, ‘Good, ask them to carry this body, and everything near it. Maybe there will be no second DNA, but worth trying. And tell forensic to give me a detailed post mortem report by tomorrow. It's a new MO I think, but try to find out if anyone killed in the same way. And yes, find out about the victim.’ John nodded. Quite an interesting case, I consoled myself. I asked John, ‘So, why is so much media people here?’ His face became anxious, ‘Oh s-sir, the media? Um, let me—let me ask.’ It was an easy tell for me to know the something was wrong, ‘John, what is happening?’ I felt a slight tap on my shoulder, and a heavy voice, ‘Let me clarify that to you.’ I turned around, to see a suited guy, like me. But he had a badge on, the federal badge. He was an FBI agent. He brought out his hand, ‘Hello agent, I am agent Garrick, FBI.’ I took the friendly gesture, ‘Hello, agent Ephron, IBCI.’ He scoffed, ‘That’s a really fancy abbreviation.’ I resented the sarcasm, ‘Maybe waiting for it to be catchy and used in Hollywood, like FBI.’ He resented me; I could tell. I asked, ‘So, what's the interest of FBI in this homicide?’ He nodded, ‘I won't hide that to you. But I want to hear your insight in in the scene.’ I said, ‘You can talk to the director for full written report, I hope.’ He backed up, ‘Whoa, why the hostility? You haven’t seen the piece of paper yet?’ I wondered, which piece of paper? I looked at John. He sighed, ‘We found a piece of paper in a plastic wrapper from his mouth.’ He handed me the paper from evidence box. I read the paper: ‘Dear Lazarus, Let's create our story, lover.’ I heard Garrick say, ‘Agent Ephron, I have some questions for you. Can you follow me to the car?’ I couldn’t understand. Maybe this was a new day, breaking the cycle.