Your first perception as you enter the living room is the sound coming from the television. The character exchanges are intimate, from a movie you can’t quite place. The television set’s ever-changing glow stabs the room with occasional bluish bursts of light. Through the half-shut blinds, the pastoral glow of a full moon gently illuminates frames, tables, a book whose cover curls up.
That’s when you see the body of the woman. It lies against the back wall in an awkward sitting position. The trail of blood above its head belies its recent collapse into a marionette’s resting posture, head crooked, face staring at the floor. Only the next burst of light from the television set can clearly show you the dark blood marring its abdomen and the pool it has formed on the floor next to it.
You look for a pulse but cannot find any.
There’s only one…
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