Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 542(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Also, there were in fact strangulation marks around said victim’s neck, including over and under the bite impression, which may have contributed to a false deduction by the Medical Examiner, and hindered or hid the initial findings due to excessive bruising and pooling of blood from other portions of the physical attack in the exact same location on the corpse.
She went on and wrapped up the email, signed it, then turned up the music. ‘Skankin’ Sweet,’ by Chronixx, was now on air. She got up, screamed for joy, and started to dance…
“I’m one step closer. A big step! I’ve almost got you, motherfucker!”
As Nikolai ran the hot towel over his father’s kitchen counter, the strong odor of bleach permeated the air. Dad was up on his feet, gripping his cane while looking out the back kitchen door. A box of washed blueberries sat on the counter, along with a half-eaten bagel.
“You’re supposed to take that medicine with food,” Nikolai stated as he slipped back into his jacket.
Dad offered a faint nod, his gaze still fixed out the window.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Doctor Adams said you’ve lost another couple pounds. You need to eat.” Nikolai walked away from the sink and stood behind his father. The once robust, bold man looked half of what he used to be. He could see his father’s likeness in the window, next to his. Faded reflections, the colors muted. He placed his hand on his father’s shoulder, then removed it just as fast. “I’ll be by again in a couple of days. Call me if you need anything.”
He turned and walked away, but paused to pat Dorsie on the head. As he made his way to the front door, his father called his name, in a hoarse, crackling voice.
“Nikolai… Nik!”
“Yeah?” Nikolai stood in the dark hallway, the kitchen a great distance away now, a light glowing from the entrance on the left.
“It wasn’t my fault.” His father then began to sob.
Nikolai stayed where he was. In the dark hallway. The front door so close, but feeling so far away. His father was in the brightly lit kitchen, falling apart while standing close to the sweet blueberries, and the sun streaming through the windows. Nikolai didn’t want to be in the light with him… because it was an illusion. Sometimes darkness wore disguises. Sometimes the light hid in the shadows. Sometimes a whisper was a desperate attempt to scream… Sometimes a scream was nothing more than a whisper.
Nikolai opened the front door, closed it softly behind him, and headed to his truck. It was time to get to work, but first, he needed to take care of a couple of errands and duties. I need to get somethin’ to eat for lunch, and some gas. He drove to the gas station, as he often did after visiting his father, and filled up his tank. He went inside the store and smelled the bread and hotdogs warming on the little heated display. None of that was what he wanted, so he headed to the back to grab a cold cut sandwich, an ice-cold Pepsi, a bag of Lays original potato chips, as well as some NicoDerm CQ.
After he paid for his gas and items, he got back in his truck and drove to his shop. It was a Friday, and parking was a bit harder to find. He circled around a couple of times, then found a spot. Once he entered the store, he turned on the lights, started a pot of coffee, and turned on some music. He didn’t open for ninety minutes, and was determined to make use of the free time.
‘Burnin’ For You,’ by Blue Oyster Cult, offered the background music while he did a bit of dusting and rearranged a display of shirts. He opened the register and started up the computer to check for any online orders that may have come in overnight. Once that was done, he slipped his Book of Whispers that he’d brought along with him onto the table where the register was set up. He then grabbed a pen that was for sale from a jar, and jotted down some notes. Following that, he went to the back, past the accordion door, and started the propane forge to get things hot.
He placed the anvil on top of it, grabbed his hammer and a piece of metal, and started to work on creating a set of candlesticks. The sounds of ‘Sugar,’ by Men I Trust, was now filling the space as rivulets of sweat ran down his face, soaking into his shirt. He was thankful he’d installed a basic standing shower in the back as well. His muscles began to feel that good burn, as he called it, and he was in the groove, switching hands to ensure fatigue didn’t set in too quickly.