street, trying to appear calm but inside I was screaming.
Oh fuck oh fuck! What have I done? I may have just created an even bigger mess!
About fifteen or twenty minutes after I placed the call, both front doors of the hotel swung wide with a loud BANG and a tall man emerged.
Bingo .
He dashed into traffic, narrowly avoiding a delivery van. I shrank into a doorway to stay out of sight as he neared my side of the street. He entered a nearby parking garage and a few minutes later I heard the screech of tires as he sped to the exit. The silver BMW that squealed out into traffic and sped away was not an unmarked police vehicle but I knew it was him.
It worked!
I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Bye-bye asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
As soon as the car was out of sight I sprinted across the street and into the Dufferin. I dashed up both flights of stairs. Fuck the elevator; I couldn’t have stood still long enough to wait for it. I ran down the hallway to room 241, key in hand.
There was no doubt in my mind that the man I’d seen drive away was Camille’s cop boyfriend, AKA Diamond Vinnie. I was positive Cammie would be alone in the room so I had no reservations about opening the door with the key.
I flung the door open and burst into the room.
“Cammie! Let’s go!”
Camille was there, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
The hotel room door swung shut behind me and latched with a deafening CLICK in the silence of the room.
I just stood there at first, unable to process what I was seeing because it was just so wrong.
The room looked like a slaughterhouse.
Bright splatters of blood sprayed the wall above the bed, the lamp, and the nightstand. The pillow was saturated with red. I looked down at my feet. I was standing in a red smear that led into the bathroom. A scarlet handprint on the doorframe became a bloody streak as it slid to the floor.
I inhaled the coppery scent of fresh blood as I stepped into the bathroom.
Camille sat slumped on the floor beside the toilet, clutching a towel against her chest as if trying to stem the flow of blood. The towel was far from adequate because her throat had been slit.
“Cammie?” I squeaked.
I knew she was dead even before I touched her. There was no point in attempting CPR because she was gone, slashed beyond repair. Her body was still warm but she had been bled out. Even if an EMT team had been present with enough units of blood to refill her they would not have been able to save her.
She was nearly decapitated, her throat had been cut with such force. A vision of Nicole Simpson flashed through my mind.
As it turned out, her throat wasn’t the worst part.
I gingerly pulled the blood-soaked towel out of her hand and recoiled in shock. Her nipples had been sliced clean off, along with a good portion of the flesh from the front of her breasts. The perfect pair of 36Cs that Camille had been so proud of were now half of their original size.
It looked like Camille had been attacked by a person in a violent rage. A rage I had provoked with my phone call.
I felt a scream rising in my throat and squashed it before it could escape. Camille was dead and I was currently standing in the middle of a crime scene. I needed to get the fuck out of there and do it quickly.
I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her goodbye; to sob my heart out on her cooling shoulder. To tell her how sorry I was for killing her.
Sobs hitching in my chest, I stroked my sister’s cheek one last time.
“Oh Cammie… I’m so sorry,” I choked.
Her head fell to one side and for one sickening moment I thought it was going to fall off, it had been cut so very deeply. Her jaw fell slack and something red fell out of her mouth.
What the fuck?
It looked like… flesh.
Upon closer inspection I saw that it was one of the missing nipples that had been sliced from her chest. I tentatively turned her head, using one corner of the towel and saw the other one in her mouth, rammed halfway down
Oh fuck oh fuck! What have I done? I may have just created an even bigger mess!
About fifteen or twenty minutes after I placed the call, both front doors of the hotel swung wide with a loud BANG and a tall man emerged.
Bingo .
He dashed into traffic, narrowly avoiding a delivery van. I shrank into a doorway to stay out of sight as he neared my side of the street. He entered a nearby parking garage and a few minutes later I heard the screech of tires as he sped to the exit. The silver BMW that squealed out into traffic and sped away was not an unmarked police vehicle but I knew it was him.
It worked!
I couldn’t believe my luck.
“Bye-bye asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
As soon as the car was out of sight I sprinted across the street and into the Dufferin. I dashed up both flights of stairs. Fuck the elevator; I couldn’t have stood still long enough to wait for it. I ran down the hallway to room 241, key in hand.
There was no doubt in my mind that the man I’d seen drive away was Camille’s cop boyfriend, AKA Diamond Vinnie. I was positive Cammie would be alone in the room so I had no reservations about opening the door with the key.
I flung the door open and burst into the room.
“Cammie! Let’s go!”
Camille was there, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
The hotel room door swung shut behind me and latched with a deafening CLICK in the silence of the room.
I just stood there at first, unable to process what I was seeing because it was just so wrong.
The room looked like a slaughterhouse.
Bright splatters of blood sprayed the wall above the bed, the lamp, and the nightstand. The pillow was saturated with red. I looked down at my feet. I was standing in a red smear that led into the bathroom. A scarlet handprint on the doorframe became a bloody streak as it slid to the floor.
I inhaled the coppery scent of fresh blood as I stepped into the bathroom.
Camille sat slumped on the floor beside the toilet, clutching a towel against her chest as if trying to stem the flow of blood. The towel was far from adequate because her throat had been slit.
“Cammie?” I squeaked.
I knew she was dead even before I touched her. There was no point in attempting CPR because she was gone, slashed beyond repair. Her body was still warm but she had been bled out. Even if an EMT team had been present with enough units of blood to refill her they would not have been able to save her.
She was nearly decapitated, her throat had been cut with such force. A vision of Nicole Simpson flashed through my mind.
As it turned out, her throat wasn’t the worst part.
I gingerly pulled the blood-soaked towel out of her hand and recoiled in shock. Her nipples had been sliced clean off, along with a good portion of the flesh from the front of her breasts. The perfect pair of 36Cs that Camille had been so proud of were now half of their original size.
It looked like Camille had been attacked by a person in a violent rage. A rage I had provoked with my phone call.
I felt a scream rising in my throat and squashed it before it could escape. Camille was dead and I was currently standing in the middle of a crime scene. I needed to get the fuck out of there and do it quickly.
I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her goodbye; to sob my heart out on her cooling shoulder. To tell her how sorry I was for killing her.
Sobs hitching in my chest, I stroked my sister’s cheek one last time.
“Oh Cammie… I’m so sorry,” I choked.
Her head fell to one side and for one sickening moment I thought it was going to fall off, it had been cut so very deeply. Her jaw fell slack and something red fell out of her mouth.
What the fuck?
It looked like… flesh.
Upon closer inspection I saw that it was one of the missing nipples that had been sliced from her chest. I tentatively turned her head, using one corner of the towel and saw the other one in her mouth, rammed halfway down
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