The stench of blood was nauseating. The distinctive coppery smell became more suffocating as it mingled with the scent of chemicals spiraling the room. But nothing could be more stimulating than it for the owner of the low voice humming along to the old ballad song You by Basil Valdez. The vinyl playing had obvious blemishes from repeatedly spinning on the turntable, as if there weren't a stack of classic records next to it, waiting for their turn.
A woman tried to catch her breath. "Please! let me go!" A breath of dying hope in her every plea.
"What do you want? Money? Let's call my parents. They'll give you everything... Everything." She continued to beg the person before her. But there wasn't a reaction except for the low humming to the same classic song.
"Tell me, please!" desperation painted on her tears and blood-stained face, "How much do you need?" The humming stopped.
"Darling..." the low dragging voice echoed off the walls making the woman's skin crawl. The stranger... no! A psycho, the woman thought it was the only right way to refer to that stranger. The psycho turned around and strode towards her. She blinked a few times, removing the haze in her eyes from weeping. She made an effort to gaze at the face, hoping it was someone she recognized, but it was pointless. The room was poorly lit and it was worse as the psycho was wearing a sheer fabric falling before the elbows. It was smeared with dirt, and a mix of both dry and fresh blood that made the flowers embroidered at the seam of the cloth stand out, some parts showing that it was once pure white. And under the veil is a dark hoodie covering the head almost entirely. The fear became more evident in the woman's eyes when the psycho squatted down and leaned closer to her.
Lifting a hand and slowly tracing her face, The distressed woman felt a cold latex glove on her clammy skin, smearing the sticky blood she got from the crushing blow to her temple that left her unconscious. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground with both hands and feet restrained with sturdy chains connected to metal hooks attached to the floor.
"Lora... Lora... Lora." bulging eyes lingered on every part of Lora's face. The psycho knew her, she figured.
"You should understand that I couldn't care less about your money."
Lora knew. Because if this person does want her money, her parents would've been on the phone right now negotiating. Lora knew and she could only shed tears as she helplessly begged for her freedom. She had never been so desperate for something before. Growing up she had no problem getting what she wanted as the only daughter of affluent business owners. She couldn't grasp the fact that she'd end up groveling for her life to be spared.
A sneer, followed by a murderous laugh echoed the whole room as Lora's foot was grabbed. She jolted, the persistent dread was beating the immense pain in her throat from sobbing.
"No! Please... I want to go home. If you don't want money, then tell me kung anong gusto mo," Lora began to struggle causing the chains to dig into her flesh, cold metal biting into her wrists and ankles harder.
"Do you see that?" Lora, still sniffling, slowly shifted her eyeballs to her side until her whole head was facing a massive shelf. At a glance, there's nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes scanned the books and an old clock with a small stage and figurine of a lady dancing at the center. There were also frames of different sizes and designs, some looked antique and some modern. Lora tried her best to recognize the people in the pictures and dazed at a sight of one particular person she's familiar with. She instantly whipped her head to the person in front of her trying to confirm if they're the same, but the veil and hoodie prevented her from actually seeing underneath.
"Lora, look again!" Lora flinched. "Can't you see?" A voice full of anticipation like a kid trying to show off a new toy. Though she wasn't sure of what to look at, Lora still did. What she saw next made her heart stop, like there's a spear thrusted through her chest. At the top-middle of the shelf there it was, a dismembered foot. It looked like it had been preserved for a while. The skin had already turned dark brown as life was sucked out of it. Bones trying to peek through the insect holes on its dehydrated skin. Whoever was responsible did a lousy job at preserving it, but Lora didn't know that. She was even oblivious to her own fate. Bereft of words, the only thing she was aware of was she started breathing again and it was getting heavier each time.
"I will put your right beside it." psycho said. More exhilarated than before.
This is insane! No! This is not happening! This isn't true!
"What did I even do to you?" Lora screamed her frustrations out.
How did she end up here? What is she doing here? She looked back at the shelf, particularly the people in the framed photos. Her gaze was fixed on that girl she knew. The more she thought about it, the more questions ran through her mind.
"Who are you?" Lora snarled, eyes piercing back to the mad stranger. She didn't get an answer. Instead, the psycho gripped her leg harder and pressed a knee against Lora's leg to pin it down, preventing her from moving. She tried to fight back by squirming her body harder, mainly her legs with every strength she had left. But damn, this person was strong.
And then it happened.
A haunting scream escaped from Lora. Blood spattered everywhere marking every object it could reach with deep red fluids. Brittle cracking noises resonated with her scream.
Despite the numbing pain, Lora managed to look at her leg. She wept harder, she choked— unable to suck in some air. Her vision hazed after seeing an axe buried a few inches above her ankle.
Where the hell did it come from? Lora was so preoccupied with the foot on the shelf, the psycho, the photos, that she didn't notice the axe had always been there.
Her bellows left what felt like scratches against her throat while her bones cracking each time the chipped blade was twisted down and getting deeper. She gasped with the sudden pull of the axe, her eyes not letting go of the weapon which swung back into the air. The hand holding the axe halted, gripping it harder. Lora couldn't do anything but watch everything and the vicious monster before her. What else could she do? She had been screaming for hours, but no one from outside could hear. So she was left with no choice but to watch her life taken away from her. The psycho on the other hand was getting eaten by insanity, giggling like every ounce of blood from Lora is a drug. A little overdosed from the excitement, the hoodie slightly pulled back unnoticed, enough for Lora to see the dark hair and eyes through the translucent veil. She didn't think she could still shiver until she saw those mad eyes. They were shallow; full of excitement and thirst. They were wide open and never blinked even though the blood that went through the veil was turning the white eyeballs red. The owner of the bloodshot eyes smiled. Whack!
With every strike of the axe, Lora was slowly losing grip on her consciousness. So that's it? She wouldn't have imagine she'd die like this. Her leg ruthlessly got chopped off while her mind was full of people she loves. She didn't even get to say goodbye to her parents, friends, and him.
Lora just listened to the sinister laugh intensifying with every hit she's taking. Gasping for air got harder until she no longer couldn't.
Until she succumbed and met her gruesome death.
🪰 🦶🏼 🪰 🦶🏼 🪰
It was murky. The thick clouds prevented any light from passing through. The weather was cold, there was a crowd gathering on the street of Marilag. Locals were whispering, asking each other what the disturbance was about. Others tried to get close hoping to get a glimpse and finally get an answer. Police officers tried to stop them by shooing them away from behind "CAUTION DO NOT ENTER" barricade tapes— lightweight plastics that were acting as boundaries between the unfolding morbidity and the curious residents.
Detective Arthur Mariano watched the chaos before his eyes from the seat of his car. He puffed his cigarette one last time before putting out the embers on the ashtray beside the cup holder. He sighed, seemingly tired of the same chaos for almost three decades. He was thinking of retiring soon as he stared at his thick gray eyebrows in the rearview mirror. Then he gazed through the windshield, not paying attention to what was in front of him for a good ten seconds, before finally deciding that it was time to emerge from his car. He immediately caught the attention of some nosy residents and investigators at the scene.
The Senior Detective greeted them and nodded to his new partner, Dane Agustin. It hasn't been long since they started working together, two... three months ago? Honestly, Detective Mariano couldn't remember. He isn't the type to intentionally memorize monthsaries or anniversaries unless it has something to do with his ever-loving wife.
"So what do you got, kid?" Detective Agustin was about to protest. A twenty four year old is definitely not a kid, but he forced himself to just shrug it off.
"The vic is inside." The younger detective pointed at the huge green garbage bin surrounded by other investigators. They were preoccupied with their designated tasks; taking photos, collecting fingerprints and anything not usual that might help them solve the case.
The older detective tried to read Agustin's expression. The middle-aged man admits that the younger was good at keeping his composure, though he could see the disturbance in his eyes and his efforts not to twist every muscle in his face, which made Mariano think that the body being dumped in the garbage was not the worst part of it. He did witness horrendous murders, but not since he and his wife moved to this town.
They finally approached the huge trash bin.
There she was.
"Shocked" was an understatement when the unthinkable sight greeted Detective Mariano. It's as if an unwanted past was waving at him crying out to be remembered, but it was something that he had already buried and never wished to dig again. And so, with all his might, the detective shoved all the thoughts to the depths of his mind and tried to focus on what was in front of them.
Swarmed by monstrous flies was a woman lying on her chest. Her head twisted to her right, face slightly covered by her dyed copper hair contrasting her cold snow-white skin. The detectives covered their noses trying not to take in some air. The revulsive smell of rotting trash mingled with the smell of death. It wasn't even five minutes but detective Mariano's preheadache was developing. But they had to endure and buried his gaze in the woman's face too long to witness a huge fly crawling into her nose.
She's young.
Detective Mariano's eyes scanned her body, wincing at the sight of the bruises on her wrists.
"Mother fucker," He grimaced when his eyes finally landed on the woman's leg missing her foot.
This is just a coincidence.
The Senior detective tried to convince himself.
"The way the foot was cut off indicates that the perpetrator may be an amateur or at least not a medical expert. The chop wounds are inconsistent and some are superficial which means the weapon might have a dull edge. In this case we could possibly be looking for a butcher knife. We also looked around and we couldn't find her foot." Detective Agustin relayed his initial investigation.
"Any ID? Credit cards or other things to identify her?" Detective Mariano probed.
Detective Agustin shook his head, "There are no other belongings aside from the clothes and her right shoe." Both detectives glanced at the bloody Mary Jane the Jane Doe was wearing.
"We can only wait for the fingerprint analysis and hope that we could find a match." Agustin added.
Detective Mariano quickly scanned around the trash bin. The trash everywhere was making it hard to identify which could be related to the murder. Then, it started drizzling, and before the water could wash out the crime scene, the investigators decided to close the bin. The detectives watched them cover the bin with the lid and as it slowly lowered down, Detective Mariano couldn't help himself to look at the woman's face and before the lid completely closed the dead opened her bloodshot eyes and looked at him.
Everyone was scrambling, running around like ants after the heavy rain washed out their trail, but the senior detective just stood there, heart pounding, unnerved, and trying to stop his hands from shaking.
Why is he being haunted by the past?