Page 87 of Soft Tissue Damage
23
Cullan
It doesn’t take me long to track Elena down, but I’m confused about why she’s come to this unassuming brick house on the far side of Blackport so late at night. Rather than knocking on the front door, I carefully and quietly walk down the side of the house, peering in the windows as I go, looking for any sign of her.
There are lights on in the kitchen at the back of the house. I move closer to the back windows and peer between the lace curtains. My eyes move lower, and I see blood and bodies strewn across the tiled floor.
Fear seizes me. One of them is Elena. She’s sitting on the floor, pressed into a corner of the room. There’s bloodspray all over her upper body and face. I can’t see any wounds, but her eyes are open, and she’s breathing.
There’s a pair of bloody scissors in her red right hand.
I have my backpack with me, and I quickly extract lockpicks and open the back door. There are two bodies between me and Elena, and a whole lot of blood. Two female bodies. I wonder if these women could be her aunts that I’ve heard a little about. I step over them to get to Elena, and crouch down before her.
“Elena? Where are you hurt? Who attacked you?”
Elena doesn’t show any sign that she’s heard me. She’s staring straight ahead, her eyes glassy. There’s blood all over my woman, and with my heart in my throat, I search her chest and stomach for wounds. Her flesh is unmarred. Her clothing isn’t even torn. I pull her forward to check her back, but there’s no blood there. I go on examining her arms and legs for wounds, and even her hands are unmarred.
It’s an effort to prize the scissors out of her grip. The scissors are sharp, pointed, and bloody.
I glance over my shoulder at the two dead women and frown.
Going over, I examine them more closely. The woman closest to Elena has been stabbed in the chest and throat multiple times through her dressing gown. There are cuts on her hands and forearms as though she tried to defend herself.
I move to the other woman. She lays on her back and stares at the ceiling, blood trickling over her temple from asplit eyebrow, but most of the blood is from a wound on the back of her head. There’s blood and strands of hair caught on the corner of the kitchen table.
I place the scissors thoughtfully on the kitchen table.
Two murders. Or one murder, and one accidental death. And not a scratch on my Elena.
I go back and hunker down before Elena. She’s trembling now, shaking so hard that her throat is locked up and she can barely breathe. I take her hands, and they’re as cold as blocks of ice. “Elena? Can you hear me? What happened?”
Elena’s eyes are glassy, and she can only repeat the same words over and over again. “I’ve ruined everything. I’ve ruined everything. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
I smooth her hair back from her head and plant kisses on her bloody brow. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you, darlin’.”
She shakes her head emphatically. “I’m disgusting. I’m terrible. I’m wrong.”
“No, you’re not. You’re my beautiful, kind, loving Elena.”
She keeps shaking her head and speaking in repetitions. “Bad. Bad. Bad.”
I take her face in my hands. “This is me. It’s Cullan. Elena, look at me. It’s Cullan.”
Slowly, her eyes meet mine. Her face creases, and she starts to sob. “Oh, Cullan. You’re going to hate me when you find out what I did. I’m going to jail. I’m never going to see you or Rosie again.”
I’m guessing the “something bad” is the dead bodies on the floor.
I smooth my thumbs over her cheeks, and ask softly, “Elena, did you put laxatives in my ex’s smoothie? Did you throw a brick through Leon’s car window?”
Looking more scared than I’ve ever seen her, she whispers, “I did.”
I already knew it because I checked the security footage when I heard that Rebecca apparently had gastro or food poisoning after being in my house. I also tracked where Elena was when Leon’s car was vandalized. I need to know if Elena will be truthful with me when I ask my next two questions.
“Elena, are these women your aunts? Did you kill them?”
Her face creases and she sobs. “They are. I did. I’m so sorry.”
Like I give a damn about a couple of dead aunts.
