Chapter 15: A New Murder Case (Lauren POV)

Chapter 15: A New Murder Case (Lauren POV)

I watched from the kitchen window as Sarah strapped the girls into their car seats, Sophie's small face turned back toward the house with that knowing expression that made her seem far older than five. Emma waved enthusiastically from her booster seat, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension that had defined our morning.
"Be good at school," I whispered to the glass, though they couldn't hear me.
Sarah's car disappeared around the corner, leaving me alone in a house that suddenly felt too quiet, too exposed. Every creak of the settling wood made me tense, every shadow seemed to shift when I wasn't looking directly at it.
But there was something I needed to check while I had privacy.
I grabbed my jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and slipped out through the patio door into Sarah's backyard. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-soaked grass and the neighbor's coffee brewing next door. Normal suburban smells that should have been comforting but instead felt like a facade covering something darker.
Sophie's bedroom window faced the backyard, positioned on the second floor above Sarah's herb garden. I walked slowly toward it, my detective's eye cataloging every detail of the scene.
The nearest tree was a mature maple, its trunk thick and gnarled with age. But even at its fullest stretch, the closest branch hung a good four feet from Sophie's window. I stepped closer, looking up at the window itself.
The four parallel scratches were still there, clearly visible in the morning light. They ran from about six feet off the ground down to roughly five feet, exactly the height range where someone tall might drag their fingernails down the glass.
Or something tall.
I circled the maple tree, examining its branches for any signs of recent contact with the house. The bark was unmarked, no scrapes or scratches that would indicate violent contact with the building. The branches themselves showed no broken twigs, no signs of being whipped against glass by wind.
Moving to the flower bed directly beneath Sophie's window, I crouched and studied the soil. Sarah was a meticulous gardener, and the earth around her herbs was soft and well-tended, perfect for showing footprints or disturbances.
But the soil was unmarked. No footprints, no impressions from a ladder, no sign that anyone had stood here long enough to reach up and scratch the window. Just the neat rows of basil and oregano that Sarah tended so carefully.
I straightened, brushing dirt from my knees, and looked back up at the window. Whatever had made those scratches hadn't stood on the ground. It would have needed to be floating, or impossibly tall, or...
"Not human," I murmured to the empty yard.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, making me jump. Alex's name appeared on the screen.
"Lauren? Where are you?"
"At Sarah's. Why?"
"You need to see the news. There's been another murder."
My blood went cold. "What kind of murder?"
"Turn on Channel 7, they're doing a live report from the scene."
I jogged back into the house and grabbed the remote, switching on the living room television. The familiar backdrop of a Chicago crime scene filled the screen; yellow tape, flashing lights, reporters standing at a careful distance while uniformed officers worked behind them.
"...brutal killing has rocked the Lincoln Park neighborhood," the reporter was saying. "Police are calling it one of the most disturbing crime scenes they've encountered in recent memory."
The camera panned to show a modest apartment building, its front steps cordoned off with tape. I recognized the area immediately.
"The victim has been identified as 23-year-old Maria Santos, a graduate student at DePaul University. Neighbors reported hearing screams around midnight, but by the time police arrived, it was too late."
"Alex, are you watching this?"
"Yeah. Lauren, there's more. I have contacts in the department; this wasn't just a murder. The victim was completely drained of blood. And there were markings left at the scene. Ritual markings."
My hand tightened on the phone. "What kind of markings?"
"Symbols carved into the walls. I think this is connected to everything else. The evidence thefts, the shadow figures, I think whatever's been sabotaging your cases has escalated."
On screen, the reporter continued: "Police are not releasing details about the condition of the victim's body, but sources close to the investigation describe the scene as 'unlike anything they've seen before.' Captain Rodriguez of the Chicago PD has scheduled a press conference for this afternoon."
Captain Rodriguez. 
"I need to get to that scene," I said.
"Lauren, no. You're suspended, remember? You can't just show up at active crime scenes."
"This could be the proof we need. If there really are ritual markings, if the victim was drained of blood..."
"And if you get caught trespassing on a crime scene, they'll use it as evidence that you're unstable. Dr. Voss will have even more ammunition for your psychiatric evaluation."
I knew he was right, but the pull of the investigation was stronger than logic. This murder had all the hallmarks of supernatural activity, and it was happening just days before my evaluation. It couldn't be a coincidence.
"I have to try, Alex. This might be my only chance."
"Then let me come with you. Don't go alone."
"There's no time. I need to get there before they finish processing the scene."
"Lauren..."
I hung up and grabbed my car keys, guilt twisting in my stomach as I thought about Sarah's desperate plea to comply with Dr. Voss, to not do anything that would make my situation worse.
The drive to Lincoln Park took twenty minutes through morning traffic. I parked three blocks away from the scene and walked, hoping to blend in with the crowd of curious onlookers that always gathered around major crime scenes.
The apartment building was a converted Victorian, the kind of charming old structure that grad students loved for its character and affordable rent. Now it was draped in yellow tape and surrounded by official vehicles.
I approached from the side street, trying to stay inconspicuous as I worked my way closer to the action. The medical examiner's van was still there, which meant they hadn't finished with the body. That was good; it meant there might still be evidence to observe.
I was studying the building's upper windows, trying to determine which apartment had been the scene, when a familiar voice cut through the crowd noise like a blade.
"Detective James."
I turned to find Captain Rodriguez striding toward me, his face dark with fury. The crowd around us seemed to sense the tension and stepped back, creating a circle of uncomfortable silence.
"Captain, I was just..."
"You were just what? Coincidentally happening to walk by another crime scene?"
My mouth went dry. "I heard about it on the news. I thought maybe..."
"You thought maybe you'd interfere with an active investigation despite being explicitly suspended from duty?" His voice rose with each word, drawing stares from nearby officers and reporters. "You thought maybe you'd add fuel to the fire of your impending psychiatric evaluation?"
"Captain, if you'd just let me explain..."
"Explain what? That you can't follow direct orders? That you're so consumed by your delusions that you're willing to risk your career for the chance to contaminate another crime scene?"
"This murder might be connected to the Valdez case," I said desperately, lowering my voice. "If there are ritual markings, if the victim was drained of blood..."
"Enough." Rodriguez's voice was flat and final. "Detective James, you are officially suspended from the Chicago Police Department, effective immediately. You will turn in any department property still in your possession, and you will not set foot on any crime scene or police facility until your psychiatric evaluation is complete and you're cleared for duty."
Not just suspended from active duty anymore; suspended from the department entirely.
"Captain, please..."
"If I see you at another crime scene, Detective James, I'll have you arrested for interference with a police investigation. Do I make myself clear?"
"Crystal."
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the middle of the street with dozens of eyes on me. 
I walked back to my car in a daze, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the keys. Everything was falling apart faster than I could keep up with. In three days, I'd lost my active duty status, my access to department resources, and now my job entirely.
The drive back to Sarah's house passed in a blur of self-recrimination and growing panic. How was I supposed to prove my sanity when I kept making choices that seemed to confirm everyone's worst fears about my mental state?
Sarah's car was in the driveway when I arrived, she must have returned from dropping off the girls. I sat in my own car for a moment, gathering the courage to face her questions about where I'd been.
But when I walked into the house, I found it empty except for a note on the kitchen counter: "Went grocery shopping. Back by noon. —S"
I had just collapsed onto the couch when someone knocked on the front door. Through the window, I could see Alex standing on the porch, his expression grim.
"I brought you something," he said when I opened the door.
He handed me a manila envelope, thick with photographs.
"Crime scene photos?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"From the Maria Santos murder. My contact in forensics owed me a favor."
I opened the envelope with trembling fingers and pulled out the first photograph. It showed a young woman's body on a hardwood floor, her skin pale as marble and her eyes wide with terror. But what made my breath catch were the symbols carved into the wall above her, intricate markings that looked ancient and deliberate.
"Jesus," I whispered.
"There's more."
I flipped through the photos, each one more disturbing than the last. The victim's neck showed two puncture wounds, clean and precise. The ritual markings covered three walls of the small apartment, carved deep into the plaster with something sharp.
"Alex, this is it. This is the proof we need. Look at these symbols—they're clearly supernatural. No human killer would know markings like these."
"I know. But Lauren, you have to be careful with those photos. If anyone finds out I gave them to you..."
"I understand. But this changes everything. When Dr. Voss sees this evidence, when she realizes there really is a supernatural element to these crimes..."
"Maybe. Or maybe she'll see it as further evidence of your delusions."
The thought sobered me. What looked like proof of supernatural activity to me might look like obsessive fixation to a psychiatrist trained to recognize mental illness.
"We need more than just photos," I said finally.
"Agreed."