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The Dead Don’t Cry

By Bridget Squires

Smashwords edition

Copyright 2010

The sixth and last story in “The Dead Don’t” series.

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Detective Taylor followed those damn, evil little flags to the corpse of Irene Tracy Rapport. Now though known as victim number eleven of the West Path Tie Killer. The scene was haunting and Irene would have been discovered much earlier if those passing by hadn't mistaken the body for a praying woman. The bench on the shore held her body upright. Her arms were tucked under her and supported by the bench side as her head leaned gently upon a pair of pale, bruised folded hands. Irene's blond hair swayed with the breeze blowing off the water, wild looking and untamed. Taylor could feel the heartache of the scene invade her soul. Irene was naked, like the others, with deep bruises along her back and legs. Autumn had stained the body a brutal gray color with the chill that had been carried along the wind. The trademark men's tie clung to Irene's delicate neck, which was starkingly purple compared to the gray tone of her skin. The tie was dug so deeply into the victim’s skin it also was shocking to see she wasn't completely decapitated. The whole scene was so terrifyingly angelic in its own way that Taylor felt like the killer was becoming more and more sadistic. Like the killer was taunting the police by making the victims beautiful in death as if dead was what they were better as. It would be a long day, Taylor thought, as the evidence was collected. Suddenly a wave crashed upon the shore with such ferocity that it reminded Taylor of the way her heart felt at that exact moment. Defeated and crashing.

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