Page 15 of Mourning Wings
Sometimes,Iquestion my own perversion.WhenI’msurrounded by images of brutality and violence,Ican’t help but wonder what it would feel like to step into the mind of the killer.Totruly understand the darkness, wouldIneed to embrace it myself?
Itake another sip of coffee, feeling the caffeine start to kick in asNathanielandIwalk to the office in comfortable silence.
Assoon as we step inside the building,I’mambushed by my colleague,Joshua, his face flushed with urgency.
“Valeria, did you check your email?”Hisvoice is sharp, almost panicked.
Ifreeze mid-step, my heart skipping a beat. “No, not yet.Why?Whathappened?”
“Anotherwoman was found dead.Threedays ago, on the east side ofEbonridgeat aHalloweenparty.”
Mybreath catches in my throat. “Wasit at theWhitmoreestate?”
Joshuanods, his expression grim. “Yes.”
Mymind races, the blood draining from my face.Iwas at that party. “Tellme everything.”
Aswe walk to my office, the corridors seem to stretch longer than usual.Finally,Ipush open my door and gesture forJoshuato follow.
“Closethe door.”
Joshuacomplies, and as soon as it clicks shut, he drops a file on my desk with a soft thud.
Isit down, my fingers trembling asIopen the folder.Thefirst thingIsee is a photograph, and a gasp escapes my lips.Iruffle through the papers frantically, each image more horrifying than the last.Myeyes widen asIrecognize the person in the pictures.
Thiswoman…Isaw her in the first camera feed in the basement.
Joshuawatches me intently. “Doyou know her?”
Ishake my head.
AsIsift through the photographs, each image intensifies the sinking feeling in my stomach.Ivividly remember the woman—the way she nervously glanced around the room, her discomfort palpable even through the grainy footage.
Themurders always seem to circle theWhitmoreproperty like vultures.Everytime a body is discovered, it’s always nearby, as if the estate itself draws the violence in, absorbing the darkness hiding beneath its polished surface.
Ishake my head, feeling helpless.
“Valeria, what’s wrong?”Joshua’svoice breaks through my racing thoughts.
Imeet his gaze, eyes wide with apprehension. “Iwas there,”Iconfess.
Joshua’sreaction is immediate; he plops down hard into the chair opposite my desk. “Ohshit,” he mutters under his breath,running a hand through his hair. “Didyou see anything?Anyonesuspicious?”
Ishake my head again, feeling the weight of guilt settle over me. “Iremember details, but nothing definite.Didanyone come forward with information?”
Joshuasighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Someonedid, but it was a dead end.Aguest mentioned seeing the victim go upstairs with a man during the party.Theycame back down together, and everything seemed normal.Noone recalls anything suspicious afterward.Thenext morning, she was found in the forest next to the property with a slit throat.”
Mymind races asIabsorb the details, trying to piece together the puzzle.
Examiningthe rest of the photo,Inotice her clothes.Theylook disheveled and torn, as if she had been running through the forest.Herdress is ripped in several places, the fabric snagged and shredded by branches.It’sclear she was being chased.
Thisfurther proves my assumption thatCamila’sdeath reeks of something sinister.Shewas declared dead, but the circumstances surrounding her passing have always felt off.Therewas no official investigation, no signs of foul play.TheWhitmoreswere quick to claim she committed suicide, but we’ve found nothing to prove it happened.It’slike she just vanished, and that doesn’t sit right with me.
TheWhitmoresare filthy rich, the kind of wealth that stretches back generations, with roots deep in this town.Theyown half of it, probably more, and their influence is everywhere.Moneylike that can buy a lot of things—silence, loyalty, cover-ups.Ihave no doubt they used it to bury whatever really happened toCamila, to make sure no one asks questions or digs too deep.Afterall, in a town like this, everyone has a price, and theWhitmoresknow exactly how to pay it.
It’sinfuriating knowing that they can just erase her like that, wipe away the truth with a few well-placed bribes.ButIwon’t let them get away with it.Camiladeserves justice, andI’mgoing to find out what really happened to her, no matter how many walls theWhitmorestry to put up.Theirmoney may buy a lot, but it won’t buy my silence.
Themysterious stranger from the basement flashes through my mind.