Penance: Chapter 1
Excerpt for forthcoming crime/thriller novella
The stench radiated throughout the loft as the blaring sun shone through the industrial glass windows. White suits skated across the tiled floor, clashing with the suffocating darkness hovering over the apartment.
Life’s fingers pried my legs to move, but I refused. Instead, I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the heart of the house.
Death stalked us with its stagnant rhythm. Each note lingered, inviting mankind to peer into the black pit of despair to see its design.
I tried to look past it, concentrating on my reflection in the window, but my heartbeat crashed against its tempo. Lost in its cadence, it trapped me behind steel bars. My soul begged for freedom, but my flesh resolved to dine with misery.
Evidence unit technicians stampeded into the loft. The creaking tires and metal rattling against the tiles broke death’s spell.
I plodded down the steps and parked myself at the main entrance to the living area. A gray sectional sat in the middle. Three vases and notepads rested on the left-hand table.
My attention shifted to the other side of the loft. A lone credenza reclined against the far wall.
Detectives rambled into the room, disturbing the flow of sliding cart wheels and the clicking of cameras. They huddled in the corner, gossiping about me, no doubt.
I ambled to the breakfast nook and fixated on a silver tray with two half-empty glasses before wandering to the green folding chairs encircling the dining table.
A granite-topped island held a ceramic dish full of wooden utensils, a stack of plates, and a terracotta bowl. Everything appeared to be in order. No sign of a struggle.
Chatter from the adjoining room interrupted my concentration. Cameras flashed. Feet traipsed across the floor. Detectives shot glances in my direction.
I stepped around the brick partition, grasped my pendant, and recited her name—Baduhenna.
White suits scattered as I pushed my way further inside. Whispers battered my eardrum. Shuffling evidence bags and shouting from the hallway created a cacophony of madness, but I deafened their cries and focused on the gray pipes traveling along the ceiling.
I followed the round spiral ducts, running the length of the bedroom down the wall, before shifting my attention to the nightstand. A framed picture sat next to a lamp and an alarm clock.
Officers dispersed, retreating to their designated corners, fabricating fresh stories about my past. I smiled as they spun a web of tales—kidnapped as a child, a secret serial killer. Someone accused me of eating children at one point.
I remained fixated on the wall. My eyes traced the liquid dripping from the red letters, spilling over the wooden slat headboard.
Damon sauntered into the room, his arm brushing against mine as he skated past me and slid on his mask. He wrapped his arms around his chest and recited the lines. “Your naked carcass lies sprawled across the bed begging for redemption while your eyes taunt my blade to dance with your tongue.”
“What the hell does that mean?” an officer said.
“Anyone look inside their mouths?”
Detective Smyth and a few of his cronies peered in my direction. “Aren’t you supposed to be the expert, Xander?” Their laughter faded in the distance as they rounded the partition.
“I’ll meet you outside.” Damon removed his mask and bolted out of the room.
Caught in death’s puzzle, I pulled the mask off my face and examined the bodies. One male. One female. On their backs, their arms lay by their sides. Dressed, the woman’s legs were straight, but slightly opened. Her shoes were placed at the end of the bed.
The man lay naked with his clothes folded and positioned beside his left foot. His legs crossed at the ankle.
I knelt and studied them—the position of their limbs, where her shoes were as opposed to his. “Why are you undressed?” My head tilted as I gazed into his eyes.
Murmurs interrupted my train of thought. A few detectives gawked, fingers pointed in my direction.
“Detective Xander Walsh.” Coroner Watts skirted around the partition, wearing his coveted smile. “You look like you have a question?”
“I take it you’ve seen the message?”
“Yeah. Interesting start to my morning.” He flipped through his notepad. “His tongue’s missing.”
“Just his?”
“Hers is fully intact.”
“Anything else before I head out?”
“He slit her throat. It was quick. Can’t say the same for him.” He pointed to the man’s neck. “He drained him through the carotid artery. I’m assuming he used some of it to write on the wall, but I can’t be sure.”
“Maybe he took some with him, like a trophy.”
“That’s possible.”
“Is that how he died?”
“It appears so. I’ll know more once I examine the bodies.” He turned and stared at me. “Welcome back.”
“I’m glad someone’s happy to see me.”
“Don’t worry about these guys. Most of them can’t even spell their names. Anyway, we all have demons to fight.”
I nodded before studying the scene one more time. “They were bound.” I pointed toward their wrists as Coroner Watts leaned over the mattress.
“It’s possible.” A technician approached the bed holding a manila envelope. “There’s sticky residue around their wrists.”
“Alright. I’m headed to the station. Call me when you have something.”
“Will do.”
I walked out of the room, exited the loft, and bolted toward the stairs.
Neighbors gathered in the stairwell, slowing the flow of traffic. Officers shoved them away, yelling for them to get back into their apartments.
I pushed through the crowd as the onlookers scattered into the main hall. A few ran into their lofts, escaping the madness, but most lingered in the walkway, backs pressed against the wall, watching evidence being carted out of the building.
I hurried out the front door and stepped down the single brick step. The sun reflected off the bright yellow ‘Welcome to Winston Estates’ sign, forcing me to squint.
A group of officers stood at the helm of a mob forming outside, shoving a few pedestrians who were forcing their way through the crime scene tape. More occupants sprinted up the sidewalk, demanding entry.
The television station van skidded into the lot across the street, parking beside the local gossip mill. They jumped out of their vehicle with cameras ready and scurried onto the road, bobbing and weaving between cars as drivers beeped their horns.
Damon sat on the hood of his car stalking them, his eyes ping-ponging from the street to the sidewalk.
The reporters darted past him, thrusting their microphones in Captain Jansen’s face.
“You left kind of fast.”
“Didn’t sleep well.” Damon grasped onto the styrofoam cup and sighed. “Even the coffee tastes stale.”
“You and Jackie alright?”
“We can’t seem to get our shit together.”
“You two will work it out. You always do.”
He slid off the hood of the car and smiled at me. “What about you? You’re back. Some of us missed you.”
“What’s wrong? My replacement wasn’t good enough?”
“You’re the only one I’ve been able to mesh with.”
“Aw, that’s so sweet. You’re definitely getting a Christmas card this year.”
“Wow, really?”
An officer handed me a photograph.
“What is it?” Damon said, peering over my shoulder.
“The poem.”
“Poem? Is that what we’re calling it?”
“For now. Maybe it’ll lead somewhere.”
We got into the car, sped out of the parking lot, and turned onto Birchwood Boulevard. A group of women ran across the street, trying to beat the changing light, while horns and skidding tires clashed with the chirping birds and music blasting from the truck behind us.
Damon rolled up his window to mask the sound, but it didn’t help. Instead, our vehicle vibrated against the concrete.
We inched closer to the funeral home and a little past the corner of Millwood Street before traffic came to a crawl. People ventured out of their homes, rushing to their neighbors to find out what happened. I rolled down my window, sticking my head out to get a better look.
The tow truck operator hauled a blue car, indented on the right side, onto its bright yellow flatbed. He secured the tires, jumped into his vehicle, lifted the bed, and sped down the street.
The truck in front of us crept forward. We followed behind, watching officers question the driver on the side of the road. He staggered back and forth as they put him in the police car.
The rest of the ride was uneventful. A couple argued on their lawn. Children boarded the school bus. A few cars turned into the parking lot of Latte Madness for their morning fix.
I cringed at the thought. Coffee never enticed me. I preferred iced tea—unsweetened.
Damon beat his hand on the steering wheel, bobbing his head as the radio blasted from another vehicle. “I love this song.”
“Well, we all have our vices.”
He laughed as the car turned down the alley, music fading in the distance. “What do you think about this case?”
“I don’t know. I’m not much into poetry, but I’m assuming there’s a hidden message somewhere. Otherwise, the theatrics are pointless.”
“You don’t sound enthused.”
“Are you?”
“No.” Damon pulled into the lot and shut off the engine. “Are you ready?”
My lips parted, but no words escaped. I stared out the window, contemplating whether I was ready for the forthcoming onslaught.
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Penance, my forthcoming crime/thriller novella. The book will be released on August 18, 2025, and is currently available for pre-order.