Vile Amity 1
Rosalie Sierra had an exceptionally normal life, being a homosexual homicide detective, her sister a deranged psychopath on the loose, her mother and father murdered by her sister's ex-fiance, Fredric when she was 14. Now she's fallen in love with an assassin who was sent to kill her in the first place, and blessed (or cursed) with eternal life. Suddenly, her oh-so-normal life takes a turn for the worse.
It was as the blond woman at the door explained. There was a dead body on the floor. There was a tightly gripped razor in her hand. And there was a wound in her chest. All signs pointed to suicide. Except one. The small mark of blood on the staircase to the second floor. No one else had noticed except for Rose.
"Rosalie Sierra. Department of murder and homicide." she flashed her badge at the awaiting policemen. Police dressed in nervous expressions and hastily fitted uniforms nodded as Rose walked past. The black cloak she wore brushed against each of their thighs and they backed out of her way. She knelt beside the pool of blood as the body stared with lifeless eyes. Although the girl had her knife embedded in her neck with her fingers still tightly grasping the handle, and a cut from her left ear to her right ear, there was no way Rose could believe this woman, only in her early twenties, had any reason whatsoever to discard her life. Before Rose had come to investigate the scene she did a little interrogating with the woman who answered the door.
The woman before her was intoxicatingly beautiful, her name, Schön, was German for beauty and she resembled that in every way, down to her bright blue (now stone cold) lustrous eyes. Schön, like, and unlike the woman at the door had blond hair, only the dead woman's was fuller, with more tones and a hint of gloss in it. The woman wore no makeup, she had no reason to, her cheeks were painted with a natural blush, and her eyelids tinted a light blue and her lips full and red. This beauty filled woman wore a knee-length cream-colored dress with large red polka dots on it.
She had only been dead about half an hour. Rosalie examined the woman's wrists for signs of previous depression, and there were about forty faded horizontal scabs on the woman's forearm. Rose picked up the camera from around her neck and took a few photos of the surrounding scene. Although the woman was definitely dead Rose couldn't help but feel that Schön was staring at her, her eyes pleading for some shimmer of hope for the return of her life.
No case before had Rose ever felt like this, so she decided to look around until most of the police were gone. She walked down the stairs and crouched down to snap a photo of the spot of blood. Just as Rose was about to stand, she noticed something. The drop of blood was only an inch or so in width and length but still had space to insert a small piece of evidence. Rache. The word incredibly tiny, scrawled, no, stamped into the wood beneath the spot of blood. This was no suicide. This was a job of an assassin.
* * *
"So, you are Rosalie Sierra?" the officer at the mahogany desk asked
"Yes" Rose responded. Rose sat in the interviewer's office for a job opening.
"And you are what...21?"
"Yes" she responded again.
The officer sighed, "So Rose, what has influenced you into becoming a homicide detective?"
Rose shifted in her seat as she began her story.
"My father was a well-respected man, a judge, and my mother his adversary. They were murdered when I was fourteen."
The officer did not look the least bit interested.
"I'm touched miss Sierra, do continue."
Rosalie sighed.
"He convicted a few people here and there, but only condemned one to death." Rose shifted "my sister died on July 17th at the ruling hand of my father. She was 16 when she died. She now lies at the bottom of the ocean. She killed six men. Her past relationships gone wrong. But one man lasted; Fredric Antonio Charles was her Fiance who, the day before her wedding, left her for a Spanish woman." Rose fiddled with a rouge string on the hem of her skirt.
"She went insane, sought, tracked and killed every one of her past beaux within the week. And then, well the police caught her in her blind rage. And brought her to my father."
She waited for conformation to go on. The officer nodded.
"He was the only judge here and he couldn't very well ship her off. So he sentenced her here. Either life in jail or a death sentence right away." Rose quivered as she spoke the next few lines of her story.
"My father begged Virginia to choose the lockup but she said she couldn't live with herself if Fredric didn't want her anymore. So the next afternoon, my father had her executed. The next week my mother and father were murdered in a morbid fashion. Each of their limbs pinned to a wall then decapitated." A shimmer of hatred passed over Rosalie's eyes
"I solved this case when I was 15. I know the Who, What, When and the Why. But I can't find the bloody Where."
The officer paused a moment to let this sink in.
"So Miss Sierra, I've looked over your resume and...you're in."
There was no rejoice in Rose, she merely stood and walked to the door.
"Oh, did I mention I'm a lesbian?"
The cop shook his head, wide-eyed. And with that Rosalie walked gracefully out the door.
"Rosalie Sierra. Department of murder and homicide." she flashed her badge at the awaiting policemen. Police dressed in nervous expressions and hastily fitted uniforms nodded as Rose walked past. The black cloak she wore brushed against each of their thighs and they backed out of her way. She knelt beside the pool of blood as the body stared with lifeless eyes. Although the girl had her knife embedded in her neck with her fingers still tightly grasping the handle, and a cut from her left ear to her right ear, there was no way Rose could believe this woman, only in her early twenties, had any reason whatsoever to discard her life. Before Rose had come to investigate the scene she did a little interrogating with the woman who answered the door.
The woman before her was intoxicatingly beautiful, her name, Schön, was German for beauty and she resembled that in every way, down to her bright blue (now stone cold) lustrous eyes. Schön, like, and unlike the woman at the door had blond hair, only the dead woman's was fuller, with more tones and a hint of gloss in it. The woman wore no makeup, she had no reason to, her cheeks were painted with a natural blush, and her eyelids tinted a light blue and her lips full and red. This beauty filled woman wore a knee-length cream-colored dress with large red polka dots on it.
She had only been dead about half an hour. Rosalie examined the woman's wrists for signs of previous depression, and there were about forty faded horizontal scabs on the woman's forearm. Rose picked up the camera from around her neck and took a few photos of the surrounding scene. Although the woman was definitely dead Rose couldn't help but feel that Schön was staring at her, her eyes pleading for some shimmer of hope for the return of her life.
No case before had Rose ever felt like this, so she decided to look around until most of the police were gone. She walked down the stairs and crouched down to snap a photo of the spot of blood. Just as Rose was about to stand, she noticed something. The drop of blood was only an inch or so in width and length but still had space to insert a small piece of evidence. Rache. The word incredibly tiny, scrawled, no, stamped into the wood beneath the spot of blood. This was no suicide. This was a job of an assassin.
* * *
"So, you are Rosalie Sierra?" the officer at the mahogany desk asked
"Yes" Rose responded. Rose sat in the interviewer's office for a job opening.
"And you are what...21?"
"Yes" she responded again.
The officer sighed, "So Rose, what has influenced you into becoming a homicide detective?"
Rose shifted in her seat as she began her story.
"My father was a well-respected man, a judge, and my mother his adversary. They were murdered when I was fourteen."
The officer did not look the least bit interested.
"I'm touched miss Sierra, do continue."
Rosalie sighed.
"He convicted a few people here and there, but only condemned one to death." Rose shifted "my sister died on July 17th at the ruling hand of my father. She was 16 when she died. She now lies at the bottom of the ocean. She killed six men. Her past relationships gone wrong. But one man lasted; Fredric Antonio Charles was her Fiance who, the day before her wedding, left her for a Spanish woman." Rose fiddled with a rouge string on the hem of her skirt.
"She went insane, sought, tracked and killed every one of her past beaux within the week. And then, well the police caught her in her blind rage. And brought her to my father."
She waited for conformation to go on. The officer nodded.
"He was the only judge here and he couldn't very well ship her off. So he sentenced her here. Either life in jail or a death sentence right away." Rose quivered as she spoke the next few lines of her story.
"My father begged Virginia to choose the lockup but she said she couldn't live with herself if Fredric didn't want her anymore. So the next afternoon, my father had her executed. The next week my mother and father were murdered in a morbid fashion. Each of their limbs pinned to a wall then decapitated." A shimmer of hatred passed over Rosalie's eyes
"I solved this case when I was 15. I know the Who, What, When and the Why. But I can't find the bloody Where."
The officer paused a moment to let this sink in.
"So Miss Sierra, I've looked over your resume and...you're in."
There was no rejoice in Rose, she merely stood and walked to the door.
"Oh, did I mention I'm a lesbian?"
The cop shook his head, wide-eyed. And with that Rosalie walked gracefully out the door.
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