"It's so unfortunate…" She gasped.
I walked into the crime scene, camera in hand, the cold of the place eating my bones away. A Fun Fair seemed like a sacred childhood space, until today. Several corpses decapitated, laying by the tea cup attraction, simulating gingerbread cookies spread across a plate.
My name is Lorraine Harrison and I'm a photographer for one of the most popular magazines in the country. My job? it consists on getting to places like this, dumpsters, ghettos and any place of the sort to take pictures of what you think is disturbing, yet you need to see to make sure that life is real and happens out of your door.
I don't remember how I got this job… I don't even remember how I picked my career, I just ended up doing this and all of that seems irrelevant.
"Harrison, come over here." One of the officers called me. I turned and walked his way. I'm know by collaborating with the authorities, doing this kind of job makes you some kind of special piece of the investigation, the eyes of a photographer never deceive you and they are used to grab small details that others are used to ignore. From a misplaced hair in your shoulder to marks on your hands..
"Have you seen this before?" He asked me. I stood next to him and looked at the spot he was pointing at, one of the victims was holding a paper. A familiar one. I felt the impulse of kneeling down to touch it but I couldn't before the detectives made it to the place. I knelt down to see the letters printed on it.
The blood spilled over it and I couldn't read the word or words properly. Still, it activated something in my brain, some kind of consciousness of the serious matter of that finding. The uncertainty and anxiousness took over me. Inexplicably I felt like I should run away from the place as soon as I could.
"No, I don't." I shrugged and walked away pretending I needed to take some other pictures of the rest of the scene. As if I didn't have any with the 400 I already took. Men in black made it to the place, they didn't look like any investigator or agent. I put my hoodie on and feeling haunted by fear, once more I told one of the policemen that I was done. I'd mail them the pictures in few hours.
Making my way out, through the dark and cold streets of the industrial neighborhood I heard some footsteps behind me. I turned and saw one of the men in black suit walking slowly in the same directions as me.
"It's so unfortunate..."
The words resonated in my brain, it was almost as if someone was in my head, someone who's not me. I strutted, holding my messenger bag to my side. I turned through a narrow street, just to find it was one of those alleys we all feel scared of when we are dreaming. Dreaming.
In a nutshell I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Too pretty to die… to smart to live."
It was the end.
"It's so unfortunate." The brown eyed man held her shoulder, pressing her against the bed as she slept in apparent peacefulness. "Too pretty to die… Too smart to live, Dominique." Then, slowly, he grabbed the knife on his pocket and mindlessly dug it on her chest. He eyes wide open, fear pumping out of them, mixed with tears and gasp.
With a last sigh Barbara's body said good bye to the last breath of life she was holding on to. One of the most prolific dreamers in history, was killed by a nightmare.