Ain't No Rest For The Vain
part one of three;
“Homicide?”
“So far, that’s the only conclusion. No one could do this to themselves.”
“Do what?”
“Just see for yourself.”
Darren Matthews slipped underneath the bright yellow crime scene tape and followed his co-worker. They entered an apartment, one that mostly teenagers rented out during their years of college. There were weekly parties; fights between boyfriends and girlfriends; a few car crashes from some drunken kids; nothing like this had ever happened before.
He pushed past a few teenagers being interviewed, and sent a small look of “I’m sorry for your loss” to an older woman and man who were sobbing on a couch. Down the hall was a girl standing in the doorway of what seemed to be the bathroom of the apartment.
“Excuse me, miss, you’re not supposed to be-“
The teenager, easily spotted as a redhead, turned to look at Darren and his partner.
“S-sorry. I just… I’ll go.” She pushed past them and disappeared around a corner.
“That was the girl’s sister.”
Darren nodded, trying to find the reason of why the girl didn’t look sad. She looked… relieved?
“Victim’s name?”
“Jacqueline Francis Hurst. Most call her Frankie.”
“Age?”
“Twenty.”
“Time of death?”
“Around fourteen hours ago.”
It was ten in the evening right now, so… somewhere after eight AM, maybe?
“Cause of death?”
His partner went silent here… Darren looked into the bed room, first laying eyes on the vanity of the bedroom. There was someone already taking pictures, but that wasn’t what surprised Darren.
Everything on the vanity counter was covered in blood. As he moved closer to get a better look, he even found a few finger prints smudged here and there. They were useless though, all they could get off of it was the blood. He highly doubted it was from the killer. With the way things looked…
Darren followed the drops of blood on the carpet and found where the victim was.
She indeed looked no older than twenty, and her once-flaming red hair was fanned out around her head. She was staring, with dead green eyes, at her left hand that held a bloody hand mirror.
This, indeed, was torture. Darren could tell from the pictures all around the room that she was a beautiful girl. Had that been the downfall?
“So far, they haven’t found any leads, so it’s a cold case.”
Darren nodded, not needing to here anymore, and left the room.
He had a few things to figure out…
Back in the living room of the small dead college student’s apartment, a family (now only made of three instead of four) sat in angst. Or, two of them sat in angst. The one that didn’t, the (now) only child of the Hurst family, sat staring off at the wall full of pictures and posters that her older sister had once collected and taken. Jacqueline was both a photographer and a model; more of the later than the first.
Valerie, the redhead teenager, knew of what happened. She wouldn’t speak, but she knew. Everything had gone tumbling down for her older sister around a month ago. Frankie wasn’t one to take things easily. She liked things going her way, no highway option. But one thing didn’t make sense…
The number Frankie had left for her the last time she saw her. Valerie could still feel the crumbled paper in her pocket. It was there, waiting for her to pull out and dial the seven digits on it.
All there was were numbers. No name, no letters; just numbers.
The Hurst family was ushered out of the house before the dead girl’s body was taken out. Valerie had seen it, had seen what happen when one gets too prideful…
But that was Frankie. That was her older sister. She had always loved her looks, always cared about what others thought of her. She was living for someone else, not herself. The fact that she was a model only made things worse. She was always sick from not eating; always trying to be the “perfect” size. It made Valerie sick just to think about the things her sister did. How could she? Frankie was just cared too much about herself… She was too… too…
Vain.
“So far, that’s the only conclusion. No one could do this to themselves.”
“Do what?”
“Just see for yourself.”
Darren Matthews slipped underneath the bright yellow crime scene tape and followed his co-worker. They entered an apartment, one that mostly teenagers rented out during their years of college. There were weekly parties; fights between boyfriends and girlfriends; a few car crashes from some drunken kids; nothing like this had ever happened before.
He pushed past a few teenagers being interviewed, and sent a small look of “I’m sorry for your loss” to an older woman and man who were sobbing on a couch. Down the hall was a girl standing in the doorway of what seemed to be the bathroom of the apartment.
“Excuse me, miss, you’re not supposed to be-“
The teenager, easily spotted as a redhead, turned to look at Darren and his partner.
“S-sorry. I just… I’ll go.” She pushed past them and disappeared around a corner.
“That was the girl’s sister.”
Darren nodded, trying to find the reason of why the girl didn’t look sad. She looked… relieved?
“Victim’s name?”
“Jacqueline Francis Hurst. Most call her Frankie.”
“Age?”
“Twenty.”
“Time of death?”
“Around fourteen hours ago.”
It was ten in the evening right now, so… somewhere after eight AM, maybe?
“Cause of death?”
His partner went silent here… Darren looked into the bed room, first laying eyes on the vanity of the bedroom. There was someone already taking pictures, but that wasn’t what surprised Darren.
Everything on the vanity counter was covered in blood. As he moved closer to get a better look, he even found a few finger prints smudged here and there. They were useless though, all they could get off of it was the blood. He highly doubted it was from the killer. With the way things looked…
Darren followed the drops of blood on the carpet and found where the victim was.
She indeed looked no older than twenty, and her once-flaming red hair was fanned out around her head. She was staring, with dead green eyes, at her left hand that held a bloody hand mirror.
This, indeed, was torture. Darren could tell from the pictures all around the room that she was a beautiful girl. Had that been the downfall?
“So far, they haven’t found any leads, so it’s a cold case.”
Darren nodded, not needing to here anymore, and left the room.
He had a few things to figure out…
Back in the living room of the small dead college student’s apartment, a family (now only made of three instead of four) sat in angst. Or, two of them sat in angst. The one that didn’t, the (now) only child of the Hurst family, sat staring off at the wall full of pictures and posters that her older sister had once collected and taken. Jacqueline was both a photographer and a model; more of the later than the first.
Valerie, the redhead teenager, knew of what happened. She wouldn’t speak, but she knew. Everything had gone tumbling down for her older sister around a month ago. Frankie wasn’t one to take things easily. She liked things going her way, no highway option. But one thing didn’t make sense…
The number Frankie had left for her the last time she saw her. Valerie could still feel the crumbled paper in her pocket. It was there, waiting for her to pull out and dial the seven digits on it.
All there was were numbers. No name, no letters; just numbers.
The Hurst family was ushered out of the house before the dead girl’s body was taken out. Valerie had seen it, had seen what happen when one gets too prideful…
But that was Frankie. That was her older sister. She had always loved her looks, always cared about what others thought of her. She was living for someone else, not herself. The fact that she was a model only made things worse. She was always sick from not eating; always trying to be the “perfect” size. It made Valerie sick just to think about the things her sister did. How could she? Frankie was just cared too much about herself… She was too… too…
Vain.