No, no, no!
It was like a knife thrust into my heart, then twisted until I screamed. Kyle had hurt me badly, and he wanted me to know something: there was worse to come. This was just the beginning. I stood silent and transfixed in the bedroom of Zach and Liz Taylor.
My eyes were blurred1 by tears. Two of my dearest friends were dead. I had been to their house dozens of times before - for parties, dinner, late-night talks. Zach and Liz had visited on Fifth Street many times. Zach was Godfather to little Alex.
My only consolation2 was that they had died quickly. Kyle was probably nervous about getting caught. He knew he had to get in and out of their apartment in the Adams-Morgan section of Washington quickly.
Whatever his reason, he had killed the Taylors with single gunshots to the head. He hadn’t bothered to mutilate the bodies. I thought the message was clear: This wasn’t about them. It was about the two of us.
Zach and Liz Taylor hadn’t mattered one way or the other to him. Maybe that was the worst thing of all. How easily he could kill. How much he wanted to hurt me.
This was just the start of it.
It would get worse.
There was no evidence of rage, no passion at this crime scene. I almost got the sense that once he was inside their bedroom he’d had second thoughts. Oh Kyle, Kyle. Have mercy on us.
I made mental notes - no need to write any of this down. I knew every horrifying3 detail by heart. I would never forget any of it until the day I died.
The gunshots had blown away the sides of their faces. I had to force myself to look. I remembered how in love they had always seemed to me. Zach had once told me that ‘Liz is the only person I know who I enjoy being with on a long car ride/That was the test for him. They never ran out of things to say to one another. I felt incredibly hollowed out as I stared at them. They were gone now. What a terrible waste, what a horror show.
I walked past their bodies to a large casement4 window that looked out on the street. I was feeling so unreal. I saw the marquee sign for Cafe Lautrec, closed now. I thought about Kyle on the run, what he must be thinking, where he might go next.
I wanted to catch him, to stop him. No, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to hurt him in the worst way possible.
Someone from the Crime Scene Unit edged up to me, a sergeant5 named Ed Lyie. ‘Sorry about your loss. What do you want from us, Detective? We’re ready to get to work here.’
‘Sketch, video, photograph,’! told Lyie. But I really didn’t need any of it. I didn’t need any more graven images, or even any evidence. I knew who the killer6 was.
1 blurred | |
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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2 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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3 horrifying | |
a.令人震惊的,使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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4 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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5 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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6 killer | |
n.杀人者,杀人犯,杀手,屠杀者 | |
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