Over ten police cars parked down the street of Merlin Avenue, lights flashing. Neighbors standing outside on pretty yards, watching the scene playing before them. Groups of people too far away to hear, whispered amongst each other wondering about the crime. Those closest were blocked away by yellow tape and police officers. Two women cry and hold each other, as their husbands shake their heads and keep small children away. The redbrick house numbers 663, lit up with officers coming and going, in and out.
A young policeman, new to the force, hastily makes his way out of the house and is violently sick in the bushes. He is bent over clutching his stomach groaning silently. Another man with more years on the force, and wrinkles on his face, walks up to the younger man and waits patiently. Once finished, the young man straightens and salutes the older man, who breaths into his hands trying to warm them up. He wasn't as young as he used to be he found himself getting cold, even if it was a hot day.
"Chilly night isn't it sir?"
"Yes, yes it is."
He knew the officer was just trying to be nice. The elder man smiles remembering his own time fresh out of the academy. "You all right son?" He asks.
The man, pale, nods and says, "Yes sir, I'm okay."
The older man smiles politely again and walks past him, stopping just outside the door. He rubs something under his nose, then continues beyond into the house. He enters the living room and is greeted by a ghastly smell. It's so strong even the vapor beneath his nose isn't enough.
It's the smell of death.
The rooms so packed, he can hardly see the scattered crime scene. Whoever the family had been, they were a few boxes away from being full on hoarders, he mused.
A man of short stature within the crowd barks out an order, fifteen men get up to leave quickly. Six are as sick as the young officer he'd run into outside, and are grateful to be out of the house. Chief Blake makes his way over.
"What's the scene boss?"
The Chief, to his utter amazement, goes a pale green, he looks over his shoulder to the partially blocked room behind him. "Not good Logan, not good at all."
Logan follows the Chief, whose holding a piece of cloth to his face (a half-hearted attempt to block more of the smell). His eyes fall to the floor, he sees the pools of blood splattered and sprayed everywhere. The scent returns again, but he pushes his bile back.
"What's..."
The Chief interrupts, "Jesus Logan in all my years, I've never seen anything like this!"
The green threatens to return to his face. Logan swallows down more vomit.
"What's happened?" He asks.
"A family of seven found slain where they slept. The father Mr. Billy Hitch, forty-three, was found dead on the couch." The Chief guides him over to the exposed body.
"Looks as if he was gutted with a piece of glass." Sweat breaks out on the Chiefs forehead. He quickly wipes it away.
"Cause of death?" Logan asks. He walks around the couch to see the man closer.
"His neck was sliced open ear to ear. Not clear if that happened before, or after the gutting, however."
He leads Logan out of the room and down the hall to a bathroom.
"The eldest son was Billy Hitch Jr. a senior in High School. His graduation would have been at the end of this year."
Logan curses at the stench coming from the body. He follows the Chief out and up the stairs.
"Five year old twins Mark and Maggie Hitch." The tiny female twin, lay sprawled over her dead brother. "Stab wound went throught the back of her head and ended at the back of his." Logan nearly fainted. The now sweat drenched Chief Blake, continued on his grizzly tour.
"Next we have the youngest Hitch, eighteen month old Saddie. She was found, her body on the ground and her head decapitated." The Chief stopped to wipe his face. "The head was found in the twins' room on top of a stack of building blocks." Logans gag reflexes were starting to get the better of him.
"The Mother?" He asked, clearing his throat.
The Chief pointed out the door, to the room right across the way. Logans gut instinct was on overload, screaming to turn and run. He took a deep disgusted breath, and walked the distance to the room.
"Mrs. Margret Hitch, fourty-two; found stabbed over a hundred times. Her face was cut off."
Logan finally unable to stop himself made it to the farthest corner and lost his late dinner.
"Neighbors to the left and right, say the heard screams and called police."
In a clearing between heaves, Logan was able to ask, "What of the seventh Hitch and the Mothers face?"
"Eight year old Gracie Ann Hitch is missing, along with her Mother's face."
"Any signs whoever took her had a struggle on their hands? Any clues?"
"There's something you might want to see." Chief Blake said hesitantly.
"What?"
He followed the Chief, walking into the eight year olds room. Broken porcelain dolls lay scattered around the room, glass everywhere.
"Pieces from one doll in particular, match the stab wounds. DNA found is being tested right now as we speak."
Logan looked around the room. Looking at all the glass. Chief Blake's phone went off, scaring poor Logan almost out of his shoes. Chief Blake took it out and put it to his ear.
"What do we got Scott?" Logan turned and stared at him.
"What? Are you sure? Yeah all right. Keep looking Scott." He hung up. "DNA confirms it. The blood came from Gracie Ann Hitch."
Logan's feet turned to jelly and he nearly dropped to his knees.
"Dear God." He whispers picking up the small slice of the doll's face. "What does this mean Blake?" He says, dropping the formalities.
"What has been released?"