The Suitcase - UNCOMPLETED Short Story 

        I ducked down underneath the yellow caution tape and walked slowly to the “No Tell Motel,” room number thirteen. Detective Marcus Dazet followed close behind and rambled off what witnesses had to say.

        My mind was focusing elsewhere as I came into the room lifting my arm up shielding my eyes from the brilliance of the cameras flash. The room was dark with its curtains drawn, while the air felt sickeningly suffocating.

        “Hey you can’t be in here,” said the woman who carried the camera in her hands, with black curls falling over her shoulders. She could undoubtedly be the city's medical examiner.

        Marcus stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, “It’s all right he’s with us. He’s a ‘special’ profiler, Ian Volkov.”

        I felt her eyes linger on me curious to what I was doing as I walked aimlessly around the room arms clasped behind my back.  I paused and turned to face them both.

        “May I have a moment alone?”

        “No-”

        “Yes, Volkov, we’ll be outside,” Marcus interrupted her then guided her from the room.

        I hadn’t moved until they had shut the door behind them. It was peaceful though the air was tight in my lungs, while the stench of blood that floated among the room. My eyes were observing everything, from the little yellow number tags to the evidence laying next to them.

        How could this be labeled as a missing persons case when it’s clear there was more than just an abduction that happened here? I pulled a pair of white latex gloves from my back pocket.

        My eyes traveled to the small bathroom door that laid open. I stepped in to see right away that the mirror had been smashed, broken as if a head had been bashed against it. With my gloved fingers I traced them down along the sharp edges and saw the sticky substance of blood.

        I looked down and saw black hair-dye was dried to the once white porcelain sink. Makeup too was scattered everywhere as it coated all surfaces with pink and brown powder. I pushed aside the empty hair-dye box to reveal a photo of a young girl.

        I held it up in the dim light to make out that she was fifteen at most... freckles, yet flawless skin. Light brown hair was pulled to the side in a simple braid and she wore a cream colored cowboy hat with black diamond studs that rimmed the band across it.

        “A young life cut too short,” I said setting the photo back down walking over to the shower pushing the curtain aside looking in. A set of keys on a keychain was caught in the open drain, I bent down retrieving them noticing the letter “M.”

        Based by the letters color and design it was clear that this did not belong to the girl in the picture. What was the girls name? Marcus had been naming off information like a keynote presentation and I had been oblivious to it all. Shoot. What had Marcus said her name was? Kayla? No. Kristen? No... no... no... Casey, yes Casey White.

        The golden keys had traces of blood lingering in the creases. They appeared to have been used to slash against something... something soft, something like flesh.

        I took the keys with me as I went back out into the hotel room reviewing so far what I had to go on.

        Fifteen-year-old girl gone. Black hair-dye in the sink, makeup spilt, broken mirror and a set of keys both containing blood. The broken mirror and blood automatically became a red flag. It was not a runaway teen... this was a forceful abduction.

        While continuing to think, I stood at the foot of the bed overlooking the almost bare mattress. The sheets were half dragged across the floor as if someone had been pulled off of the bed unwillingly, yet something still was not right. I bent down to examine the mattress, it was uneven.

        I pressed my gloved hands underneath the surface to gain a good hold and pried it half way up just to look under. Sure enough there was something near the edge.  I reached forward and felt my gloves touch a dampened cloth.

        In my hands I held a handkerchief soiled in red lipstick. Carefully I brought it up to my nose finding it to reek of the sweet smell of chloroform. The smell alone clouded my thoughts, I pulled instinctively away and set the cloth down on the sheets.

        I shook my head to rid my senses of that addicting smell, “Someone wanted her out, yet why?” turning around behind me her suitcase was still zipped. No one had opened it yet? Hmm... interesting.

        I took off my white gloves replacing them with new ones….