...Sleeping Beauty

The night was predictably dreary when Strife was called to the church. Predictable because people always turned up dead on dreary nights. The clouds brought out something dark in human nature that inevitably led to violence.

What was unpredictable was that the intended victim was still alive. Unconscious, but definitely breathing. It was the murderer who was dead. He was wanted in seven cities, but somehow had ended with his throat torn out and unusual deep scratches on his back. Certainly a unique way to get caught.

The church looked more like a palace from outside. Inside huge stained glass windows decorated every wall framed between columns. Strife could see the colours when the occasional flash of lightning briefly illuminated the sky.

The unconscious victim was a young girl, only seventeen or so. She was probably the daughter of the priest, but until they found him they couldn’t be sure. The girl was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs in below the altar, her gold hair sprayed across the stone floor. A pool of blood was dripping down the stairs, spreading from the killer’s body stretched behind the altar, but hadn’t reached the girl yet. A large purple cushion, presumably from the great throne-like chair behind the altar – though he had no idea why the church would have a huge throne-like chair – was lying half on, half off the steps in the killer’s blood. Blood was also smeared across the back of the altar, as if someone had been dragged across it.

“Where are the paramedics?” Strife asked the constable at the scene.

“They’re held up at an accident on the other side of the city. Bridge collapsed.”

“What about the M.E.?”

“Same place.”

He nodded. “Let me know when they get here.” The copper left him alone in the hall with the corpse and the comatose girl.

The girl didn’t appear to have any head wounds whatever. There was a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. He noticed a cut on her finger as he extracted the note.

“A kiss can wake even the dead…” He read aloud. “A romantic huh?”

He picked up the killer’s knife and examined it. The razor sharp tip was coated with a ribbon of blood. Why had the killer only pricked her finger? He wondered. And why had the girl fainted.

Strife leant over the girl. She was quite pretty really. If she were older he would have said beautiful. A little on the skinny side, but she would probably fill out. A regular sleeping beauty, he thought. Uncharacteristically sentimental he kissed his fingers and touched them to her lips. It provoked no response from the girl.

“Guess the kiss doesn’t work after all,” he told himself wryly and took out some smelling salts. He always kept some on him. People tended to faint at the sight of dead bodies. Or throw up. He’d become quite adept at catching falling bodies.

After a moment of breathing in the horrendous smell – they really did stink – the girl stirred. She stared at him in fright until he showed her his badge.

“I’m detective Strife,” he told her. “Could you tell me your name please.”

“Bel, I mean Belinda Summers. That’s my full name.” She noticed the blood on the steps and turned pale but didn’t faint again. From where she was sitting she couldn’t see the body, only the killer’s feet sticking out behind the altar. Probably a good thing.

“Bel, could you tell me what happened before you fainted?”

“Um… okay.” She determinedly looked away from the bloody feet and into his eyes. He noticed she had gorgeous blue eyes. “I was looking after the chapel while Dad was out. It was boring so I was writing crap in a note book. Then this really weird guy came in. He was hunched over something he was holding and looked kinda shifty. He came right up to the altar and then he started waving this knife around. I threw up my hands to ward him off and he knicked my finger. I tripped over and landed on my butt. Then I looked at my finger and saw the blood welling up out of the cut. It creeped me out and I got all woozy, like when you’re really drunk and about to pass out.” She stopped abruptly and briefly looked away. “Not that I’ve ever been drunk…”

“Of course not,” Strife said with a slight smile.

“Okay… anyway, right before I fainted, I looked up and saw the guy grinning over me – only it was a really freaky grin – and that’s when I saw something really weird. This giant golden eagle was diving at him like it was about to attack. It looked just like the one in the stained glass window.”

“Could it have been trick of the eye?” Strife asked. “Maybe you just saw the window behind him?”

She shook her head. “No the angle is wrong. The guy was standing about where you are and the window is behind me.” She swivelled to point to it.

A chain of lightning lit up the sky for a good five seconds, allowing Strife to get a good look at it. The bird was poised majestically with its wings spread. Each feather was an individual piece of glass. Its beak was open in a fierce cry and its talons were open as if to strike at something. There were glints of red around the beak and talons in an otherwise blue and gold scene.

“That’s strange.” Bel said.

“What?”

“There was never any red in that scene before.”