I took the liberty of converting height and weight to." she flipped a few pages. Both parents deceased, results of a car accident two years ago. A pandemic baby, born in February of twenty-one. "Hit me," Eric replied, still eyeing the body. Mary, his junior partner and forensic wizard, stepped into the room behind him. There should be some pooling of blood, making the flesh looked bruised. The skin was just as pale there, something he knew was unusual. He crouched down, examining the underside of the body. She fell where she lay, the blood no longer being pumped through her veins. Stabbed in the heart, but not run through. The puddle under her was not as large as others Eric had seen, because this had been a clean kill. The blood stained her body all around it, stark against pale flesh. A one-inch wide cut, on her chest, just to the left of the center line. The wound that had killed her was still there. The only clothing she wore was a pair of black, lacy thigh-highs. Heavy eyeliner, blush on both cheeks and the tip of her nose, giving her a younger, almost naive look. She had a slim figure, modest breasts and skin so pale he could see the tracery of empty veins through it. Her hair, black and straight, glistening like the wings of a raven, spread out around her head in a halo. She was young, barely into womanhood, a life cut off before it could really begin. The answers, he was sure, lay in the body. Eric knew, because if it had, he wouldn't be here. Why am I dead? What happened to me? Who did it? The ceiling had no answers. The dead girl lay sprawled on the floor, her clouded eyes beseeching the ceiling for answers.
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