***Devon hovered in Sadie Jane’s bedroom doorway, gazing at her naked body laying on the bloodied carpet. An icy pain rammed down his throat, and he forced his legs to move toward her in small, quivering steps. She wore a red wig, the one with the long soft ringlets, his favorite, which was now tainted with blood. Her middle breast had been sliced off, and a knife had been put in its place between the two remaining breasts. Her arms were folded over her abdomen, a knife thrust into her hands, locking them together. Another blade was jammed in her overlapping feet, and eight additional blades purged the sides of her body.
He trembled looking at the grotesque sight before him, its symbolism clear as the ominous shroud that cloaked his soul. Eleven blades thrust into the body of an intimately acquainted redhead at places that were eternally and painfully engraved in his mind.
His breaths came in spastic waves, and he fell to his knees. He stroked Sadie Jane’s swan-like neck, cold and gray, and inspected the base of her head and around her ears with probing fingers. And there it was.