Story-A-Day #259: Containment

CONTAINMENT

She fidgeted nervously as we stepped from the car and headed towards the place she had told me about.

The road was busy, a constant stream of cars flowing past on their way to the places people go. One passing car honked, and although I knew it was for me, I ignored it to focus my attention on the fragile girl beside me.

I placed a gentle hand on her quivering back and she winced but allowed me to ease her along.

She was terrified, evidently, and that unfiltered fear certainly lent credence to her story.

She paused next to a chain link fence and pointed towards a metal storage container in the distance. That was the place, confirmed by the witness.

I called in back up as we walked back to the car.

"I'm going to need to check this out," I explained as delicately as I could. "Would you like me to take you home, or will you wait here in the car?"

"Here," she replied in the shattered hushed tone that was now so familiar to me. Familiar and painful.

I left her in the car, locked the doors, then made my way back to the enclosure and hopped gracefully over the fence. I was carefully as I crossed the grassy garbage filled lot. I didn't want to disturb anything that might be useful as evidence.

As I approached the metal storage container, I made note of a few key items, crushed cigarette butts in a uniform mound; a pair of discarded women's underwear; and a few crimson patches on a bright green leaf that I didn't need forensics to tell me were blood.

I circled the container once then returned to the door, which rested ajar, but only just. I placed one hand on my service revolver and reached out with the other to pull the doors open.

I had been there when she told the story, but it wasn't enough to prepare me for the gruesome seem the slowly revealed itself to the light of day.

I could hear her screaming, and for a moment I was not sure whether it was in the present, or an echo from the past.

I sprinted back towards the car, my revolver banging against my hip with every stride. I had promised to keep her safe and it had been a promise that was as personally motivated as it was professional.

Nobody deserved to experience the brutality of what I had just witnessed. The victim's scream was rising in volume, and I prayed I wasn't too late...

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