Thank you so much for your reviews, I've written this plus two more chapters and then I think that will be the end of it, not unless I get struck by a lightning bolt of inspiration within the next few days. It's getting a bit hectic in the real world, I'm moving out and going to university so hopefully I'll get this all uploaded before I trot off.
There Were Roses
A cup of coffee sat on the table in the living room. It had long gone cold, only a sip or two had been taken out of it. Beside the mug was a plate, an untouched sandwich on it. The TV flickered in the dark room, illuminating the crime scene. Broken glass was scattered across the table, a shattered photo frame, the remains of the mirror above the fireplace lay on the rug beside the bookshelf. And amongst all of this was a smear of blood, spatter up the cream walls, dried into the curtains on the window, crusted on the woman that lay between the side table and the coat closet.
She was the third victim of a serial rapist murderer that they knew of, but this was the first that had been found on NCIS time. The call came in at one in the morning and Gibbs wasted no time in calling everyone in.
Gibbs made no comment that Tony and Ziva arrived together, Tim had given them a gloating look and gone back to snapping photos of the disturbance around the room. Cushions strewn across the room, a vase upturned, water dripping onto the floor and petals trodden into the carpet. The living room window was cracked, the curtains partially torn from the railing.
"A third victim?" Tony asked pulling out a pad of paper from his backpack. McGee made to answer but Ziva didn't hear what he said. She could see his mouth move but her ears were full of her pounding heart that drowned out his words. Her eyes were drawn back to the body. It lay in the middle of the room, the blue light from the table sending a faint eerie glow on her pale and naked skin. Her flesh stood out sharp in contrast to the large portions that had been scored and butchered by a sharp instrument. Blood stained the flooring, spreading out to make an outline around her torso but it was also smeared across tiles from where she had rolled away from her attacker, from where she had dragged herself trying to escape. Roses were smooched into the pale carpet, the destroyed pink petals dotted around the room. Once so pretty, so feminine.
"Constance Grant." Gibbs was talking but only some words penetrated Ziva's mind. "32, attacked, raped, killed."
Ziva's throat burned as she imagined what this woman went through. Anger swept through her once again but was replaced an overwhelming sense of fear. She looked at the woman again, her eyes were slightly open and you could see the whites of them. Empty and sad. Cold and gone. Ziva could imagine this girl, beautiful with her long blonde hair and full lips. She could see her laugh and smile. Then she saw her on the floor, her clothes torn, her skin bruised, her lips chapped, her hair pulled. She could see her being pulled and pushed. At first she would fight back. She could tell that, cushions on the floor, feathers leaking out of one, the broken bookshelf and smashed glass. Ziva could see her scrambling, her hands coming up in front of her face, tiny fists lashing out, nails tearing at skin maybe. But then he would overpower her and she would fall, he would be too strong for her, his body pressing into her, his hands taking away her clothes, her strength, her dignity.
"Ziva." Tony's loud voice broke into her mind and she snapped out of her daydream. The three men in the room were all staring at her.
"Yes." Ziva answered, the voice that left her mouth was wobbily and weak. Ziva blinked and cleared her throat but found a lump that wasn't as easy as she expected to move.
"Need some air." Gibbs barked. A statement, not a question. Ziva gave a distracted nod and stumbled past evidence tags, yellow numbers, tripping over her backpack and nearly bumping into Tony on her way to the door. Once outside and on her own she took deep lungfuls of air and closed her eyes, willing the visions of the dead woman's eyes to leave her. She didn't have to imagine the thoughts that would've ran through her head, they had ran through her own once. But at least Constance didn't have to think of that now, relive it every moment, try to get back on track. Taking another deep breath Ziva calmed herself down and wondered if she would've preferred to have died after too.