Eleven days was all she was given. The message came on her cell phone, and at first she didn’t mind—weird text message forwards like this were sent by the thousands every day. But when she got the feeling that she was being followed, it suddenly became much more than a stupid little text forward.
“You have eleven days to live. Live them wisely.”
It was approaching 5:30 PM on August 25, exactly eleven days since she received the text, and she was a nervous wreck. Who sent the message? How would she die? Would anyone notice? The questions ran through her head at a thousand miles an hour as a black figure drew up behind her. She didn’t even see the weapon strike as she fell to the ground, dead.
The figure walked away. He pulled out his cell phone, and began typing a new message:
“You have eleven days to live. Live them wisely.”
The figure hit a “Random Number” feature on his phone, and waited.
CHAPTER ONE
Detective Arnold Baxter rolled up to the corner of Cherry St. and Oxford Blvd. in his 1996 Lincoln Continental. Dressed in his trademark beige suit, grey shirt, and black tie, he stepped out of his vehicle and surveyed the scene. At 52 years old, he was the most experienced member of the force, but he never flaunted it in anyone’s face. He never sought attention, and although he was offered the position of Lieutenant, he gave it up twice. He preferred to stay behind the scenes, but often times it meant that his work went by unnoticed by the public, and unappreciated by his peers.
It was 6:30 PM on August 25, but the temperature in Lorendo, Texas, was still a steaming 89 degrees. Arnold wiped the sweat from his brow, and walked over to the police tape. He flashed his badge, and the officer at the tape let him through. He made his way around the crowd of officers and forensics experts, taking pictures and collecting evidence, to the body, which now lay draped with a white cloth. Police Chief Kevin Bradley, in his standard-issue black uniform and clipboard in hand, stood next to the body, and quickly glanced over at Arnold when he approached.
“Kristen Marquez, age 23,” said Kevin. “She was found here by a passerby. Nobody saw who killed her, or with what. So far, no evidence on or around the body. We’re running cold.”
“Christ,” said Arnold. “Not the best way to end the day.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Arnold lifted the sheet from Kristen’s body, and sighed at the mess. A gaping wound in the back of her neck made the head sit at an unnatural angle. Blood pooled at the wound and started to be absorbed by the dirt underneath. Her eyes were wide open, which seemed to indicate that the attack was a surprise, and she died instantly.
“You didn’t bother to close the eyes?” Arnold asked.
“We contacted the family, and they said that she told them she wanted to be cremated anyway, so we just never did it,” replied Kevin.
Arnold shrugged. “It’s a good prank to pull on the coroner.”
Kevin chuckled, and then turned to answer a question from one of his officers as Arnold continued to examine the body. Kristen was still clutching her purse, an indication that the motive was not theft; her clothes were unruffled, indicating no molestation or rape. Arnold looked around the area, and wondered why anyone would try to kill someone in the middle of the busiest intersection in Lorendo. He determined the preliminary motive as a “kill for thrill”.
Arnold rose as the coroner returned to collect the body. She lifted the white sheet, screamed, and smacked a now laughing Chief Bradley. Only sick humor creeps out of police work.
Arnold smiled, and felt the familiar buzz of his cell phone in his pocket. He took it out to see “ONE NEW MESSAGE” flash across the screen. He flipped open his phone, and read the message:
“You have eleven days to live. Live them wisely.”
On August 25, at 7:00 PM, the countdown began with a sniper bullet whizzing past his ear and into the skull of one of the officers.
Apart from the fact that unless they're a forensic examiner, they wouldn't even touch the body, they certainly wouldn't examine it until it was on the autopsy table.
