The First Of Many ~ Frankie Drabble
| Trigger Warnings - This contains scenes of a sexual nature and gore/violence|
Her body was trembling in adrenaline, hand raising to wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead which smeared the pearls of scarlet across her head. Splatters of crimson painted her like a deadly Dalmatian as she came to terms with what she had just done.
The angel’s cami-top was torn, one strap missing and drooping at the neck which barely covered her perk breast. The once-white material now caked in red and black. Blood and dirt from the victim’s dirty hands.
Did he actually think he’d succeed in sleeping with such a flawless creature?
That is what Frankie was. Her body was carved by God himself. A creation of purity and perfection. There wasn’t a lump on her body which wasn’t meant to be part of her alluring body. But that wasn’t what it was made for. She wasn’t created for men to come crawling. Frankie was an angel. She had purpose. Once anyway.
The unknown male laid limp and pale on the floor of the escape exit from the club, stubble lapping up his own pool of blood, thick hairs beginning to stick together. It was quiet; the thumping of the music upstairs could still be heard but it was muffled. Only moments before Frankie and the man were getting along just fine. Drinking and laughing together. But as the alcohol consumed him, his intentions turned much darker. Frankie had found herself being forced into the black doors and through them. Luckily for her, the club was packed and there was no one paying attention to the vulgar male’s sadistic mind as he grabbed hold of her tee in a poor attempt to feed his eyes with more than the skin from her arms and chest. In a bid to free herself from him trying to overpower her, she had pushed him back. Frankie had not realised her own strength though. She didn’t understand that she was still very much an angel, with powers the same as before. But the alpha had not liked this one bit. A woman trying to say no to him?!
In retaliation, the man pulled out a pocket knife and was quick to corner the beautiful blonde once more, blade held to her jugular as he whispered twisted sweet nothings in her ear.
The rest was a blur to her. Somehow, she had managed to dis-arm him and in an attempt to escape, her hand ended up lunging at his chest, with his blade in hand. In fact, she had struck him numerous times. Like slicing through butter, it was easy. It wasn’t until his torso was pumped with 20+ wounds that Frankie stopped and stepped back. The knife slowly slid out of her hand as her grasp fell limp and her sapphire gaze widened in realisation of what she had just done. Her breathing heavy and her frame shaking. What had she done?
It was a sight she never thought she’d see. A creature so pure had sinned in the worst way.
Frankie allowed no time to think about her actions. After all, it was self defence – right?
She followed the stairwell down and out the metal industrial doors as she ran into the night.
- - - - - -
Detectives were everywhere. It wasn’t a surprise though. Such an aggressive and pre-meditated homicide was going to break the news. But as one of the senior agents knelt next to the body an analysed the knife and the bloody smears of fingerprints which covered the wall and the floor, both the detective’s eyes didn’t believe what they saw. Or the lack of what they saw.
“Sgt Blackwell.. come here..” He summoned his colleague to confirm what his own eyes had come across.
“How can that be? Fingerprints that hold.. no DNA..” The other senior Investigator confirmed as he used fine black powder, dusting over everything he could find in frantic hope for a lead. He then glanced at his senior Sherlock. As if he had seen a ghost. He was gaunt and horrified.
Nothing on the scene could place Frankie there. Nothing apart from a sole ivory feather which lay singularly in the corner of the stairwell which must of fallen loose when the bloodshed began.
She had got away with murder.