Death does not haunt me. I see it every day in my line of work. You get use to the inhumanity of man after a while. An anonymous call brought us to the back alley.
She lay, naked and exposed, off the path of the bottle strewn lane. Her exquisite porcelain skin glistened with morning dew and a manicured hand rested against the splay of her black, silken hair.
The color of her open eyes, the way they spoke to me is what I remember most. The blue was sapphire, piercing, and cold. They haunt me still.