Directed By Death

Ring…Ring…Ring…Ring…

Buzz…Buzz…Buzz…Buzz…

Woody laid in his bed staring at the ceiling fan. He had been awake for a while. Woody wondered if he had even slept at all. His phone and alarm clock continued to go off. Woody made no effort to turn off either. He counted how many times his phone rang. It would ring for a time, paused, then continued to ring. After the seventh round of ringing, Woody turned over to silence both devices. He knew the reason for his phone ringing off the hook. It was another homicide scene in Houston. Woody was a fourteen year veteran of the Houston PD Homicide team. His job was to take pictures of the crime scene. Lately the memories of past assignments were wearing down on his psyche.

Not being able to avoid it any longer, Woody grabbed his phone and sat up on the edge of his bed. He stared at the glowing screen in his hand.

He cleared his throat and answered the phone.

“Woodland Greeves here.” Woody’s voice was still rough. He rubbed his forehead.

“Didn’t you receive my text? I need you at that address. It’s a bad one.” His sergeant said with urgency in his voice.

“They’re all bad sarge.”

“Just get down here now!” Woody hung up the phone. It was dark in his room just how he liked it. Heavy curtains ensured little to no sunlight entered his room. He felt around the wall to find the light switch. Once he found it, Woody switched it on. He found his camera equipment in the corner where he always placed it. He was meticulous about his camera equipment. Woody charged all his battery packs, and had empty memory cards ready at a moment’s notice. His methodical care of his equipment was a known quality of his throughout the department.

He stretched and headed to the bathroom. Woody took his time getting to the scene. It won’t change, he thought to himself. It never changes. Woody had a photographic memory. Every crime scene he ever photographed was burned into his memory. This trait was useful when finding similarities in different crime scenes, but now it was a curse.

Woody eventually pulled up to the crime scene in his beat up jalopy. It puttered as he parked. The sergeant was waiting for him outside. The address he received was to an apartment complex downtown. He had been there years ago for a different homicide. Many of the residents were standing outside clamoring. Cigarette smoke wafted in the air. Other police officers had set up police tape and were interviewing some of the residents. Woody exited his vehicle with his camera equipment slung over his shoulder.

“It’s about time you made it.” Said the sergeant.

“What do we got today Sarge?” Said Woody, ignoring the sergeant’s tone.

“Two bodies were found lying side by side on a made up bed. The house is spotless. There isn’t a drop of blood anywhere. Even the victim’s clothes are clean.” Woody was confused.

“Why do we think this was a homicide then?” Woody adjusted his equipment staring at the sergeant. Both men were standing outside the front door.

“You’ll see.” Said the sergeant. Woody was annoyed as he walked into the house. The first thing Woody noticed was there was no smell. The sergeant wasn’t kidding when he said the house was spotless. The carpets looked freshly vacuumed. Pillows on the couch looked brand new. Every surface was dusted. The house was so clean it looked as if it was staged for sale. The sergeant directed Woody to the bedroom. When Woody came upon the bedroom he understood what the sergeant was talking about. Before him were two corpses dressed in formal wear, with their throats slit. Both sets of eyes were wide open as if still expressing surprise. Their mouths were shut tightly. Upon closer examination, Woody could see there was dried glue keeping the mouths closed. The slit in their throats were so deep, Woody thought he could see bone.

Woody raised his camera up to his eye and clicked his button. There was no flash or indication his camera took the picture. Woody was befuddled. He tried again. There was no capture. This had never happened to Woody before. He took his battery out and replaced it with a fresh one. Click! Nothing. He replaced his memory card. Click! Nothing. The sergeant looked at Woody impatiently.

“What’s going on Greeves?” Woody didn’t understand why his camera wasn’t operating correctly. A few more unsuccessful clicks. Finally Woody looked up at the sergeant.

“I’m going to my car and getting my backup camera.”

“Make it quick Greeves.” Just as Woody was passing the sergeant out of the bedroom, his finger accidentally pressed his shutter button. It went off. Woody stopped and stared at his camera. He aimed it again at the bodies on the bed. Click. Nothing. Feeling perturbed, Woody aimed his camera at the bathroom door. Click. The flash went off. Woody looked at the sergeant who was staring at him. “What’s the matter? Take the pictures of the corpses, not the walls!” Woody aimed at the bodies one more time. Click. Nothing. The sergeant was getting more frustrated. Just as the sergeant was going to scream at Woody, he was called by another officer to talk to a suspicious neighbor. He looked at Woody, shook his head, and followed the police officer outside.

Woody began looking through the pictures he just took. The first picture he took walking out of the bedroom had a thick white smudge in the middle of it. The second picture he took had the same thick white smudge but also streaks on the bathroom door; streaks that weren’t visible to anyone. Woody decided to take a picture of the bathroom. To everyone on scene, the bathroom was just as clean as the rest of the house. It seemed no evidence could be collected from there. Woody opened the door wide, aimed his camera and pressed the shutter button. Click. The flash went off. The picture was taken as it normally would. Woody wasted no time reviewing that picture.

The picture showed the same white smudge, but it was in the bathtub. The bathtub in the picture was full of streaks and handprints. Woody thought he had finally cracked. Before running to his sergeant to reveal his photos, Woody decided to snap one more picture of the bodies on the bed. Click. Nothing. That was all the incentive he needed to leave the bedroom. On his way to the sergeant, Woody’s camera went off again.

This time without Woody having his finger anywhere near the button. Woody hastily looked for the picture that was just taken. When he found it, it was of the living room floor with some of the wall in it. There was no white smudge, but a segment of the carpet and the baseboard was blurred as if a filter was put over his lens. Woody bent down to look at the spot. As he got closer he could see that there was a gap between the wall and the carpet. He realized that the carpet was replaced, and whoever replaced it didn’t do an inconspicuous job.

Woody stood up and turned. The sergeant had reentered the home with another detective.

“Sarge, you need to see these pictures.”

“Did you finally take the pictures of the bodies?”

“No. These are more important.” Woody turned his camera on and showed the sergeant and the detective the pictures. Each one just as Woody took it. The white smudge was still present along with the streaks.

“Looks like your camera is faltering Woody.” The detective said. Woody glared at him.

“My camera is not faltering. Go look at the carpet. There’s a gap. I would put money that whoever committed this crime replaced all the carpet in this apartment.” The detective scoffed as he went to where the picture of the carpet was taken. Woody was validated when the detective ordered the other police officers to start tearing up the carpet. The sergeant went to join the detective to also witness what Woody captured. Woody raised his camera up to his eye once again and began clicking away. He aimed at the kitchen. Click. The flash activated. He aimed at the couch. Click. The flash activated. He aimed at the television and entertainment center. Click. Nothing. Finally, Woody aimed at the balcony windows. Click. The flash activated. He began looking at the pictures.

The picture of the kitchen produced the same white smudge. This time, the white smudge was streaked itself. Woody flipped to the picture of the couch. There was no white smudge, but the entire couch was blacked out as if it had been erased from the scene. Just as Woody was about to see the final picture he took, the sergeant came up to him, startling Woody.

“That’s it Greeves. We need to get all this carpet pulled up. Detective Walsh pulled up the carpet in that spot you shot. There was a large discolored stain under the carpet pad. You did good.” The sergeant patted Woody on the back. Woody wanted to see the last picture in his camera before leaving the scene. He began walking out with the rest of the police force. Woody frantically flipped through the pictures and landed on the last one. What he saw chilled him to the bone. There was no white smudge or streaks. Instead was a message painted on the windows. The letters dripped down the window. Woody ran back to the sergeant to show him the picture.

“Dear God! It can’t be!” Woody couldn’t rationalize what the picture depicted. The sergeant started barking orders at all the police to get back on the streets to find this perpetrator. Woody stared at the picture. The drapes, window sill plants, and bookcase all looked as they did in the house. The windows in the picture however were different. Sprawled on the glass read, YOU WILL NEVER CATCH ME.