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WRITING SAMPLE #2
TITLE: The Canvas Killer
PERSPECTIVE: Third person
CHARACTER: Male and female (mains)
SETTING: Modern, present time
GENRE: Criminal fiction
SAMPLE TYPE: Excerpt from an RP
The blood had begun to pool underneath the bed. It had seeped through the sheets and mattress, soaking down to the hardwood of the bedroom.
There were two dead bodies.
Two dead bodies and a lot of markings.
Two dead bodies and a lot of questions.
Two dead bodies and a lot of
red.
- - -
Police had long called in the efforts of the FBI, who had now garnered complete jurisdiction on any murders related to the
Red Rum Homicides. The term had been coined off of Stephen King's
The Shining, particularly the Stanley Kubrick film of the same name, for its notable violence and exasperating amount of
red and bloodshed. The media, however, found solace in a different name. For the imagery found carved artistically in to the skin of the murderer's first victim, news reporters first branded the title after police found a woman decimated in her bathroom.
THE CANVAS KILLER.
Flashing lights reflected against the brick foundations of local neighboring homes.
This scene was as equal and picturesque as the last. The Canvas Killer's work was becoming more and more refined, despite maintaining its gory backdrop. Like blood on a body and paint on a canvas - the gallery was stained in red.
The sound of several smacks and clicks depicted the arrival of back-up; the cavalry. Two men and a woman exited the
Ford Interceptor after it pulled in to the driveway of the atrocity. With the high-profile nature of the case, police thoroughly signed as FBI investigators arrived to the scene.
Detective Javier Rodriguez of the Fairmount Heights Police Department (FHPD) welcome two Special Agents to the scene.
"Special Agent
Miles Davis." He greeted with a strong handshake, "Special Agent
Olivia Parks."
"
Detective." Olivia nodded to the officer, but her male counterpart and partner had no such reaction.
The door opened to the small Fairmount Heights home to a scene of law enforcement mayhem. Police officers and crime scene personnel scattered the entire house. Instantly, Special Agent Olivia Parks tensed as she watched people wander around. The sound of chatter was deafening, not for its volume but more in its sheer compilation. Parks knew undoubtedly that this would go south, her eyes trailing immediately to lock eyes with her partner, Detective Miles
"
What... the..." The words left Agent Davis' lips faster than they could leave hers.
Agent Parks huffed a frustrated exhale, "It's like a zoo in here."
He scoffed in response, his brown eyes wandering over to all the individuals. "It's a god damn
circus in here."
Pushing through the crowd, Agent Davis shoved past several officers to move up the stairwell. He came to find most of the attention centered around one room - the master bedroom. But he didn't need a map nor knowledge of the house to figure out the crime. He sighed in a grumble as he passed several FHPD blues. "
Move." He demanded, although the words didn't need to leave his lips for people to notice his tall, looming stance.
People were afraid of Special Agent Miles Davis. It was evident not only by the speed of their movement as they shifted away, but also by the look on their faces as he came to face them. Walking in to the bedroom, his eyes fell to the carvings on the victim's chest and back. There were two of them; a post-mortem couple of sorts. "
How romantic." Agent Davis said in full sarcasm as his black pupils continued to focus on their naked forms.
Special Agent Olivia Parks sighed again, "Another bloody scene." She acted disappointed, but not at all surprised.
He partner shared her same sentiments, though his disappointment was derived from the constant state of disarray of every crime scene we visited. "Killer is the name. Torture is the game..."
Agent Davis remained completely unaffected by the sight of all the blood. The bed wasn't the only furniture that had fallen victim to the color red. Blood splatter also stained the walls in thousands of varied spots and and trickles. Leaning his body in to get a better look, Davis' attempt was interrupted by a bright white light that blinded him. His head lifted to look at the
forensic photographer that crouched in unison. He held the flash bulb above the body as he hung the Nikon camera over the female victim.
Agent Davis' tired eyes suddenly became alive as they burned with annoyance. He shifted my view over to the photographer, who began to flash photos with every click of the camera's trigger. The night was warm for the New Year, causing beads of sweat to form underneath the full-body suit intended to protect him, and the crime scene. The sweat began to protrude from the edge of the cap that lined his head. It bubbled at the bridge of his nose, causing his glasses to begin to slip.
The FBI agent stood back as he glared at the photographer so definitively in his way. Agent Parks lifted her finger as if to introduce the beginning of a statement, but Agent Davis rose his own hand to cut her off. Her brow lifted as she looked to her partner curiously. Despite not knowing his exact intentions in this moment, she quietly anticipated something imminent and bad was about to happen.
And it would.
The glasses on the photographer finally gave way, sliding off the tip of the man's nose and falling straight on to the victim's massacred body. The lens landed flat in to the engraving of the woman's carved flesh. Blood instantly soaked the glasses, leaving the photographer completely stunned as he realized his fatal mistake. His nervous eyes lifted to look at Special Agent Miles Davis. And although his vision was meager without the aid of his spectacles, he didn't need to see with clarity to know the infuriated expression on the investigator's face.
"Get...
out." The grisliness in Agent Davis' voice was enough to bring the whole chaos of the room to a halt. The photographer apologized profusely but it was already too late. Two cops plucked him from the crime scene like feathers from a chicken, abandoning his glasses altogether in the flesh of the open wound.
In the midst of all this insanity... there were only three things for certain in situation:
One, Fairmount Heights had a serial killer;
Two, this was now a contaminated crime scene; a
nd
Three, the theme of this theatre of murder was
the color red. 
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