“There’s nothing even remotely fun about these.” I was surprised, in all honesty, to hear his voice so sullen. He opened the folder and laid six large photographs out on the table. I had to lean in just to see what they were of. And damn, did I certainly regret it.
The photos were obviously of a crime scene. It was something I had only read about or seen on prime-time television and I was caught way off guard. Things were about to get very interesting.
The first one was bad, but they got progressively worse as the montage continued across the table. The photographs were of a young blonde woman, though I could only barely make out the fact that she was blonde- and a woman- through the immersing veil of dark blood. She was lying on her stomach, with her face turned, but from the angle of the photos you could see her clear as day. The top of her head was practically gone and it looked like one of her eyeballs had possibly been blown out from its socket. It was difficult to tell, seeing as how there was little to distinguish between her head and the rest of her. Her hands were tied behind her back. The poor thing died on a shoddy carpet that matched the color of her guts, and it looked oddly familiar. Then there was the gooey stuff that I could only assume was what was left of her brain.