Novel & Cerita Dried Blood On Concrete

In the end, though, they were unsuccessful. "Forget it, let's focus on the investigation," Nicholas whispered. He was a little disturbed by Paul's angry expression, he didn't want Paul to get angry with the students and make his image look bad. "How did it go?" "After checking the blood with luminol, I found a lot of blood on the floor," Nicholas said. "Most likely, the blood on the floor is the victim's blood. Some of the blood has already started to dry, and the body is also starting to show corpse bruises in some parts of the body."

When he stood, there was a faint streak of white powder on his fingertips. I frowned. "What is that?" He rubbed it between his fingers. "Construction dust." I looked around. There wasn't a construction site anywhere nearby. He noticed my confusion. "This car has been somewhere else today." "How do you know?" I asked "Fresh concrete dust." Damien replied, nodding toward the tyre. “And none of the surrounding streets are under construction.” I stared at him. “You figured that out from a tyre?” Damien turned to me “I notice things.”

The vase of flowers that sat on her bedside table had fallen, leaving water, petals, and shards of pottery scattered across the floor. And there, near the edge of the bed was a small puddle of blood. My breath caught in my throat. I walked over to the blood and crouched down, pressing my fingers into it. It was dry, crusted against the wood. But when I pinched it between my fingers, it burst with the smell of rust. Definitely blood. I sniffed the air as I stood, looking around again. Under the smell of smoke and blood, I smelled something else that I had missed before—something rancid and familiar.

I tried not to slam the door shut and climbed down the stairs, my bare feet slipping on the marble. I reached the front door, took a second to mentally prepare myself for any bodies or blood I'd see and finally stepped out. My eyes half shut. There was nothing. Not even the slightest faintest drop of blood on the grounds, the gravel —certainly you can't just clean blood all over gravels in less than ten minutes can you? I glanced around me, twirling, I almost fell from the dizziness. There was not a single, slightest drop of blood or bodies, with all the gunshot that went off, they'd be dead right?

Unfortunately that hindered my work. I turned around, shaking my head. It really wasn't my day. First the thing with Reese, then my extremely embarrassing misjudgment with Virido and then this neighborhood. That was just for ... When I saw a large, rust-red stain on the path in front of me, I stopped. That was blood. Or? To make sure I wasn't mistaken, I crouched down to take a closer look at the stain, even running my fingers over it. But there was no doubt that this was blood. And not just a little.

They looked exactly like the feathers that wings were made of…that Deslyan wings were made of. Jaida walked a little further, but she stopped abruptly when she saw a red liquid on the ground. She just stared at it for a moment, her mind registering exactly what it was. It was blood. There was blood everywhere now. It was splattered on the broken walls of city buildings, on the sidewalks and roads, on street signs and streetlights. It was just everywhere, touching everything. The only question on her mind, however, was whose blood it was. Unfortunately, she got her answer.

“What?” Cass pointed to the base of a nearby tree. There, half-buried in the dirt, was a streak of something dark and drying. Blood. Next to it marks. Deep ones. Scratches carved into the bark like someone, or something, had been angry. Aiden’s breath came out in a puff. “That’s not… normal.” Cass was quiet. For once, the grin was gone. He crouched, reached out like he might touch the bark, then froze.

I blinked. I stared at the mark for a second longer, then took a cautious step closer. The wooden planks creaked under my bare feet, the silence so loud it made my skin crawl. I bent down a little, squinting. That wasn’t old. It wasn’t dry. It looked smeared, like someone had tried to wipe it in a hurry and gave up halfway. My stomach twisted. Blood. It was blood.

The pavement on which she ran was cemented so it was difficult to trace if there were any traces of her footprints. Later in our search, we noticed some red spots on the road. Monica bent down to examine it. It was like a drop of blood. "Is this a drop of blood?" “No way..." Monica and I followed the few drops of blood on the pavement. Along with each step we took, we prayed that this blood would not be from Zanaya. But who am I kidding? She might have suffered worse than I could ever imagine. On our way, we stopped on our track when we noticed something written on the pavement using that red blood.

I look down at her, my softening cock still dripping a final drop of cum onto her collarbone. “Now... that’s a real Thanksgiving holiday special,” I pant, wiping the sweat from my forehead.