Passive Bloodstains Novels & Stories

VICTIM’S APARTMENT “Captain Jessie” Lucy called out “What? “ Captain Jessie dropped the perfume back in the drawer and closed it “Quickly, come and see” Lucy pointed at the bottom of the bookshelf Jessie walked to where Lucy was and squatted so that she could take a clear look at what Lucy pointed at “Is that a splatter of blood? “ “Yes” The splatter was so small and unnoticeable due to the fact that the color of the bookshelf was dark brown thereby making the dried blood blend with the color of the bookshelf

Worried that she might lose her appetite from staring too long, Larissa quickly took out her phone and clicked on her photo album. She scrolled through Ambrose's pictures, trying to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth. Ambrose was truly easy on the eye! "You guys can continue with your business. Don't mind me," Larissa muttered as she began searching the room. The room reeked of blood. Darren must have done a lot of bad things here in the past. Larissa randomly flipped around and found quite a few places that had hidden bloodstains. She kindly marked each one and waited for the forensic experts to examine them.

It didn't take him long to realize that bloodstains were the problem. These stains look as if they were sprayed close and with a lot of speed. That's exactly how it is. Analyzing it in the lab, I don't think I need to tell you that it's a 100% match with Lucy's DNA. In other words, the blow was so strong that matter from the brain tissue as well as pureblood spilled with great speed on Sarah's blouse. It sprinkled it on our understanding. Gentlemen, we are facing indisputable proof that Sarah Johnson is indeed Lucy Sinclair's killer.

I heard one of the men shout from upstairs. Another voice echoed from the back. “Nothing here, sir.” “No one.” I refused to believe it, they had to be here. I have the best tracking team and it definitely can’t be a mixup. I walked deeper into the building, refusing to accept another dead end. That’s when something caught my attention. A stain, dark brown against the grey concrete. At first, I thought it was old paint, then I looked closer and realized it wasn’t paint, It was blood.

A leather case sat open on the counter, the latches scuffed in a way that said they’d been opened by hands that didn’t use lotion. Jack crouched. The bath had been drained, but heat had lacquered a faint ring to the porcelain, a gold rim around absence. On the far tile, where steam had run and re-collected, a perfect oval of clarity cut the mist—the size and shape of a face that had leaned too close. “Breath,” Jack murmured. “Or a visor,” Pauly countered, fishing out a strip of microfleece fibre with tweezers. “Prints wiped. The wipes left themselves behind—blend’s not retail. Bagging.”

Crouching down, I looked at the pools of blood which lay on the ground. Lycan blood had a slightly blackened tint to it; showing the taint which ran through their veins. It was in a large puddle next to another smaller one. This one had a slight iridescence to it. The antibodies in it, causing it to slightly shimmer in the light. Vampire blood. And the third puddle… “Mars…” I put my hand out, taking out the tiny scrap of paper which sat in it and opened it. Looking down at the handwriting, I closed my eyes.

I AM ASKING ABOUT SOMETHING RELEVANT LIKE SOME SORT OF PROOF THAT CAN HELP US IN THIS CASE. Sophia: I know it may sound a bit absurd but when I was searching for Emily and Dave, I found some blood stains on the floor with something shining on it. I checked it and found a shining black feather. It's not a normal feather, Sir. It is handmade. It is made with silver thread and the feather is made up of a lustrous obsidian material. It doesn't belong to any​ bird. It is definitely a signature or mark about someone. Vincent's eyes widened in shock.

He cocked a brow and grinned again, showing his dirty yellow teeth. "Knowing the father of your children is searching for you all over the city." I tried to pull my feet in, to make the ropes slack, but the cords scraped like teeth. My left hand burned where the knot dug in. I tasted metal and old blood from the blow to my head. Scar laughed softly and leaned closer. “You've been busy,” he murmured, glancing at the table across the room. My phone lay there, a crack running through the middle. I felt a cold thread run through my chest when he picked it up and swiped it on and watched the screen glow.

But unfortunately the chemicals Sterling had already poured on the blood stains had masked any scents of her wolf she might have found directly at the murder scene. "You do seem to have things well in hand out here Mr. Mount. Perhaps I will go see if Zenia needs my help." She handed him back the hose. "Thank you. And please call me Sterling," he smiled. With her heart fluttering, Lelia left him to his task and headed inside to see if she could find any evidence of the killer. She detected traces of blood, but attributed it to both Zanna and Sterling who had touched Clyde’s body. The bloody shoe print left at the scene was from where Peggy had stepped in the blood while she had went out for

He pressed his fingertips to the concrete. His blood had been here. He couldn't see it anymore, it had been four days, and whatever facilities management protocol St. Catherine's used had presumably addressed the obvious evidence, but the ghost of it was still present in the molecular record that paint and cleaning solution couldn't fully erase. He knew his own blood the way he knew his own heartbeat. That was his. That stain, slightly darker than the surrounding concrete, roughly two meters from the drainage grate. That was where he'd been lying. And overlaid on it, threaded through it, caught in the porous surface of the concrete like something pressed between pages…