There is a deafening silence in this apartment, as if there are no occupants and they are all figments of our imagination. The residents seem to come and go like shadows. They aren’t the only shadows that pass through these halls, my vision goes hazy from time to time. As if someone has placed a black screen over it. There’s an overwhelming heaviness, it presses down on you. An invisible force that surrounds you. Like glue on the skin. It’s irritating, and the feeling isn’t helped by the fact it is raining. You can hear rain droplets pelting the exterior of the building hard while my right hand throbs from the change of pressure in the air.

It is sickening in this place. Something both filled with sorrow and isolation, transforming the apartment complex from a place of residence to that of imprisonment. This must be the apartment 3-D2.

“At least it’s affordable,” Wolf mentions.

I am not really sure how to respond to a comment like that. I am not sure how I can make a situation like this funny. I am sure she can. Looking over to the apartment next door, these flats are relatively close to each other. If someone snuck in, people would have noticed. 3-D1, why does apartment interest me so much? Behind the door feels like a slumbering power. It feels distinct from feeling the hallway gives off. Taking the key and inserting it into the lock of the apartment 3-D2.

Judging from the doorway, seeing the bouquets of wilted flowers and the memorial cards taped on the door. Kicking some cards that have fallen onto the exterior welcoming mat into the flat, scattering them across the tile foyer. These people were well liked, they had a supportive community.

The smell hits first-

-They haven’t gotten the cleaners out? Decaying blood has a certain smell to it, like soil and moldy food ladened with sugar. It mixes with the scent of the rain from the outside as cold air wafts in from the shattered window.

“So much for being greeted with cookies,” Wolf remarks.

It’s musty in here, the carpet has that smell when it has been rained on overnight. It is perfumed with blood that has been both baked in the blistering sun as the days warm up and cooled down in evening rains.

The carpet is matted in sanguine fluid; I don’t think people really realize how much force a gun really has. They must have had connections in order to gain the licenses to own a firearm. Most of her brain matter exploded out the window. The glass glistening in bits of brown blood that has oxidized. Parts of her hair and scalp are still attached to bits of cracked glass. The walls closest to the impact have been splattered brown.

I am sure if they hire a cleaner, they would likely to find bits of her skull even in the kitchen.

“Ste-”

Her hand reaching towards-

-Pushing that aside. I do not believe Elaine’s death is a direct cause of Karma’s actions. If Lukas’ death is connected to Karma’s, then this would be the indirect result of their actions. Death doesn’t exist in a vacuum; it affects the surrounding people. The neighbors, the trauma of having to witness the sounds of two deaths through paper-thin walls. The smell alone that permeates outside of these walls.

Elaine’s anguish was immense. To inflict such self violence on herself, she felt immense guilt. Grief even. She blamed herself.

I came here to assess or determine Karma’s involvement in Lukas’ case. In some ways, this feels like I have been given a mysterious puzzle in an unlabeled box. Something is here. An answer, I just don’t know where - near the refrigerator. It is said in the case file that Lukas and Elaine were arguing the night of his death. He came to the refrigerator and grabbed a drink. Walking through the living room, glancing at the chair where she had taken her life just yesterday. I hope she has found some form of peace in her passing.

“The rain really sets the mood,” Wolf states, breaking the somber silence, just as thunder rolls in.

“What mood is that?” I ask heading into the kitchen.

“The detective mood really sets the stage for investigating,” she pauses, looking at the counters, “and part of her jaw is in the fruit basket, marvelous.”

“Does this make you uneasy?” I ask her, looking at the refrigerator. Why is this important? I feel drawn to it.

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t make you uneasy,” Wolf remarks.

She noticed? No matter how many cases I do, I still haven’t gotten used to this part. The part where someone is dead, and it’s difficult to not feel melancholy. Death is tragic, but I also do not believe that anyone who inflicts this kind of harm on others indirectly or directly is doing it purely for no reason. Or out of inherent wicked actions. What is your reason Karma? What do you believe you are doing or accomplishing?

Placing my hand on the refrigerator, it’s like something was here. I cannot explain it. I am sure that some would probably say that I am crazy to think that. There’s a faint presence still here, lingering, haunting this location.

An etching? I used to get that scratching sensation in the back of my head as a child, mostly. Like perceiving words that are not there and spoken from somewhere far away, it is invisible and yet clearly there. Vision hazy, that black screen going over my eyes, yet again.

Turning my attention to the wall next to the refrigerator, who is there then?

For a second I am reminded of the shadows I used to see as a child, turning the visible white wall black. Though it’s not truly black, it is shadows like flesh. Rotting away the way skin does when it decays, we stare at each other for a moment. It seems surprised I can see it; I am surprised I see anything.

“Um hello,” and I am talking to it too, apparently?

Wolf looks at the wall, “Found something or chatting with the wall?”

“For now, I am talking with the wall,” I tell her.

“Clearly you’re not just a wall,” I respond.

“And you’ve lost your mind, it appears,” Wolf remarks.

“I’ll um explain, sometime, later, maybe,”

And it’s run off. Pretty in a hurry, too. Where is it going? I cannot believe I am entertaining this idea at all. I am just clearly not thinking straight-

-no, there isn’t anyway to rationalize what happened-

-I am pretty sure it is sleep deprivation. Which makes sense for me-

-my instincts tell me otherwise. Wolf is watching me do mental ballet. How do I explain to her the weird shit I see on a daily? The stuff I try to block out she’ll, like my Father, only think less of me. He believes that I have the same condition as my mother. He says that these were hallucinations. If they are, then I have been hallucinating for a long time. Great. I’ve completely lost track of what I was doing.