Eve couldn’t see beyond the forms standing around the scene. She finished the call and walked toward the site, looking between the people, peering through the thin aisle they’d made. She wanted to get a glimpse of the body. Finally, she was close enough to recognize the person, the bloody face of the woman lying in the street.
“Conchita!” Eve fell to the ground, screaming from a source deep inside her gut. “No! Not Conchita. Oh God!”
Eve felt someone lifting her, it was Peter. He had his arms around her and attempted to lead her back to her house. His touch made her made ill, cringe. She fought him. “Get your hands off me!” She flung her arms at him attempting to repel him. She was fighting him again, the memory of the rape fierce in her mind. He became angry with her and dug his fingers into her skin as he forged on to the house where he handed Eve over to his wife. He then returned to the crime scene. Eve heard the siren. Looking up, she saw the blur of blinking lights through her wet eyes.
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