Some rough draft writing….

Silently, Ellie gazed down at the waded mess in her hands. The clothing enshrouded the menacing knife so she didn’t have to look at it. She still knew it was there, though, calling her like some cursed object of evil. Maybe it wasn’t the same knife that had slain Ms. Peabody; maybe it wasn’t the same knife that had put Greg in jail; maybe it wasn’t even the knife that had penetrated Levon’s flesh or even ended the life of one of the women recently slaughtered by the Strangling Butcher, but those possibilities didn’t diminish the blade’s symbolism. It was a threat to Ellie to keep away–it was a message of murder, and it had been in the hands of someone obviously nefarious, and it had been placed in her bed–the bed where she had lain with her wonderful husband. Now, it was in her very hands, taunting her. Suddenly, and without ceremony, she dropped the bundle onto Rick’s desk and hoped she’d never have to see any of it again.


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