Sight Line

The bruising on Rachel’s body chronicled the timeline that followed. Her body was pale against the dark leather of the sling that cradled her hips. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with hardcovers, binders, and neatly labeled case files. He finally dropped to the floor in a loose, boneless heap, his body convulsing in death throes as blood poured from the ragged wounds, forming rivulets that snaked across the floorboards.