Fractures: A Detectives Seagate and Miner Mystery

by Mike Markel

  He heard her breathing, faint and shallow, as he climbed the stairs. She didn’t scream but moaned softly as he paused on each of the thirteen steps. Finally, his breathing labored, he made it to the top. He lowered her to the pale green carpet and looked at her. Her eyes, half-shut, did not focus on him.

  He looked down the staircase toward the entryway and the front door, then reached down and picked her up again from her waist. He tried to get her to stand but her knees buckled. He took in a deep breath, gathering his strength, and, reaching under her armpits from behind her, pulled her up to her full height, her toes barely touching the carpet. He adjusted her position so that she was centered over the top step of the broad staircase.

  He grunted as he pushed her off the landing. Her face hit the steps first, and he heard a single cry of pain, but then she made no more sounds. She came to rest with her face and shoulders on the braided rug in the entryway.

  He walked down the steps, careful not to touch the handrail or the wall. He stepped over her legs, which extended up to the third step. He lifted her blazer and saw her chest rise and fall softly beneath her red turtleneck.

  He picked her up again by the waist. It was easier this time because now her limbs did not move at all. Once again he carried her up the thirteen steps and lifted her to her full height. Her head was slumped forward, her chin on her chest, her arms and legs limp. Once more he thrust her out over the staircase. Her head hit the steps again, and this time her body came to rest on the stairs. She looked like she was swimming down the stairs, her right arm dangling over the third step, her left arm behind her, by her hip.

  Once more he walked down the stairs, stepping carefully around her body, careful not to touch the wall or the handrail. He stood on the braided rug and placed two fingers on her neck; there was no pulse. He waited there another moment, looking at her red turtleneck, but there was no movement. He lowered himself to his knees and placed his ear to her mouth. There was no breath.

  He stood up straight and walked to the front door. Using his jacket to turn the doorknob, he opened the wooden door, then shouldered the screen door open, as it had not clicked shut when he entered the house three minutes ago. He wiped the doorknob with his jacket as he secured the wooden door, then pushed the screen door shut, the air hissing as it escaped from the pitted aluminum closer. He rubbed at the push knob with his jacket, then turned and descended the five concrete steps. He followed the flagstone path, opened the gate, and walked down the block toward his car, his hands in his pockets and his head slightly bowed. He heard no unusual noises and saw no one.

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