She adjusted her skirts and knelt down next to the body, her expression turning serious as she looked at the now-lifeless man. He had been a good-looking man before a bullet took his life. She wondered who he had been, who he had left behind, and how he had ended up in such a place. And she hoped that her talents might help her find out.
She removed her lace gloves and placed one hand on the man's face and the other on his arm, skin to skin, then closed her eyes and allowed her mind to See. A flash, someone chasing him through the brush at the edge of the lot. Branches clawed at his arms, cutting into his skin and snagging his shirt, but he couldn't slow down. She could feel his panic as he neared the paved lot.
Her vision blurred, then skipped, and suddenly he was running into the alleyway. The bins were neatly lined along the right wall and the victim's gaze locked onto one of them. Hurry. He had to hurry!
Another flash, and this time the victim was pulling something from his pocket. She tried to slow the memory and focused on the item, allowing the rest of the image to fade.
"A box," she said aloud, her voice strained. "Blue and white. Fits in his palm. Yellow lettering. P-r-u-i-...wait. He threw it. One of the bins."
The memory surged forward, sending a wave of dizziness through her. The man was violently struck or pushed, landing hard onto the ground and sending pain through his body. He struggled briefly before rolling over and—
Ida managed to stifle her scream, but she jerked her hands away from the man's body and found herself gasping for air. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck and her eyes were wide from fright. Experiencing a victim's death was always terrifying.
Detective Bowen crouched next to her, placing and arm around her shoulders and whispering, "Your eyes."
Ida immediately lowered her gaze to the ground, shielding her eyes from view. Most of the detectives had grown used to her ability, having worked with her on multiple cases over the past year, but the juniors and less experienced officers would likely react poorly to seeing a woman with eyes that nearly glowed blue. Especially since her eyes had been emerald green when she arrived.
"I didn't see the murderer's face," she said as she began to catch her breath. "I'm afraid he only saw the barrel of the gun and the killer's hand. But that hand had a tattoo. I could only see part of it, but it might still be of some help."
Image sourced from Pixabay.