Mosoleum

          The marble was smooth and chilled beneath her touch. She sat in a corner with her back to one wall and her face pressed against the next. Her feet stretched out in front of her, unseen though she could feel them. She shivered, pulling her legs up against her chest and hugging her arms around them tightly. She placed her chin dejectedly on her knees staring out into the pitch black space in front of her. He'd left no light, not even a match, when he'd stuck her in here. She knew no one would find her, she hadn't told anyone who she was with.
          It felt as if the blackness around her was pressing close. The demons of her imagination coming toward her, their fangs dripping with saliva. She pressed even closer to the stone at her back, whimpering while fat drops of liquid slid hotly down her cheeks. Her anger built and her hands balled into fists. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth as wide as it would go and forced out the loudest scream she could; the sound reverberating off the walls and mounting.
                                                                                                                                   
          The detective finally had him, that blasted murderer. It had been two years since the last death but he could still remember the girl he'd found. Once he'd discovered what had happened and had located the mausoleum, it hadn't taken long, with cooperation, to get the doors open. He'd stepped inside his footsteps echoing across the open expanse. Pausing, he'd allowed his eyes to adjust to the lighting in the crypt.
          She had been in a ball on her side, her hair fallen into a mask covering her face. He'd pushed the dark brown makeshift veil aside to the sight of blue lips and closed eyes tinged with purple. Her skin was pale and arctic to the touch. Pressing two fingers to her throat, he checked for a pulse. It had been then that the paramedics filed in and verified what he already knew, reporting there was nothing they could do.
          Anya Trievshki, from Geneva, Tennessee, announced dead in a crypt in Chicago.
          The detective had had to tell the family himself. It had been an extremely hard task. The curator kindly gave that space to the family at a much reduced price. Though they wouldn't have needed it if he had just...
          He stopped and blanked his mind. This was not the time to get aggravated. He counted slowly to ten and then stepped through the interrogation door.