Prologue
Present Day

     “Dear God, no!”
     Consuela struggled to digest what she saw. Her chest pounded so hard; her ears throbbed so loud from the fright of the scene before her. She thought she would explode. But God moved the scream that sat at the pit of her stomach and helped her get the fear out. She roared in agony. Her voice boomed back and forth on Lyric’s walls. Yet her employer didn’t move despite it all. What had happened here?
Mrs. Johnson, Lyric’s neighbor, tapped Consuela on the shoulder, startling her. Consuela felt like punching someone.
“You live next door; how could you not have heard anything?” Consuela wanted to know.
     “I haven’t been at home most of the day,” she said. “Surely you don’t think I could’ve had anything to do with this. Lyric is my friend.”
     There was Lyric. Semi-naked. Unconscious. Lying on the floor. A colorful nylon scarf squeezed her neck like a vice grip. Consuela wanted to scream again, but only pitiful whimpering noises emitted from her mouth. She leaned down closer to Lyric, extending a hand to her, but jerked her arm back when she noticed purple and blue bruises on her arms, right breast, and thighs. Remnants of dried up crimson and black colored blood stained the area above her upper lip.
     “Sweet Jesus,” Consuela said.
     Consuela wanted to cover up Lyric’s battered body, but Mrs. Johnson told her not to touch anything. Consuela looked around the room, although it was hard to see. Her tears blurred her vision. What she could see was that the room was in complete disarray. Lyric’s palatial estate usually looked like a model home. Today, broken glass and overturned furniture replaced the tidy abode. Consuela felt as though she was having an asthma attack, only she didn’t have asthma. Then she glanced up and saw a man hanging by the neck near the balcony overlooking the sitting room where she’d found Lyric.
     She ran screaming out of that house like a wild woman. Mrs. Johnson stared in shock. Consuela got in her car and locked the doors. Her hands were shaking like a rattle; she was unable to put the key in the ignition. Through her hysteria, she couldn’t remember the number to 9-1-1. After fumbling with her cell phone, she stared at the phone before remembering the number. She pressed the keys and pushed the send button.