The Star

I found myself staring at a woman with a mesmerizing figure. My eyes were glued to hers and it felt like there was a spell that prevented me from looking away. We were inside a church and it was a cold, late Sunday night. There was supposed to be no one there. I mean, who goes to the church that late, right? But there she was.

She was in front of the stained glass which was radiating melancholic colors with the help of the full moon’s illumination. She was rather young, probably early twenties wearing a white, one-piece dress. A symbol of purity and maybe even serenity. It was supposed to be a beautiful scene, save for one thing.

She was dead.

She hung herself with a red ribbon.

The scenery gave off a poetic feeling while seeming dreadful at the same time. I walked towards the nearest pew to her and stared at her to assess the situation once more. She was right in the middle of the pulpit, just floating.

Such surreal scenery.

I’m not really a religious person, but I do like churches. They give off a calm and soothing feeling, especially at night. I just moved to this city and the first thing I looked for was a church I could go to every night. I’m lucky I found this recently abandoned one. Well, I thought I was lucky. Now, I don’t know.

I approached the body and found a small purse under her. Without thinking much of it, I opened it and searched for an ID or anything that might identify her. I found a note, a smartphone, and a Bible. I opened the note which read:

“Is it a sin to give up when it seems like there’s no light at the end of the tunnel?”

Such a chilling note, but nevertheless a lost soul.

I folded the note and put it back in the purse. The question still ringing in my ear. The short answer to that question would be yes, morally. Surrendering your life to the void would only cause grief and sadness to the people around you. But when you ask if it is a “sin”, then things get a little complicated.

Depending on who you ask, you’d get a myriad of answers. People come from different faiths and different beliefs. I, for one, believe that suicide is taboo and it’d get you sent to hell. But from what I heard the Bible doesn’t explicitly say this. The Roman Catholic “Catechism” has a paragraph dedicated to this, which are paragraphs 2282 and 2283.

The former says:

“If suicide is committed with the intention of setting an example, especially to the young, it also takes on the gravity of scandal. Voluntary co-operation in suicide is contrary to the moral law.

Grave psychological disturbances, anguish, or grave fear of hardship, suffering, or torture can diminish the responsibility of the one committing suicide.”

While the latter says:

“We should not despair of the eternal salvation of persons who have taken their own lives. By ways known to him alone, God can provide the opportunity for salutary repentance. The Church prays for persons who have taken their own lives.”

Basically, we wouldn’t know. Only God knows the state of their heart when they did it and only will he decide if the person will be forgiven or not. That’s what they think, at least on their side. For me, I stand by my beliefs. I closed the tab I used to search for these and continued searching for clues.

Next was the phone. Her phone was rather peculiar. It seemed new, not physically, but internally. There was nothing in her phone that would give us an ounce of information pertaining to her identity. It only had a bunch of notes.

The notes were… baffling. In a sense that there was nothing that showed signs of a disturbed mind. In fact, it was the contrary. The notes were very positive. Through the notes, I found out that she and her husband were expecting a child to come into their lives. Wait, have I actually stumbled upon her diary instead? I shook off the feeling of guilt and further pried into it. She seemed religious. Each diary entry ended with a bible verse, some of which I recognize.

It seemed like she was leading a happy life, what pushed her to commit such an act?

Just as I pondered, the universe seemed to listen and gave the answer almost immediately. Which was her last diary entry.

“The Star of Bethlehem seemed to have fallen from the sky.”

A fairly recent entry with a change in tone seemed to have taken over, while a reference to The Star of Bethlehem was made. The Star of Bethlehem, from what I remember, was the star that guided the wise men towards the stable where Jesus Christ, a central figurehead in Christianity, was born. The star was supposed to be a sign of hope, especially in the Bible as it was associated with the birth of a savior. A savior that would save all of mankind.

But her entry says otherwise. She said it has “fallen” which could mean that she lost hope about something. I still can’t figure it out, but at least we’re having some kind of a lead, if you can call it that. I sighed and sat down, still can’t wrap my head around the situation. It’s such a surreal thing to end up in, and what’s worse, is that if someone else comes in I’d be in trouble.

So, this woman seemed fine until “The Star of Bethlehem faded”. Hmm, the Star of Bethlehem?

I sat on those words for a few minutes until it clicked together. The “Star” she was talking about is most likely her child. To be more accurate, her unborn child. Sure, I might just be grasping at straws here, but I clearly remember that she was expecting a child together with her husband. Pair that with the diary entry being recent, then I think I have a strong case, here. I know cases where mothers are pushed to depression because they lost a child and if that’s the case, then… this scene in front of me would make sense.

Should I even say that? Make “sense”? What makes sense? I don’t even know. I surveyed the body’s surroundings hoping to find more clues but ended up empty-handed. I scratched my chin trying to put things together but I’m still missing something.

Right. The Bible.

I picked the Bible up and noticed something peculiar.

Hmm?

Not a single note nor highlight can be seen. I distinctly remember my grandmother’s Bible filled with notes and all kinds of highlighting especially to the verses she likes but this one has none of that. I put the Bible close to my nose and took a whiff.

The Bible smelled new, which was why it smelled fishy. This Bible wasn’t used at all. I scanned through the pages to look for signs of deterioration or usage, but nothing came up. No creases or folds, it looked like it came straight out of the package.

Something’s not right.

I looked back at her and noticed something that I should’ve seen the first time I laid my eyes on her.

This doesn’t make sense.

I walked closer and examined the height from which she hanged and figured it was physically impossible for someone her height to be hung this high. I pulled my phone out and dialed a number.

“This is Detective Crowe, I got a murder here in an abandoned church near Whitebrooke.”

***

The investigation went through and exactly a week after the murder, the trial against the victim’s husband ended. What we got from it was baffling. Turns out, she was missing for a whole month before the incident and the husband had filed a missing person report to the local police. They searched their database and surely, it was there. But for some reason, there weren’t any announcements or posters regarding her.

We did a little background check about her and found out that she worked in a nail salon being someone who specialized in doing nail art. Apparently, she was a cheerful and kind lady who had a lot of regulars in the salon due to her talent in nail art. But her regulars didn’t know that she was a missing person. All they knew is that she lived close by.

While she was doing all of these, weeks passed by and her husband’s hope of finding her has slowly gone down. We also found out that the husband has reasons to believe that his wife was cheating on him. When asked whether she knew about the baby she was carrying he replied:

“No. We haven’t shared the bed ever since our marriage went sour. When I couldn’t find her, I just assumed that she lived with whoever she was cheating with.”

The abortion was verified when the body was autopsied. But with how the trial went, it’s just questions on top of questions. Like, how did she hide her pregnancy from him? And most importantly, who killed her? The murder was also confirmed by the autopsy, but it wasn’t clear cut. The forensics team also had their own questions. The biggest one was the scratch marks on her neck. Scratching your neck is a normal reaction for people committing suicide and regretting it at the last second. They struggle for air and try to remove the rope around them.

This particular scratch mark has something peculiar in it though. It seems that it was hard enough for nail polish to transfer to the skin, giving off a kind of green hue. Why is this puzzling, you ask? Well, she doesn’t have any nail polish on any of her fingers.

Because of all these unexplainable variables, the case went cold. Nothing the investigators did could uncover the mystery.

I sighed and scratched my head.

“Yo, Crowe. Here’s another missing person entry.”

A colleague of mine handed me a paper.

“Thanks. I’ll get to it.”

“Still, that murder scene you ran into was nuts, man.”

“Yeah, truly is.”

He paused for a little bit as if remembering something.

“Oh! I heard you got yelled at by our commanding officer because of your painted nails.”

“Yeah, I guess he doesn’t like green.”

“You had green?! Man, I didn’t even notice.”

“Well, I wasn’t really flaunting it around. To be honest, that was my fault. I got it for the weekend, but I should’ve gotten rid of it before Monday came. I totally forgot about it. Hahaha.”

“Hahaha. Yeah, man. Just be mindful next time. Alright, I’m off to do some boring desk work. You keep your head up. It’s not your fault that the database seemed to have missed her entry. I know it’s been eating you. Want to go out and get some food sometime? My treat!”

“Thanks for the offer, man. I appreciate it.”

Yeah. I should stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t my fault.