Savagery
I couldn’t believe what I was looking at.
Every time, I told myself I’d stopped being surprised. That I’d already seen the worst things a person could see.
Apparently, I was wrong.
Standing at that crime scene proved it to me once again.
While I was still trying to suppress the shock crawling under my skin, Commissioner Murat walked over to me.
“Who is he? Did they find any ID on her?”
“No, chief. No identification. We also don’t think the clothes belong to the victim. There’s a major size difference between her body and the clothing. They most likely belong to a man… Possibly the suspect. They’re being sent for detailed examination.”
The moment I finished speaking, Mustafa stepped up behind me. He looked tense too, though that wasn’t unusual. Mustafa always carried tension like it was stitched into his face.
“You’re the sunshine of this team, Balkız,” he always said.
I liked being called Balkız, but I loved my real name too.
Duru.
That name reminded me of gentler things.
“Balkız,” on the other hand, came from my hair.
Murat Chief had a harsh temperament, but beneath it was something oddly comforting, almost fatherly. Whenever I looked at him, I felt the same thing:
Like even if everything spiraled out of control, he’d somehow pull it back together.
But at that moment, it wasn’t his attitude that caught my attention.
It was the look on his face.
As he tore his eyes away from the victim, there was unmistakable disgust written across his expression. As if his body still refused to get used to scenes like this.
He glanced at me first, then Mustafa.
Then his eyes searched for Ali.
Right then, Orhan from forensics approached us.
“Chief, there’s a letter carved into the victim’s right wrist. A ‘D.’ Looks like it was done with something sharp.”
Murat Chief’s face didn’t change in the slightest.
As if the information meant nothing at all, he answered in the same calm tone.
“If there’s nothing else, you can get back to work.”
Cold. Detached.
But even while speaking to Orhan, I noticed his eyes drifting back toward Ali again.
Without meaning to, I glanced at him too.
Ali was talking with the crime scene team, trying to squeeze out whatever extra details he could get.
Murat Chief let out a slow breath.
“One last sweep of the area. If nothing else stands out, we’re wrapping up. It’s getting late.”
I was more than ready to leave.
I started scanning the area again.
Red and blue sirens flashing through the dark. Yellow police tape swaying in the wind. Uniformed officers moving around in restless waves…
But one pair of eyes felt different from the others.
This wasn’t ordinary curiosity.
Not a simple What happened here? kind of stare.
The crime scene was practically outside the city limits. Most of the area was surrounded by forest, with barely any houses nearby.
That was why the old two-story house in the distance stood out so much.
But the house itself wasn’t what caught my attention.
It was the woman watching us from behind the curtain.
Even from that far away, her sharp, hostile gaze was impossible to miss.
Something heavy settled uneasily in my chest.
I turned to Murat Chief, my thoughts tangled somewhere between instinct and unease.
“Chief… that woman over there didn’t look like she was just curious. Maybe she heard something. Or saw something. Should we talk to her first?”
Murat Chief looked where I pointed, but the woman had already pulled the curtain shut.
The only sign anyone had been there was the fabric still swaying slightly.
“Alright, Balkız.”
A small smile almost slipped onto my face.
Guess Mustafa’s nickname for me had officially spread through the department.
I liked it.
Still, the atmosphere around us felt like the kind that punished even the smallest traces of warmth.
I straightened myself immediately.
Just then, Ali walked over, and I fell into step beside him.
Murat Chief gestured toward the house.
“You two check that place out. Mustafa and I will talk to the other houses.”
We both nodded.
As we walked closer, I finally got a better look at the building.
It was an old wooden house, two stories high. Parts of the walls looked rotten. The porch railing sagged crookedly to one side.
Honestly, I had no idea how the place was still standing.
When I turned toward Ali, I realized he was already looking at me.
His sea-green eyes met mine for a brief second.
Caught off guard, I lowered my gaze slightly but kept talking.
“There’s something wrong with this place, Ali Abi. Not just the way it looks — the feeling of it too. Especially that woman… I don’t even think we’ll find anything concrete, but there’s something about this house that just feels off.”
Ali raised an eyebrow.
“What’s with the ‘Abi’?”
I blinked.
For a second, I genuinely didn’t understand what he meant.
I was waiting for him to comment on the house, but apparently that wasn’t what caught his attention.
“Don’t call me Abi, kızım.”
“What?”
“There’s only a three-year age gap between us, Balkız. Stop calling me that.”
I turned to him, surprised.
I was the youngest member of the team, sure, but I hadn’t known Ali was only twenty-five. He hadn’t been with us long either.
When I first joined, everyone kept their distance.
Even Murat Chief.
Then I’d gotten the chance to prove myself on a few cases.
And I hadn’t wasted those chances.
After that, the team slowly started accepting me for real.
Even during the worst moments, I always tried to lighten the mood somehow.
That was where “You’re the sunshine of this team, Balkız” came from.
Truthfully, though, I hadn’t made much effort to know any of them personally.
Except Murat Chief.
One day he’d come up to me and said:
“If you ever need anything, Sevim Teyze and I are here for you, kızım. Don’t let yourself feel alone.”
Other than that, every relationship I had stayed strictly professional.
Everyone called Ali “Abi,” so I’d followed along without thinking about it. I’d been on the team seven months now, and this was the first time he'd ever said it bothered him.
Though honestly…
I hadn’t exactly tried to know any of them deeply either.
A faintly teasing smile tugged at my lips.
“Sorry, Ali. Everyone else says it, so I just followed the herd mentality. Could’ve told me sooner.”
A quiet smile appeared on his face in return.
Right then, we reached the house.
Ali knocked before I could.
But instead of the sharp-eyed old woman, the door opened to a girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen or seventeen.
She looked unbelievably innocent.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“We’re from homicide. Is there an adult we can speak with?”
The tension in her face appeared instantly.
And not just in her face.
I could hear it in her voice too.
“Did something happen?”
“No, don’t worry. We’re just asking whether you heard or saw anything unusual nearby.”
Even as I said it, I didn’t sound convincing to myself.
Because the truth was, I didn’t fully believe my own words either.
A part of me was hoping the old woman knew something.
Hoping for it with a feeling I wasn’t even ready to admit to myself.
Still, I softened my expression and continued.
“It’s just procedure. The other officers are speaking with the nearby houses too.”
The girl glanced outside. Seeing the other police officers seemed to relax her slightly.
Not fully.
But enough not to slam the door in our faces.
She opened it a little wider.
“Grandma!” she called into the house.
Ali and I waited at the doorway.
A moment later, the old woman appeared.
This time, Ali spoke first.
“Good evening, ma’am…”
I barely focused on his words.
Instead, I watched the woman carefully, trying to figure out whether she was lying.
But it was useless.
How was I supposed to notice abnormal behavior when I didn’t even know what her normal behavior looked like?
I forced myself to pay attention to Ali again.
“You’re sure you didn’t notice anything? A car maybe? Headlights? This area isn’t exactly crowded.”
The woman kept the same sour expression and simply shook her head.
Didn’t even bother speaking.
Then suddenly, the angel-faced girl stepped into the hallway again.
“But Grandma, remember? A few nights ago I told you I heard car noises and saw lights outside… Maybe that’s what they’re asking about?”
Ali and I turned toward her immediately.
We were just about to encourage her to continue when the old woman cut in sharply.
“It was raining. Can’t you see that? Narin probably saw lightning. And this is the woods — sounds echo everywhere. If we assumed every noise meant trouble, we’d die from fear out here. I already told you that, Narin.”
Then she turned back to us, even harsher this time.
“You’ve bothered us enough. We have work to do. Taking care of a child isn’t easy, you know. Leave.”
I must’ve been staring at the girl too long because I flinched when Ali touched my arm.
Even then, I kept my politeness intact and gave the girl a small wave.
“Have a good day. If you remember anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
Then Ali and I walked away from the house.
The second we were out of earshot, the words spilled out before I could stop them.
“Ali… there’s definitely something wrong with that woman. Either she’s naturally that hostile or she knows something and’s keeping quiet. None of this sits right with me. And Narin said she saw headlights. The rain makes it hard to tell, but there are tire tracks too.”
Ali exhaled tiredly.
“You’re right, Duru… but the truth always finds a way to surface.”
After that, neither of us spoke.
Normally, I wasn’t an emotional person.
But the name “Narin”…
It touched something inside me that had never fully healed.
That was my mother’s name.
I lost her when I was six years old.
As for my father…
I barely remembered him at all.
Just a few faded memories left behind by the stories my mother used to tell me.
They had eloped.
Both families cut them off afterward.
According to my mother, years later my father had started reconnecting with his own family again.
“If they forgive us, we'll finally escape this misery, Narin,” he used to tell her.
Then one day he walked out the door saying:
“Let me go first. I’ll soften them up, then I’ll come back for you both. Everything’s going to get better.”
And he never came back.
Not long after that, my mother got sick.
The neighbors tried to help, but it was never enough.
My mother died roughly an hour before anyone even realized she was gone.
After that, everything collapsed in a way no one really notices until it’s too late.
There was no sudden turning point, no dramatic farewell to childhood—just a slow disappearance into the margins of the city.
I ended up on the streets.
Cold nights, empty stomachs, days that blurred into each other.
Sometimes I ate. Sometimes I didn’t.
Most of the time, I learned not to think about it too much.
Because thinking made things heavier. And on the streets, weight got you caught, slowed you down, made you visible.
And being visible was dangerous.
People there didn’t reward softness. They punished it.
Emotions, grief, fear… all of it was treated like a flaw. A weakness you couldn’t afford.
So I learned quickly.
I stopped showing what I felt. Eventually, I stopped feeling it in a way that showed.
Not because it disappeared, but because it became unnecessary.
Survival didn't leave room for anything that could break you open.
Years later, when I finally got pulled out of that life, I still carried the same habit with me—keep distance, stay functional, don’t linger on anything that hurts.
Even now, standing at crime scenes, that instinct doesn’t fully leave.
But the name Narin…
That one still slips through the cracks.
The secret hidden inside that old house was tied to my long-missing father in ways I couldn’t have imagined.
