The Mercy of Fate by Julia Levinska

There are few motives for murder,
but every homicide has its own emphasis. And I probably would never have known this if I hadn’t accidentally been in one of the safest cities on Earth - in Stockholm.
The whole trip I was supposed to be accompanied by a sweet lady named Eleanor. I did not know anything about her, just the occupation and the possession of a grey cat. I’m not very talkative person and I didn’t want to start talking about life with her. Moreover, the arrival was late, so as soon as we came at her apartment, I apologized for going to bed. Of course, it was extremely impolite, but I was very tired. In the morning I thanked myself for such an action.
Although this day was clearly not for my good mood. The first thing I saw in the living room was a corpse. Eleanor lay lifeless with strongly marked bruises on her neck. Suffocation. No sign of a fight or larceny. Even to such an amateur as I was, the lack of evidence was clear. Playing Sherlock was beyond my intelligence, but calling the police was suicide for me. Instead, I decided to inspect the apartment in order to understand what a person Eneonor was. I didn’t find gloves, but I opposed leaving traces throughout the apartment. In the kitchen I came across a package of napkins, with which I decided to touch things.
The apartment was tastefully furnished, though there was a feeling of gloom. People do not gather here for a family dinner on Sunday or for a glass of red wine during friendly conversations. The gray cat, to my surprise, also did not appear. He would hardly have testified in my defence about not being involved in this terrible crime, but his presence would have diluted the void. After inspecting the useless living room and kitchen, I headed to the bedroom. I opened the closet and felt uneasy. I really did not want to break into someone’s personal life, but I was too afraid to call for help. It seems to me that I would never leave this apartment until my imaginary arrest. It was close, wasn’t it? Along with this, I was tormented by the question of who was so desperate and not afraid to settle accounts with her life. I was as close to despair as suddenly, passing by her body, a gold medallion caught my eye. The sixth sense prompted me to examine it, and I saw a sticking white patch. Opening it, I hoped to see the photo of ex-boyfriend, but instead something was written there. Only when I put on my glasses I could make out the inscription: ‘it befell you that you could not accept me’.
***
As it turned out, no charges were brought against me and the imaginary arrest remained my paranoia. I had to go to the police station, but only as a witness. At first, the scrap of paper found by me did not mean anything, and I flew home without finding out the truth. But a few months later, when I least expected it, the call caught me at work. Eleanor was not alone all her life. At 16, she left her child to the mercy of fate.