You hold back the crime scene tape so you can duck into the small apartment.
You sigh. This is the third case like this you've had in the past two months. It is always the same. A man in his twenties that had been living alone is found dead.
You examine the completely untouched crime scene. As the head detective at the N.Y.P.D., you are the first to search for evidence; although you know you won't find any. You walk over to the body splayed out on the twin bed. A single, clean stab wound marked his chest, going straight through to his now unbeating heart. Yet there is no blood to stain the smooth white sheets. Everything in the room is perfectly in place. He didn't struggle before he died. None of them had.
As you start to leave, you finally realize how cold it is. The heating unit is on, and it's around ninety degrees outside, yet you can see the small puffs of your breath coming from your mouth. A small notion forms in your mind, but you quickly cast it aside. You have work to do. You can't waste your time trying to frame ghosts.
After reviewing the security footage and questioning the neighbors, you are certain that he came into the residence alone. But, all of his fellow tenants had heard a girl's giggling come from his rooms.
A team does a full investigation, and you learn that no weapon that could have inflicted the wound is anywhere in the room, the building, or anywhere nearby. No finger prints or other trace of DNA is found either. The small idea of a phantom killer tries to force its way back into your mind again. You mentally slap yourself for thinking it.
You walk outside to go to your small home where you live by yourself. As you start to drive off, you see a girl standing on the side of the road. Her straight black hair obscures everything except for the tears falling from her eyes. You roll down the window and ask her if she needs help. She says she was abandoned and has no where to go. You invite her to stay with you until you can find her a permanent place to stay.
When you arrive at your home, you give her a room to stay in, and you go to your own room. The temperature suddenly plunges. You see her standing silently at the door, hands clasped behind her back. You ask her if everything is okay. She says nothing and pulls one hand from behind her back. In it, she clasps a shining dagger. The handle is ivory and covered in swirling designs. The blade is made of shining, razor-sharp silver. She smiles and giggles. Before you can react, the knife is buried to the hilt in your chest. The girl quickly removes it, turns, and fades into a mist.
The next morning, you are found, but your killer is not. There is no chance for you and all the others to get your vengeance on the spirit. And no hope to find the disappearing girl.