more love & gore

I am having so much trouble getting to the root of this story.  Though I feel so comfortable with the surrounding material:

Violence wasn’t uncommon in the surrounding areas: Coriander and the industrial Newton. But in Fayetteville, it was. Before August, it had been nearly five years since the last murder there: committed, maybe fittingly, in the cemetery near the river. A grieving father by the name of Daniels, visiting his son’s grave dashed the boy’s mother’s head against the tombstone, splattering blood across the boy’s name and dropping her body into the green patch of grass that was her resting spot in the family plot. Callie and her friends drove out one late afternoon to see the crime scene. It was a morbid bit of daring, popular at Fayetteville High. When Callie got there, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows behind each marker. The cemetery was sprouted with very old trees and the leaves were streaming down in the fall breeze. A dark patch covered the last part of Kyle Daniels’s first name and the first part of his last name but Callie couldn’t tell for sure in the dim orange light if it was blood or dirt or just a shadow from a tree branch. Her friends said for sure it was blood and they squealed and Callie didn’t argue even though she wasn’t sure and when they ran back to the car, she knelt down next to it and touched her finger to the dark stain. She still couldn’t tell.