《He Loves Me Not...》


 Chapter 1

    The only group of people in this world who put their art of insanity on display for all to see are the killers. And the people don''t see it''s beauty, it''s disgust all on a canvas of flesh. They always clean it up, painting over the work only for theirs to be buried 6 ft underground...


    <hr>


    Every couple of steps, I can hear the faint crunch of the crisp, fallen leaves as I walk through the forest to the growing crowd. So much for keeping this private. I quietly and kindly shove my way through the reporters with their flashing cameras and their endless questions. None of them look twice in my direction. They¡¯re too focused on the body before me.


    Oh.


    Not one.


    Two.


    Confused, I walk closer to the yellow caution tape, only to be stopped by what appears to be a bored police officer who looks to be in their mid thirties. His dull, blue eyes were drooping from what appears to be lack of sleep. His balding head reflects the sinking sun behind me as I size him up.


    ¡°Please ma¡¯am, you can¡¯t go beyond this point. Just like the other reporters, I¡¯m going to have to ask you to step back.¡± He mutters with anything besides a stifled yawn. I casually roll my eyes and flash him my badge as I briskly walk past, not missing the creeping burn of embarrassment on his face as he masks it with a grunt, not saying anything further.


    I scoff to myself. Amature, I think as I step underneath the bright yellow tape, the only bright thing amidst this somber sight before me. As I''m inspecting the bodies, I hear a voice coming closer and I turn to look.


    "Alright, alright move- Oh! hello there, you must be Detective Grayson," The stranger sticks out her hand. "I''m Percy." She bestows a proud, smug look on her face as if she''s a celebrity I''m supposed to fawn over. She looks at me for a moment as she realizes I''m not begging for an autograph. She clears her throat. "I''m Percy, from ''Cook and Sons''." I shake my head and give her a glare as I size her up.


    She''s a tall, petite Black woman with braids tied up into a bun. I must say, the only thing keeping me from fully cutting her off would be her eyes. They look almost like mine-


    "Hello?" I blink back to the present only to find the woman, Percy, snapping her fingers in my face.


    I grit my teeth. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "What is Percy? I have things to do!" I say as I cross my arms.


    Percy smirks. "Like staring off into space? Checking me out maybe?"


    I give her the coldest look and my voice goes steely. "Let''s keep this appropriate and professional, yes? And if you wouldn''t mind, explain to me why you''re here."


    She rolls her eyes and mutters to herself before she continues on. "Okay Grayson. The bodies before us are two young girls, Elane Jackson and Kylie Jackson. Both are twelve years old and the daughters of Malcolm Jackson." I look at her in surprise. ¡°Malcolm Jackson as in, big Drug Cartel, Jackson?¡± I whisper frantically in a hushed voice as I glance at the reporters ten yards away. Percy nods and looks at her notes. ¡°Let¡¯s see.. according to some witnesses,¡± She gestures over to a family, huddled together talking to another police officer.


    ¡°The family heard children shrieking with laughter before it turned to shrill screams. Then after that, dead silence. The killer appears to be a male in his early twenties and is, like, six foot.¡±


    I shake my head. It¡¯s always a male. And it¡¯s always someone close to the victim. And the killer is always at the crime scene. But, as I look around, no one matches the description from the witnesses. I nod at Percy and stalk over to the police officer questioning the family.


    ¡°Excuse me ma¡¯am. Could I talk to them for just a moment?¡±


    She nods, clearly eager to take a break and I swoop in. The family in question seems a little.. odd. They seem calm over the fact that they, well, witnessed a murder.


    There was a little girl with them with long, black hair. She had a cute butterfly clip with blue wings as she held a purple bunny. She looked wistful almost as she looked at the scene before her.


    I looked at the father and he looked calm yet underneath, now that I was up close, he seemed scared. The wife as well. They both looked cold too as they seemed to have dressed lightly for the weather despite it being nearly freezing for the evening. The girl however was dressed appropriately. I look out to the sky. Almost nightfall now with the pretty mix of blue and purple hues. I look back at the family.


    "Hello there sir and ma''am. I''m Detective Grayson." I smile politely and stick out my hand. Formality makes everyone comfortable. Or so I thought.


    At the mention of the word detective, the father looks at me with an exasperated expression. "Please Mrs. Grayson, we''ve been interrogated for three hours. Let us go home and we''ll call you if we find anything else." He sounded final as he turned to go, putting his arm around his wife''s shoulder, who, in turn, grabbed the little girl''s hand and led them to their car behind the reporters.


    I nodded and headed back to the crime scene. Once I got close to it, my phone rang. They found something already? I thought as I pulled it out of my pocket to see it was. But the minute I looked at the caller ID, the ringing stopped. Silence except for the handful of reports still desperate to get a story in before the day ended.


    Which meant more work for me if a story got out before we could gather all the facts.


    I saw Percy getting some more info and samples from someone in her field so I went up to the bodies to look at them myself. And what I found shocked me. I immediately called everyone over.


    "I think we need to send backup on this one!"

 Chapter 2

    Interrogation is an art. It is a game. A simple mind game. The detectives know too little and too much. Your job is to fill them in and file them out. If you''re really innocent, you have nothing to be afraid of...


    <hr>


    This dingy, gray room is not any better from the integrated side of this table than the other. I guess this is what the convicts and criminals feel like, a caged rabbit. I look up at the camera mounted on the wall in the tightest corner, watching every move and breath made. So much happened so quickly that aged to get whisked away here. I never truly would have thought I¡¯d end up on this side of the table. Not after my sister-


    The door banged open to reveal two beefy-looking men, wearing crisp gray suits and harboring a stern look on their faces. One has the largest tattoo of a butterfly arching up and around his neck like a large hand wrapping around his throat. The other has a kinder atmosphere to them despite the look on his face. And lovely blonde hair at that.


    I bite my lip to keep in a laugh. These are first-timers for sure, always trying to scare answers out of people. The blonde one looks at me while the other- a bald man- walks around, a cat stalking its prey.


    ¡°Is all of this really necessary boys?¡± I ask, making sure boredom snakes its way into my voice. They appeared surprised at my sudden bite, surely expecting me to quiver under their gaze. They exchange a glance but I don¡¯t miss a beat.


    ¡°If you plan to integrate me, let¡¯s make this quick. I¡¯ve got to get back to my assignment. And did you call my boss first before trapping me in here like an animal? Surely this is unethical.¡± I smirk. And just like that, their bold masks are cracked and have fallen into their open mouths, surprised even more.


    I get up and make my way to the door, closing their slack-jawed mouths as I pass. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want you two to drool on this newly waxed floor.¡± I walk out of the room, heading straight for my car when I hear someone call my name. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I turn around.


    I see the flash of bright green eyes that look eerily familiar.


    Ah shit


    Percy.


    I don''t have the energy or thehoratience to deal with her right now. I quickly muster up a small smile and I walk over to her. Upon getting closer to her, I see she¡¯s beaming with pride. Jeez her ego is worse than a guy¡¯s. I sigh inwardly and feign curiosity.


    ¡°Ye Percy,? What can I help you with?¡± I ask.


    ¡°Grayson! I wanted to catch you up on what the other investigators found at the scene.¡± She pulls out her small notebook and starts flipping through the pages, Wow. Despite her chaotic personality, she is quite organized. She stops flipping and reads from her notes.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°The Elane had thick ligature marks around her wrists, indicating she was bound. And Kylie had fingernail prints around the jugular of her neck. And the nail prints had red nail polish residue.¡± She clicks her tongue. ¡°The pain of being a pretty killer.¡±


    I think over what I saw at the scene. ¡°But there were bullet wounds along their arms but no blood. No blood remained in either body as if something sucked it all dry.¡±


    Percy gasps and jumps around like a little girl at a carnival. ¡°Are we dealing with a Vampire?!¡±


    I shake my head. Why was I always paired with the immature ones? ¡°No,¡± I say, on my last stand of patience. ¡°This is real life. Not Twilight. So get real Percy.¡±


    I turn to go, now deep in thought on how we should go about this case. II toldll odd one. I arrive at the elevator and press the bright white Lobby button. As I¡¯m waiting for the elevator, I hear fast heels clicking the tiled floor, getting closer.


    ¡°But Grayson,¡± Percy balks, contemplating whether or not to tell me something. ¡°The little girl with the family? She was playing with the girls in the forest when everything went down. The girl has Sanfilippo Syndrome.¡±


    I look at her with a funny expression on my face. ¡°You¡¯re telling me that this little girl has Child Alzheimers? But that condition is rare.¡± I say, trailing off.


    ¡°Well, yeah, it¡¯s rare but not impossible to get. When asked about what happened, she said she doesn¡¯t remember. She kept repeating that the girls were pretty¡±


    I tap my foot as I begin to pace. A moment later, I hear the ping of the elevator and I say quickly to Percy, ¡°Okay well, find out what else you know. If you find anything tonight, call me.¡± She nods and I get on the elevator, and lean against the bar. This girl is our one and only chance of actually solving this case. Problem is, whatever happened is now gone and done for, not coming back any time soon.


    I sigh and once the elevator stops at the Lobby floor, I step off and head to the front desk to clock out. When I pass the clerk on duty, she calls me.


    ¡°Grayson! We have news that some reporter has found out something about the case. Please tell me you¡¯ve found at least some shred of evidence?¡±


    I stop mid-step and turn to face her. How had they found something that fast? No one said anything to them as far as I know. ¡°I¡¯ve found a little bit of something but the big part I need is in the head of a little girl. Problem is, no scientist, even Albert Einstein himself can recover what we need.¡±


    The clerk nods sharply and turns back to her computer. ¡°Just know that a little bit goes a long way.¡±


    I chuckle and head into the back to grab my purse. I then clock myself out and head out the door, only to be met with the biting cold of the Chicago air. Winter here is brutal. But I don¡¯t suppose it¡¯s anywhere near as bad as Canada. I sigh and a white cloud of breath trails from my lips. I smile and head to a nearby coffee shop to warm myself up before heading home. I pull out my phone to read the time. 8:44 PM. When did it get so late?


    * * * * * *


    I take a long, piping hot sip of coffee, followed by a cool, sweet bite of a chocolate donut. I laugh to myself. I¡¯m starting to fit into the police stereotype aren¡¯t I?


    Between sips of coffee, I begin to think about the oddity of this case. Never had I ever experienced a case where the blood and other fluids are just.. Gone. Completely sucked dry. Almost as if someone found them a while back and drained them, only to drag them to the forest. I shake my head. It couldn¡¯t have been a vampire though, could it? There were no puncture marks. Only bullet wounds along the arms.


    Bullet wounds yet no bullet shells. Bodies yet no blood.


    No DNA.


    Nothing.


    It¡¯s almost like the person responsible is someone who knows


    exactly


    what they¡¯re doing.

 Chapter 3

    The whole world is heartless in one way or another. No one is really truly pure. They all have secrets and it''s our job to clean them right up. No one wants a messy person to do their dirty work...


    <hr>


    It¡¯s crazy really how someone can go about their day, doing a heartless deed and continuing on as if it''s a daily occurrence. Something.. normal. Then again, I guess no one or nothing is normal. And neither is this case.


    After leaving the coffee shop, I finally arrive at my door after a frostbitten twenty-minute walk. I unlock my door and take off my shoes, getting settled as if I were on autopilot. I begin to set down my keys on the kitchen table when I see a letter lying on the table with a rose sitting on top.


    Suddenly wary, I cautiously grab the letter. The envelope was a very russet yellow with a lovely signature of- my name?


    Veronica G.


    I peer closer at the envelope. No return address. And the sender¡¯s name isn¡¯t there either. I look at the rose and pick it up, taking a quick whiff. It smelled of something fresh. I guess it¡¯s real after all, I thought as I put it back down. I¡¯ll have to find a vase for it later.


    I look back at the letter and with a deep breath, I tear it open to find a page with the same flowery handwriting as the envelope. Just as I¡¯m about to start reading it, a sharp knock reverts through the house, making me jump.


    Jeez, what was wrong with me?


    ¡°Coming!¡± I called, quickly putting the letter and rose away from prying eyes. Who could be here at such an hour anyways? I wasn¡¯t expecting anyone..


    I open the door to find Percy standing there. I groan inwardly. Will I ever catch a break?


    ¡°Percy, couldn¡¯t it have waited till-¡± She barges in, cutting me off. Before I could come up with a retort, I caught her face and she looked.. Frantic.


    ¡°Make yourself at home,¡± I mutter, closing the door behind her.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Okay I know what it looks like and I promise it¡¯s not like that. I know you told me to call you if I found anything else about the case but this couldn¡¯t be discussed over the phone.¡± She looks around as if paranoid.


    I nod. "Yes I did, so what is it?"


    She continues looking around as if she''s searching for something before she turns to me. "Have you ever heard of a guy named Owen Aviel?"


    I raise an eyebrow in confusion. "No, I don''t suppose I do. Why?"


    Percy pulls out her phone and shows me a Facebook post from Owen. And according to the post, it was pretty evident he was a fan. Of my work. Which is odd since I work for the smallest company in Newbury. No one knows who I am except for my co-workers and family members. I hardly used social media as it was.


    I continue scrolling through the love-filled messages from him. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± I mutter to myself as I continue to balk at the comments and tags all about.. me.


    It was so eerily unsettling. Then a thought crossed my mind. Was he the one who sent the letter?


    I look up at Percy. ¡°Okay,¡± I say, sounding uncertain.


    ¡°So you mean to tell me you barged into my house to only tell me about some fanatic of my work? And you couldn¡¯t tell me this over the phone because..?¡± I trail off, waiting for a clear explanation.


    Percy looks around once more, leaning in closer so I can hear her hushed response. ¡°Because he¡¯s listening, Grayson.¡±


    I sigh, completely tired of her wild ramblings. ¡°Okay Percy I¡¯m sure you¡¯re just tired and this case is eating away at you. Why don¡¯t you go home.¡±


    I slowly push her towards the door and out into the still, quiet cold night, suppressing my eagerness to get her away from me as soon as possible. She nods and reluctantly walks off to her car, puffs of white air coming out of the tailpipes.


    I brush off my hands as if I had just finished cleaning and right as I¡¯m heading inside, I see the silhouette of someone dart into the line of tees to the side of my house. I shake my head, thinking it¡¯s a deer and I rush back into the house, starting to shiver.


    I head to the kitchen and grab the letter and rose from its hiding spot. I look around and find an empty vase sitting in the back corner of the kitchen countertop and I fill it up with water, placing the rose inside.


    I stare at the letter, thinking.


    Should I open it? Should I throw it away?


    As well of a detective I am, nothing in my job description nor the rulebook explains how to go about something like this. But then again, if life was based around a rulebook for every little thing, It wouldn¡¯t really be life though would it?


    I simply toss the letter on the countertop and head up to my office to work on some cases.


    Cases...


    How can I work on any cases when I have to deal with this odd one?


    Opening up my laptop, I look around the small office, taking in the tiny succulents sitting on the windowsill, the mounds of paperwork all over the desk, the filing cabinets overflowing with cold case files or hurried files shoved away, untouched and collecting dust. A cleaning day is what this room needs. I think to myself as I sit at the desk and begin typing up the case report from today.


    I could have sworn I did this earlier though...


    Ah, but I couldn''t because those two buffoons in the interrogation office wanted me to spill about the case. But before that, I was sitting at my desk...


    Unless Percy did it for me, but that¡¯s doubtful since she was busy gathering information from the other investigators and officers at the scene.


    I shake my head and continue the report. It wouldn¡¯t hurt if I had more than one right?


    But it would hurt if we had more than one body...


    And at the rate this case is going, that seems to be the only outcome.

 Chapter 4

    Who was smart enough to give the world another killing machine, this time in the hands of everyone age worthy, to drive a shapened crunch of metal and pistons that runs on gas only for them to kill, to hurt. They made rules but all rules get broken..


    <hr>


    I push my way through the Sunday office crowd. I hated days like today, cases piling up only for them to end terribly or go cold once lazy cops got tired of searching. I will admit, there were some good cases that ended pretty well. The culprit ended up behind bars or the missing person was found and brought back home. A body made its way to its proper burial site. Some cases were sad and gruesome but they could end well.


    All but my case. I will never forget the night when I lost my best friend, Zayn. He and I were inseparable. We became best friends once middle school rolled around, having the best sleepovers and just toughing shit out. It was nice, perfect even. All until Homecoming night. I told him not to go because it was a lame dance, only dressing up for 3 hours and eating food. It was something anyone could do at home with friends.


    But of course, he didn¡¯t listen. He wanted to go so I drove him but some dumbass drunk driver was speeding around the curve, not even bothering to slow down once we came into view. I sat there frozen yet everything was happening so fast. The next thing I knew, the driver plowed into us, sending us rolling.


    Once everything settled I turned to assess the damage and make sure Zayn was alright. It was then that I saw my first dead body. He looked so disproportionate, his neck bent and splayed at an unnatural angle, his now unblinking eyes staring at the starry, clear sky. His legs were crushed under the dashboard, bits of bone glinting in the half-dead headlight of the driver. His face was cut and bloodied from the windshield, shards of glass still protruding from him


    All was quiet.


    Except for the faintest beat of the party¡¯s music just a mile away. What was wrong with me? What the fuck did I do?!


    The reality was slowly starting to creep into my still-shocked brain. After what seemed like 20 years, I thought to pull out my phone from my purse to call 911. As I turned, I realized I was shaking. Well of course who wouldn¡¯t shake by such an experience? But I was ransacked with sobs. My throat was raw from what I suppose was my screaming but I never heard it happen. All I could hear was the music and the life drained out of Zayn.


    My best friend...


    I killed my best friend¡­Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°GRAYSON¡±


    I jump, spilling my coffee all over my desk. Ah shit. I spaced out again. And when the hell did I get here? I mumble curses to myself as I hurry to grab napkins. As I¡¯m looking around for them, I see my boss and Percy walking toward me. Oh no, what did I do now?


    I muster a quick and easy smile, walking my way over to them. ¡°Yes sir?¡± I ask as I glance between the two of them. They both stare back at me, looking very pissed. What did I do? I tilt my head in a confused and innocent manner, trying to gain a visual of what it was I did. No one speaks and moments pass by in a blur before my boss shoves a case report into my arms and crosses his arms.


    ¡°Sir?¡± I ask again, very much now confused and concerned. Percy clears her throat and speaks timidly, staring at the floor instead of looking at me.


    ¡°Mrs. Grayson, it¡¯s come to our attention that there has been a double report on the case from yesterday. And there have been wild and drastic changes between both reports. There was one submitted after you had returned from the scene and the other was turned in at around an hour before I left..¡± She trailed off, not inclining to say the rest in front of my boss but I still got the message.


    I nod and flip open the report folder to look at the alleged changes. The first report is a typical one, cause of death, name of the victim(s), age, height, and so on. Almost like a doctor''s report. I then look at the one I submitted last night and my eyes widen slightly in surprise. Everything written in this report had drastic numbers. Both girls were eleven but the report says they were twenty. I look down at the cause of death and find that they have died from...


    Bullet wounds.


    That¡¯s... Impossible!


    But the evidence is right here.. And I know I didn¡¯t write up this report. So who did? Or was I more tired than I thought?


    I slowly look up at Percy, unable to look my boss in the eye right now. In a thick, robotic voice I say, ¡°Very well, I will have this looked at. For now, let¡¯s call the pathologist on duty with the girls and ask for the results. They should be done by now.¡±


    I turn away slowly and walk quickly back to my desk, my mind whirling and trying to grasp a logical explanation for how this case has currently come underway. Absolutely nothing about this case is-


    A flash of red is seen on my desk.


    A rose.


    And another letter.


    I falter and come to an abrupt stop at my desk. I stared warily at the items on my desk. Suddenly I snap to and stop a passing officer. ¡°Excuse me, sir, could you pull up the security cameras and tell me if you see someone walk by here around 10 minutes ago?¡± The man, terrified at my sudden hostility, nods quickly looking like a bobblehead and he runs off in the direction of the control room.


    As I¡¯m waiting for the man to get back, my phone pings with a message from an unknown number. I look at it and I go still, my face now ashen.


    ¡°Did you like the flowers?¡±


    Right as I¡¯m about to respond, the man comes back, and he looks at me like I¡¯m a little crazy. If today were a normal day, I would have thought he would be the crazy one.


    ¡°There was no one coming in or out of the office.¡±


    My mind starts whirling again and I almost miss what he says next.


    ¡°There was only you. Holding a rose and a letter.¡±

 Chapter 5

    Day after day, I watch her function through her work on nothing but coffee and a love for solving puzzles. She seems so in her element when she¡¯s busy solving cases. Cases I give her because if it weren''t for me, she¡¯d be stuck with the patrol. And my darling Veronica is too perfect for that. Far too perfect to waste her talents with those cop losers. No one likes a cop but everyone loves Veronica.


    My darling Veronica.


    From the office cubicle to her left, I sit, twirling in the seat. Watching. Always watching. She is such an interesting person to watch. Something exotic and spectacular with those bright, emerald green eyes that light up at the slightest mention of a case. Her cute button nose that wrinkles in severe concentration. And even the way her long, auburn hair cascades down her narrow shoulders.


    I could go on and on but then you, dear reader, would soon too, fall for my Veronica the way everyone else has before you. She really is something, isn''t she a dear, reader?


    As I¡¯m spinning around quietly in my seat, I see that she looks forlorn and sickly, seeming to have aged a few years from what that man had told her earlier. A minute ago she was frantically pointing at the cameras, asking for something. I was sure she scared him off because he ran away with his tail between his legs.


    Surprisingly though, he came back. And now she looks distressed. I had the sudden urge to walk over to her and help console her but it would ruin everything. I need to wait for the perfect opportunity-


    She begins walking quickly toward my desk but she stares ahead with a blank expression, she looks robotic and almost scary.


    Almost. Because my darling Veronica is too perfect to be scary.


    As she passes by my desk in a hurry, she knocks over some stacks of papers. She spins around sharply and looks like she¡¯s going to yell at me for being in her way when she sees the flurry of papers falling on the floor. I scramble to pick them up, too nervous to look her in the eyes. She¡¯s so pretty like this but I must also refrain from making her any more agitated than she already is.


    She walks over and bends down to help pick up the papers. I glance at her and see that her cheeks are flaming red with embarrassment. She then looks at me and I¡¯m suddenly drawn to those eyes. Those vibrant, elegant eyes. I look away and duck my head, picking up a couple of pens that have fallen as well. Slowly I stand up, shuffling the papers into a new stack and she does the same, turning to hand me her stack when she¡¯s done. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°I apologize for bumping into your work,¡± She says shrewdly, trying to feign guilt. I smile and give her a friendly nod.


    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly okay. You seemed a little stressed and out of it. It¡¯s understandable.¡± I nod toward the officer she was talking to just moments before. ¡°May I ask what happened?¡±


    She shakes her head and gives me an amused smile. ¡°If you really are a detective, sitting in that cubicle, you¡¯d know not to ask questions you wouldn¡¯t want the answer to. Plus it''s part of a case. Can¡¯t disclose information to strangers.¡±


    Now it was my turn to burn from embarrassment. She did have a fair point. And I, out of anyone else, should know this considering all the cases I¡¯ve given her.


    I place the stacks of paper on the desk and make everything neat as it was before. I give her another quick, self-assuring smile and sit back down at the desk. ¡°Well it is only a stack of papers,¡± I say as I drop a couple of the fallen pens into the pen holder. ¡°And a couple of pens. No harm done.¡±


    She takes a sigh of relief. ¡°Oh good! I just hate having to repay people¡±


    ¡°Oh that¡¯s a new one. No, you don¡¯t have to repay anything. It was just a simple accident.¡± I begin spinning in the chair again, keeping my gaze on her. Dear reader, she is indeed an exceptional woman. It is such a shame and yet a blessing at the same time that we are now no longer strangers.


    Smiling, I stopped spinning and looked into those vibrant green eyes again but, before I could say anything, a woman came up to my veronica. I stiffen. Her eyes. They were the exact shade of green with the exact amount of intensity and-


    Oh. She¡¯s speaking to me. I blink and tilt my head like a confused puppy. ¡°I¡¯m sorry? What were you saying?¡±


    The woman stood up straight and rocked from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. ¡°I was saying that, erm, you are needed by Mr. Ying in his office.¡± She phrased it like a  question. I stand up abruptly, making the woman jump and putting Veronica on edge. I hold out a hand, saying I¡¯m not going to harm anyone.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry ladies.¡± I turn to the woman. ¡°How urgently does he need me Miss..?¡± I trial off, searching for her name.


    ¡°Percy. My name is Percy.¡± She says flatly. ¡°And he expects you there in 5 minutes.¡± she gives me a stern look and saunters off to her own office. I look back at Veronica but she¡¯s heading toward her cubicle to grab her things. I take a quick jog to catch up to her.


    Upon reaching her, I clear my throat. ¡°Are you leaving?¡± She nods quietly and slowly as if she¡¯s tired. ¡°But it¡¯s only lunchtime,¡± I add, trying nervously to not scare her away.


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why I¡¯m leaving. I¡¯m going to pick up some lunch.¡± She turns around sharply and glares at me. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know you okay? We talk briefly for one minute and you¡¯re already prone to keeping me here.¡±


    Uh Oh.


    ¡°Well I was only going to ask if you wanted me to pick up the food for you, as a proper way of showing I forgive you?¡± I say, phrasing it like a question, like the woman did moments before. She scoffs. Don¡¯t you have that meeting with my boss? And I don¡¯t even know your name!¡± She begins walking to the nearby elevator.


    She presses the down button and impatiently taps her foot. ¡°Well,¡± I say, trying to calm her down, and my nerves. ¡°Maybe some other time.¡±


    She huffs her annoyance in a way of agreement and sighs, stepping onto the elevator. Moments before the door closes, I say with a slight smile, ¡°My name is Owen. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you.¡±


    Let me tell you dear reader, her face was pure surprise.


    And it was


    Priceless.

 Chapter 6

    Coincidences are a funny thing. Because how do we truly know if something was intended or if it just happened to turn out that way in our favor? It''s mearly a trick of fabrication...


    <hr>


    But I know this coincidence was nothing short of terrible. He¡¯s real. He¡¯s really real. And I only thought it was a prank, something to laugh about and forget the next day. If anything, I almost did forget. But then, he¡¯s there in the office. In my workplace. Now he¡¯s in my life. Honestly, how much worse could it get?


    As I¡¯m waiting in the elevator, my mind races, trying to piece things together. Owen. He is my stalker, my secret admirer. He has to be unless the chances of him being a different Owen are just as high. He never told me his last name so maybe, just maybe he could be someone else? Okay he¡¯s not my issue right now. I just need to figure out this case.


    I tap my foot as I begin to watch the bright neon red numbers of each floor go down, getting closer and closer to the first floor. Get it together Veronica. Get it together.


    I try to think back to what the officer was telling me after I had talked to my boss and Percy. There can¡¯t be a way to alter that footage? You¡¯d have to go into the control room but that room has a security camera over the door frame and nothing gets past that camera, hacker or not. Besides, everyone was busy working or in their cubicles. You could do it from your computer but it would pin it back to you in seconds flat.


    Suddenly the pinging of the elevator zip through my thoughts, cutting them off. The doors open to show a quiet lobby, as usual. A few people sit in the plush blue chairs near the clerk¡¯s desk, awaiting to be called in to have their report claimed and filed. On Saturdays, I try not to work the night shift when I can. Too many people run in around midnight, claiming a robbery or a murder. The big stuff. And it¡¯s like the boy who cried wolf. They were just looking for some fun, to get off with a laugh and go on about their night. It¡¯s a waste of time and resources.


    I step off the elevator and make my way toward the brass doors leading to the bright, tropical-like day. Upon passing the desk, the clerk on duty, the same clerk who talked to me a few days ago, waved me down and flashed an energetic smile. Feigning one of my own, I make my way toward her. ¡°Ah, hello again Francine. Truly it is a surprise to see you working a day shift.¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Francine laughs and nods towards an overhead clock facing the plush blue seats. 11:22 am. A bit past my usual lunchtime. My stomach gurgles quietly at the thought. ¡°Hey, where¡¯s your lunch? Want me to pick up anything for you? I¡¯m heading out to get mine right now.¡± I say, leaning against the desk.


    She shakes her head at me. ¡°No thanks Grayson. I¡¯ve got my own lunch.¡± I smile and nod. Francine is a tall Asian woman, with long black wavy hair and despite her being a bit on the plus side, she is like a pretty model star. It surprises everyone that she¡¯s here working at a desk all day. Not only that, she makes the best food. She has a lot of things going for her but she says she loves working here, and truly I don¡¯t blame her one bit.


    ¡°Well, enjoy your lunch then Francine! I shall see you in a bit.¡± I say with a friendly wave and I walk out the brass doors with a small smile on my face. Despite Percy¡¯s annoying energy, not everyone here is entirely bad. I¡¯m just not a people person. I¡¯ve always kept to myself since my mom and I moved around a lot. I never got the time or chance to make friends. So I¡¯ve learned to be independent.


    Once I feel the sun kiss my cheek with its delicate warmth, I make my way to my clunk of a car. Just a small and simple Honda Civic. I¡¯ve had this old thing since the accident with Zayn. I sign, feeling my smile droop a little. I miss him so much. I shake my head sharply and wrench the car door open, sliding into the driver''s seat. I slam the door closed, making the car shake with the intensity of it. I start the car and then back out of the driveway, heading to the closest Zaxby¡¯s to grab me a salad.


    *********************


    I walk into the lobby again, heading over to the front desk to check in with Francine. She¡¯s bent over paperwork in the back, her reading glasses on and a fine tip pen in her hand. Knowing Francine, she is in her work mode, not to be disturbed no matter the incident. I grab a sticky note from her large stack on the desk and write a quick ¡°I¡¯ve returned!¡± note, sticking it on the computer monitor. I then turn and head toward the elevator, ready to ascend to my own work once again.


    Once the elevator arrives at my floor, I step off and head to my desk to complete and finalize paperwork, pulling out case files and logging cases and reports into my computer. I smile and begin to relax as slowly, the stack of work begins to dwindle. I¡¯m completely in my element. This is what I love about my job. The work. Now just about everyone in this world hates work but me? I absolutely love it. I almost forgot everything that¡¯s happened today.


    Soon, I filed and logged everything away. I stretch, reliving my tense muscles from hunching over the stacks of paper. I stand and head over to the large, rounded windows, overlooking the entirety of Chicago. The sky has changed from a soft baby blue, to a beautiful array of pinks and oranges swirled into the soft yellows.


    I¡¯m about to turn to leave when a familiar voice calls out from behind me,


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it pretty?¡±

 Chapter 7

    Fear is surly coil of a thing. It''s careful to wrap you in it''s midst, making sure you choke and drown in it''s slick oil of this grotesque feeling. It''s like looking in a black, hazy funhouse mirror, fooling your brain into thinking it''s going to die, making your heart nearly beat out of your chest, that surely to kill you than your wildest imagination...


    <hr>


    I whirl around quickly, my heart thumping hard against my chest, threatening to jump out. I put my hand on my heart as if merely touching it would calm it down out of spite. I only find Owen behind me, looking at the sunset. From his distance, he couldn¡¯t see the Chicago streets and buildings, the windows of the tallest glinting with the beautiful palette of colors hanging over the city. I take a quick sigh of relief and drop my hand back to my side, offering him a kind smile.


    ¡°Hey, I wanted to say a quick sorry for the outrage earlier.¡±


    ¡°Yeah it¡¯s uh, it¡¯s no biggie! I was stepping on toes there.¡± He gave me a kind smile in return and nodded toward the skyline view. ¡°Certainly is pretty, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    I nodded as I turned from the window to him quizzically. ¡°What¡¯s your last name?¡± I blurt out, pulling hard at the chance he¡¯s not who Percy mentioned just days before. He looked at me slowly as if he were picking apart my question with splayed confusion and amusement on his face. After what felt like a thousand years of the silence growing thick between us, he laughed and held out his hand for me to shake. Surprised by this odd and sudden gesture, I take it and he shakes it firmly.


    ¡°The name, sweet one, is Owen Layhe. It is such a pleasure to meet you¡­¡± He trails off, searching for a name. Laughing, I play along. ¡°The name, odd one, is Veronica Grayson. It is such a pleasure to meet you finally.¡±


    Beaming, He drops my hand and rakes his through his hair, turning to grab his briefcase- who still owned those- and begins to leave.


    ¡°H-how long have you worked here?¡± I ask suddenly, stammering a bit. A part of me blooms with confusion. The Veronica everyone knows never stammers. She¡¯s all business. Never wavers, no matter how difficult a case or how disturbing a trial is. I look up at Owen and he has frozen mid-step, hesitating a moment too late before he replies, ¡°I¡¯ve been here for about a couple of months now.¡±


    Once he says this, I notice he tenses up in just the slightest of ways. The burst of confusion from my outburst begins to ebb away and bubble into suspicion. ¡°Oh, really?¡± I ask, trying to gain some leeway with him. ¡°And what cases have you gotten so far?¡± I take a step closer to him, now fully brooding in a familiar feeling of satisfaction. I seem to have caught an animal in a trap. And he¡¯s shaking in his shoes. Before I can ask another question to divert the silence, he takes off running and my feet naturally follow in pursuit. Idiots, I think. They always try to run. And they end up surprised when they get caught. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Amused by this particular chase, I begin to gain on him, growing closer with each step. He starts to slow down some, clearly not used to running in a suit and he begins to get tired. Suddenly I stop and watch him continue on, heading toward the door that leads to the stairs. He shoves it open and faintly, I can hear the soft slap of his shoes hitting the stairs as he descends quickly. The door then closes, and the sound of the latch clicking shut echoes loudly through the empty hallway, the overhead fluorescent light humming, drowning out the now-growing silence. I let him get away. For the first time in my whole career, I''ve let someone get away. I turn around and walk back to the office, walking quickly.


    Let him run because animals can only get so far.


    Once I arrive at the office, I head straight for the window where I find the desk Owen put his briefcase on and I spot something rectangular lying on it. I laugh aloud at the absurdity of it. I found his phone! Animals get comfortable and then they get sloppy.


    I pick it up and turn it on. I swipe upwards to unlock it but find it requires a fingerprint. I shake my head and turn the phone back off, holding up the now blank screen to the little bit of light left peeking through the window. I tilt it around for a moment when I finally see a fingerprint. Now giddy, I grab a roll of tape from the nearest cubicle and rip a piece off, sticking it carefully onto the fingerprint.


    Once I power the phone back on, I stick the tape onto the fingerprint sensor and slightly press it down. After a couple of seconds, It lets me in and I quickly head over to Owen¡¯s text messages. There isn¡¯t any proof he could be my stalker - if you want to call it that - but he also didn¡¯t have the same last name. But then again, why would he run once I started asking him questions? If he lied about who he really was, how hard was it for him to lie again?


    Now, equally frustrated, I go through his messages. After a couple of minutes, I haven¡¯t found anything. I look up from the screen and find it''s almost pitch black, the only light coming from the busy night down below me. Sighing, I¡¯m about to turn off the phone when I see a message pop up from one of his social media sites. His Twitter.


    I click on it and look at his recent posts. My eyes widened slightly. They are all about me. Why are they all about me? I scan through each post, my eyes only skimming the ones that truly pop out.


    ¡°She looks so lovely when she sleeps. When she¡¯s dreaming her eyes flutter like the softest wings of a butterfly.¡±


    ¡°When she¡¯s getting coffee at the nearby coffee shop, She looks so at peace.¡±


    ~One Image Attached~


    I shakily click on the image and what I see makes my heart stop. I¡¯m sitting at a table, closest to the window, and eating a doughnut while sipping coffee. I¡¯m looking out the window, watching people and cars go by. I look almost... Wistful and at ease.


    Quickly, feeling hot tears sting my eyes, I shut off the phone but it doesn¡¯t help. The picture of me in that shop is now seared into my brain. I quickly slip the phone into my purse and stalk off toward the elevator.


    What¡¯s going on with me?

 Chapter 8

    Insanity is a misconception. No one knows if one is truly what they call insane. They just slap a label on something that doesn¡¯t make sense in their tiny human brains and get on with their life, like checking off tasks on a list. But we get that unsettling feeling that we are certainly different from everyone else but in a twisted way, gnarled tree roots growing over our mind and our heart, consuming what we hold dear. Eventually our memories become ghosts haunting us...


    <hr>


    Feeling tired and frustrated with all that has been going on lately, I walk my way to a bar right across from the office. Moonshine-N¡¯-Lite has been here for decades, an old family business. The inside looks much larger than the outside.


    Everyone loves the old, russet decor, transporting you to a place of comfort with their records and vinyls playing in the back of the bar and wood like decorations as if we were in a cabin. Off to the side, there is a small stage where singers and poets can get their fifteen minutes of fame every night. On cold winter nights like tonight, there is a fireplace that sits beside the vinyls and gives off a glorious warmth throughout the entire bar.


    The booths and tables are made of an old leather texture, the tables looking furnished yet roughed up. The bar itself is set in the middle of the place, rows and rows of lovely fermented wine and hidden whiskey and other drinks are stored in a cabinet behind the bar. Despite the old timely music and the old, earthy smell and wood like decor, this place feels like home. It just doesn¡¯t help that it¡¯s right across the street from the office, the majority of our late night calls are from these drunkards getting too lively in their night.


    I walk in and head straight for the corner barstool, all the way to the left, away from any type of communication. It¡¯s the main seat customers sit when they don¡¯t want to be bothered. I take a seat and the bartender on duty, Tom, begins to make my order without even asking. I¡¯m a regular here and Tom used to be best friends with Zayn and I.


    As he¡¯s making my drink, he glances at me and motions to a booth on the opposite side of the bar, also tucked into a corner, at a guy hunched over his phone. He begins to bounce his leg, glancing up every now and then, looking very nervous. I look back over at Tom and nudge my head in the direction of the nervous guy.


    ¡°What¡¯s his deal?¡± I ask, propping my elbows on the counter, leaning inward as if Tom was going to kiss me. He laughed and played along, knowing how well I act during personal investigations. He leans in close to my ear and whispers:If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°He¡¯s been asking for you,¡± He says, as he places my drink on the counter next to me.


    I fake a giggle and lean back slowly, taking a quick glance at the guy in the corner only to find him looking right at me, his expression cold and his hand tightened around his phone. I quickly look away and casually grab my drink, taking a sip.


    Good ol¡¯ whiskey on the rocks.


    I gently placed the glass down, looking around the bar to see how many people were in there. It¡¯s about as dead as a western showdown, I think as I place my hands in my lap and lean back, finally relaxing.


    Tom looks at me then, really eyeing me this time and his gaze leaves hot trails wherever it roams. I suddenly feel my cheeks grow a hazy warmth, as if I¡¯m standing in front of a furnace, its heat just kissing my face. I clear my throat and hear soft footfalls heading toward me. I look up and find the nervous guy heading my way, his hands are tucked in his pockets but his arm is slightly shaking.


    He can¡¯t seem to keep his eyes on me. He stops right in front of me and, jarringly, sticks out his hand. ¡°I- I- I¡¯m-¡± He stammers, his face turning a deep shade of red from embarrassment. I bristle and offer a tiny smile, Who sent him to look for me when he looks like he can barely contain his bladder? He looks about damn near close to crying.


    I laugh breezily and swivel myself around so I¡¯m facing him, crossing one leg over the other. I lean forward and take his hand, giving it a firm shake. ¡°Hey there! You seem to be quite nervous. What¡¯s got you so bunched up?¡± I ask, making my face mimic that of curiosity and understanding. He shakes his head, unable to trust himself with speaking as he¡¯d already failed that. After a few ticks of silence, I nod encouragingly and offer an open seat beside me. ¡°Here, take a seat and when you¡¯re ready to talk, we can chat.¡±


    His face screams relief after hearing that and he quickly takes the seat, worried I¡¯d change my mind if he hesitated for even a second. As I continue to sip my drink, I simply listen to the backdrop of crowded voices in the now filled chairs behind me, each voice overlapping the next. I realize now how late it is based on the number of customers that now reside here. It¡¯s always late at night when things begin to happen. And in about 5 minutes, someone is going to walk on that stage and-


    ¡°M-my name is Jacob.¡±


    Surprised, clearly having forgotten he was there, I nod and look down at the counter. ¡°That¡¯s a lovely name you have there. You don¡¯t meet too many Jacobs on the streets.¡± I replied half-heartedly. He dismisses my comet with the wave of a hand. ¡°Yeah, no. Jacob is too common of a name.¡±


    I look at him then but soon, as I said earlier, someone begins to walk on the stage and they carry a guitar with them, looking a little fazed at the crowd slowly turning to face them one by one. As he¡¯s plugging the guitar in a nearby speaker, I realize it¡¯s not a guy but a female.


    A very familiar female¡­


    When she lifts her head and steps up to the mic to say something, I realize it¡¯s Percy.


    And she''s staring right at me...