my old truck clanks and clunks as i drive to the station. the noises finally cease when the car parks. i get out and walk in only to find it buzzing with people. i find an empty seat and wait.
and wait. and wait. finally my name is called and i follow a professional-looking officer to an interrogation room. the standard questions are asked.
"what is your full name?" "where were you on the night of May 12?" "what kind of relationship did you have with Her?"
"Griffin Sullivan." "home. "She was a friend."
more and more questions came to me but they were easy to answer without giving too much away so i was grateful for that. i walk out after receiving a phone number from the officer.
(if i ever need to call them or if i find anything related to Her murder). i pass by a strange man before i exit the station and i meet his eyes but they quickly flicker away when i look at him.
he looks... familiar. hmph. i hop in my old truck and clank away.
the next day i make the long journey to the home where i grew up. nobody has been there in years and no one has maintained it so as i expected, cobwebs and darkness took over.
the front porch creaked and the door's bolts rusted. i stepped in and a wave of dust filled the air.
i guess no one really wanted a house in the middle of nowhere and for some, it was too expensive to repair. i walked up the stairs and into my father's old office.
the room was a wreck, as he left it. books were scattered. i needed to find who murdered Her.
i needed help. i couldn't call the cop.
i needed help. i couldn't call the cop. but i could call an old friend...