⸝⸝ ꒰ ★ : ✨️ ⁞ ⌑ 🕊
Let's solve a murder case, shall we?
Taehyung was found dead in his car, his parents hired the best best detective of their area also known as "Roseanne Smith".
Roseanne Smit a well known detective only 25 but solved many cases...
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The clock chimed the midnight hour, breaking the oppressive silence. It was time to take action, to seek answers where none seemed to exist. With a deep, shaky breath, she pushed herself off the couch and grabbed her jacket from the coat rack by the door. The chilly evening air greeted her as she stepped outside, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere she had left behind. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, the streetlights casting long, lonely shadows across the sidewalks. The distant wail of a siren pierced the night, a mournful echo of her own grief.
Her boots clicked against the pavement as she walked, each step taking her closer to the scene of the crash. The journey felt like an eternity, her thoughts racing as fast as her heart. The neon glow of the convenience store sign at the corner cast a sickly glow over the spot where it had all ended. The asphalt was scarred, a dark smudge on the otherwise pristine surface, a stark reminder of the night's events. The police had cleared the scene hours ago, leaving only a few yellow tapes fluttering in the breeze like the ghosts of forgotten memories. But the pain, the disbelief—those remained, as real and tangible as the cold metal of the street sign she leaned against for support.
Roseanne approached the spot with trepidation, her eyes scanning the ground for any sign of what had transpired. The world around her seemed to hold its breath, as if in silent acknowledgment of her pain. She knelt down, her trembling hands tracing the outline of the skid marks that led to the shattered guardrail. The metal was twisted and torn, a jagged mouth gaping open to swallow the night. The heady scent of gasoline lingered in the air, a noxious reminder of the violence that had occurred. She could almost hear the screech of tires, the crunch of metal, and the deafening silence that had followed.
The first part of the story has been set up with the introduction of Roseanne and her visit to the crime scene of her ex-boyfriend Taehyung's car accident. Her emotional state and the eerie atmosphere of the night are palpable, creating a sense of mystery and sadness. The narrative style is clean and concise, allowing the reader to focus on the immediacy of the moment and the raw emotions that Roseanne is experiencing. The description of the scene is vivid, using sensory details to immerse the reader in the setting and build anticipation for what she might discover there
As she traced the skid marks with trembling fingers, a sudden rustle from the bushes beside the road snapped her out of her trance. She whipped her head around, expecting to find nothing but the night's usual inhabitants. Instead, a figure emerged from the shadows, shrouded in darkness but for the glint of their eyes reflecting the dim streetlight. The figure took a tentative step forward, their silhouette growing clearer with each step.
"Miss," a hoarse voice called out, "I saw what happened here."
Roseanne's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't noticed anyone else around, and the sudden intrusion into her solitude was both unsettling and curious. The figure was a middle-aged man, his face etched with lines of hard living and a weariness that suggested he had seen more than his fair share of tragedy. He approached her cautiously, as if unsure of his welcome.
"I know it's late, and I shouldn't be here," he began, his voice carrying a hint of an apology, "but I couldn't sleep knowing you might need to know the truth."
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, trying to discern his motives. "What truth?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she had intended. "The news said it was an accident."
The man looked around, ensuring they were alone, before leaning in closer. "It wasn't just any accident," he whispered. "It was no coincidence. There was another car, a black sedan. It forced him off the road. I saw it all."
The revelation hit her like a ton of bricks. The official report had made it sound so simple, so tragic—but the man's words painted a very different picture. Her mind raced with questions, with doubt, with a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to the story than she had been told.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and hope.
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. "Call it a conscience. Or maybe I just don't like the idea of the truth being buried with the dead."
The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, pressing it into her hand before retreating into the shadows as quickly as he had appeared. "Take this," he said. "It's the license plate number of the car. Maybe it'll mean something to you."
With that, he disappeared into the night, leaving her standing alone on the desolate street, clutching the paper as if it were a lifeline. The wind picked up, carrying with it the whispers of secrets and the promise of a mystery that was just beginning to unfold.
