Can You Keep A Secret?

10. Lorenzo: Sylvie Quinn Case Tape #1

The atmosphere at the Brooksville station was electric, pulsing with anticipation and fear. As the sun set and the town settled into darkness, the officers braced themselves for another long night of guarding the town against its most terrifying threat - the Night Crawler. This brutal serial killer had struck fear into the hearts of the community, and the police were desperate to crack the case. But despite their best efforts, they were at a standstill, with the killer remaining elusive and the case shrouded in secrecy.
As a mere secretary at the station, I was privy to the constant flow of cases and emergency calls that flooded in. But my lack of detective status meant I was confined to the sidelines, unable to contribute to the investigation. The only emergency that had come through in recent memory was a woman who had accidentally dialed the wrong number while in labor. It was a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation, and the pressure that was mounting on the officers to solve the case.

The mayor of our town, Daniel Steel, had issued a stern ultimatum to the officers months ago- solve the case or face replacement. It had been over a year since the incident at Quinn Manor, and tensions were high as the anniversary of their death approached. Back then, I had been deemed too young to be involved in the investigation, so I was relegated to the role of secretary. But as the days ticked by without any progress, I couldn't help but feel frustrated and determined to contribute in any way I could.

The biggest obstacle in catching the Night Crawler was his unpredictability. He struck on the same date each year, but with a different victim every time. This made him almost impossible to track or study. Despite the numerous cameras installed throughout Brooksville, they had yielded no useful information. The officers had tirelessly watched and rewatched the footage, but it offered no clues.
One day, Mayor Steel himself paid a visit to the station, delivering a clear message. With a deadline looming and the threat of taking matters into his own hands, he gave the officers one month to produce results. The distress was mounting, and the fear in the town was palpable. People were leaving out of sheer terror, and Mayor Steel feared that soon there would be no one left to rule over. Brooksville was in danger of becoming sooner or later a ghost town, devoid of its once-thriving residents.

"We need to go survey the place now," one of the officers declared as he grabbed his coffee and headed for the door, his partner close behind. The race against time had begun, and the fate of Brooksville hung in our hands. In the literal sense of the word.
A deep sigh escapes my lips as I finally finish typing in the last details of an autopsy report on one of the victims, placing an image next to it. With a sense of relief, I save the document and exit the page. Just as I'm about to take a break, the ring bell chimes, indicating someone has entered the station. Another police officer, most likely called in for a late night shift.

But as I look up, I see a young woman, probably in her thirties, her eyes red and bloodshot, looking exhausted and on the brink of tears.
I can't help but ask, "Is everything alright?" even though the answer was painfully obvious. Nothing seemed alright. Her tired eyes and streaming tears said it all. She shakes her head, her gaze fixed on the ground as she lets out another sob. Trying to offer help, I stood up and guided her to the bench we reserved for suspects of robbery or assault- which in this small town, rarely happened. She sits down, her body shaking as I stand in front of her, offering my listening ear.

"I-I, uhm..." She stammers, struggling to form coherent words amidst her distress. "I'm here to report a missing person." I can't hide my surprise at this unexpected request. This is the first time in Brooksville that someone had come to report a missing person. Usually, it's just mothers who briefly lose sight of their child, only to find them moments later. But this situation was clearly different.
"Who would you like to report?" I take out my notebook and pen, prepared to jot down any information and immediately pass it on to the officers. "My niece is-" She begins, but another sob interrupts her.