"So, you're saying the person who wrote the letter is the same one who killed Jacob?" I asked, my eyes fixed on Mrs. Rachael's hesitant expression.
She nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes...it's hard to believe, but the evidence points to it."
I felt a chill run down my spine. "Oh my god, this is insane!" I exclaimed, my mind racing with the implications.
Angel looked just as stunned, her eyes wide with disbelief. "But who could do something like that?" she asked, her voice shaking.
Mrs. Rachael took a deep breath before answering. "We're still investigating, but...it's complicated."
Just then, a distraught voice pierced the air. "Where's my son? Where's Jacob?" a woman sobbed, her words tumbling out in a frantic plea.
Mrs. Rachael quickly got up to comfort her. "Ma'am, please, you need to calm down. We're doing everything we can to find out what happened."
I watched as Mrs. Rachael tried to soothe the grieving Mrs miller; Jacob mum, feeling a sense of helplessness wash over me.
"Please, have a seat, Mrs. Miller," Mrs. Rachael urged, her voice soft and soothing, as she gestured to the plush white sofa. Mrs. Miller's anguished form seemed to crumple onto the cushions, her sobs echoing through the room like a mournful dirge. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, brimmed with tears, as if the very thought of her son's fate was a weight too crushing to bear.
"Tell me, officer," Mrs. Miller implored, her voice cracking with desperation, "what happened to my Jacob? How could this have happened?" Her words tumbled out in a frantic, heart-wrenching plea, as if she hoped that somehow, someway, the truth would set her free from this nightmare.
Mrs. Rachael's expression was a mask of empathy, her eyes filled with a deep sadness, as if she, too, felt the weight of Mrs. Miller's grief. "Ma'am, please, you need to calm down," she coaxed, her voice a gentle breeze on a summer's day. "I understand your pain, I'm a mother too, and I know the agony you're feeling is unbearable right now. But please, for your own sake, calm down."
Mrs. Miller's gaze, wild and unfocused, slowly turned to Mrs. Rachael, as if searching for a lifeline in a stormy sea. "About the incident," Mrs. Rachael continued, her words measured and careful, "it's very complicated, ma'am. We don't know who did it yet, but it's connected to Miss Emma's case." Her eyes flicked to me, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as Mrs. Miller's gaze followed, her eyes narrowing, as if trying to place me in this tangled web of tragedy.
Mrs. Miller's eyes lingered on me for a moment before returning to Mrs. Rachael. "Connected to Miss Emma's case?" she repeated, her voice laced with a mix of confusion and desperation. "What do you mean? How can Jacob's...murder be connected to some other case?"
Mrs. Rachael hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "We're still investigating, but it appears that the letter writer and the killer might be the same person. And we suspect that Miss Emma might have been a target as well."
Angel's eyes widened in shock. "But why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mrs. Rachael's expression turned grim. "We're not sure yet, but we are still investigating."
"My son, I still can't believe this. Who would have done something so heartless to him? Who...?who..?who?" Mrs. Miller sobbed, her voice cracking with grief, her body shaking uncontrollably, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
Mrs. Rachael sat down beside her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders, trying to offer some solace, her expression filled with empathy and understanding. I wanted to join them, but I couldn't. I felt guilty and responsible for accusing her son of a crime he didn't commit. My mind was filled with regret and self-doubt, my thoughts racing with what-ifs and maybes.
***
"You guys should go home and rest. If there's any new info, I'll let you know," Mrs. Rachael said, her voice soft and gentle, her tone reassuring.
"Yeah, sure," Angel replied, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on me with concern. I just nodded, unable to speak, my voice trapped in my throat, my emotions overwhelming me.
"Make sure to lock your door and be safe," Mrs. Rachael added, her expression serious and concerned, her eyes scanning the room as if searching for potential threats.
We drove home in silence, the tension between us palpable, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. "Emma, are you okay?" Angel asked, touching my hand, trying to comfort me, her voice laced with worry.
I didn't reply. I didn't know what to say. I was tired, overwhelmed, and unsure of what to do next, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotions and thoughts.
"Girl, we'll get through this together," Angel said, squeezing my hand, trying to reassure me, her voice filled with determination and support.
We got home, took our showers, and Angel cooked breakfast, trying to maintain some sense of normalcy, but I still felt uneasy, unsure of what would happen next, my mind racing with questions and fears, my heart heavy with sorrow and regret.
***
I was ensconced in my laptop, my eyes scanning the screen with a fervor that bordered on desperation. The search bar glared back at me, a constant reminder of my quest for answers: "how to handle a stalking case." The words blurred together as I scrolled through page after page of cryptic advice and vague warnings. My mind was a jumble of fear and uncertainty, my thoughts racing with worst-case scenarios.
Just as I was starting to feel like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, my phone shattered the silence, its ringing piercing the air like a scream. I hesitated for a moment, my gaze shifting from the screen to the phone as if torn between two competing realities. And then, just as suddenly, the ringing stopped. I was left staring at the screen, my heart still racing from the sudden interruption.
That's when I saw it: five missed calls from my mom, each one a stark reminder of my own neglect. I had been so focused on my laptop that I hadn't even heard the phone ring. A wave of guilt washed over me as I quickly dialed her number, my heart sinking with every passing moment.
"Hey, mum!" I said, trying to sound calmer than I felt.
"Em, thank God you're fine!" she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of relief and worry. "I was worried sick when I heard about Jacob on the news today. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Should I come pick you up?"
I took a deep breath, trying to reassure her. "Mum, I'm fine. Really."
But she wasn't convinced. "Are you sure? Because I don't think it's safe for you to stay in that neighborhood. What if the murderer comes after you?"
I felt a pang of fear at her words, but I pushed it aside. Only if she knew that the case was actually about me... "Mum, I'll be fine. You don't need to worry."
There was a pause on the other end of the line before she spoke again. "Fine. I'll be coming back from my trip tonight because of the funeral ceremony. We need to be there. My driver will come pick you and Angel up tomorrow. And tell Angel to call her mom, her mom has been worried."
"Sure, I'll tell her," I replied, feeling a sense of resignation wash over me.
"Okay, now I have to go. I have a meeting. Bye! Love you!"
"Bye," I replied, feeling a sense of disconnection as she hung up. It was fine, I told myself. I was used to this anyway – her not having enough time to speak with me, it was normal. But the words felt hollow, even to myself.
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