Echoes of Us

Eleven

The next few days saw Harrison making multiple trips to the Rellington Police Station, the officers and coroner going over their reports, and combing through new, unveiled bits of evidence.

Each visit felt like a blur, questions asked, answers given, but none of it felt real anymore.

They still hadn't found the killer, nor were they any closer to uncovering the truth behind Avery's death.

Even more frustrating, was the fact that he hadn't told anyone about his visions of Avery. He couldn't. They'd think he was crazy, and maybe he was. Maybe the grief had finally pushed him over the edge.

It was the only explanation that made sense; he was seeing things that weren't real, clinging to the memory of Avery because the truth was too real, too hard to handle.

Every time he tried to convince himself that it was all in his head, that moment in the bedroom replayed in his mind. Her voice, her touch, the way her eyes clouded over like a storm, none of it felt imagined. He had definitely experienced it.

Harrison sat in the police station waiting area, his leg bouncing restlessly. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble. He hadn't slept much in days, that much was evident.

The door to the office opened, and Sergeant Adams stepped out, clipboard in hand.

"Harrison, we've done everything we can for now. There's still no new information on the shooter. We'll keep you updated."

Harrison stood up, nodding, but the frustration gnawed at him.

The only people who could bring him some solace and find Avery's killer, were the very same people who seemed to be just as lost and confused as he was.

The detectives, the officers, they were all doing their jobs, but they were chasing shadows. Leads that went cold before they even had a chance to warm up.

Harrison clenched his jaw as he walked out of the station. He had been here every day, hoping, praying that someone would have answers.

But each day ended the same way, empty-handed, hollow, and more confused than before.

He headed to his car, feeling numb as he settled in.

Sitting behind the wheel, his eyes drifted to the passenger seat where the Polaroid camera rested. He hadn't meant to bring it, but in his rush to leave the house, it had ended up in his car.

As he drove home, Harrison's mind kept drifting back to that day, the event, the day when Avery was taken from him.

An immense sense of guilt settled in his chest at the thought him standing there watching as she was shot, and before he knew it, he had drove to the park where the event had been held.

Parking the car, he sat for a moment, staring out at the empty benches and the quiet stage still surrounded by police taoe. His chest tightened as the memories resurfaced, the chaos, the sound of the gunshot, the crowd forming, Avery collapsing in front of him.

He grabbed the camera before stepping out of the car, feeling compelled to take it with him.

As he walked toward the stage, Harrison felt an overwhelming pull, as if capturing the scene might somehow make sense of what had happened.

Standing at the edge of the stage, he lifted the camera and clicked. The soft whirr of the Polaroid filled the air as the photo slid out.

He waited a moment, the image beginning to develop in his hand.

He took another photo, this time angling the camera toward the empty chairs of the crowd. He barely looked at the photos, lost in the haze of memory.

Just then, a flash of bright light exploded in front of his eyes. Blinding and instantaneous, he blinked hard, his vision swimming.