Gwen's Cold Blood Murders

The Investigation

The police arrived quickly, but the town of Oak Ridge had no idea how to handle something like this. Murders were rare here, almost unheard of. Even the thought of something like that happening seemed unreal.

Detective Sam Carter was an outsider. He'd been with the local sheriff's department for three years, but he'd grown up in a much larger city—one where violence and crime were daily occurrences. Here, it was different. People left their doors unlocked. Children played outside until dark. People knew each other.

But this was no simple disappearance.

The sheriff, a portly man named Henry Meadows, stood with Claire, his arms folded across his chest. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, his voice thick with unease. "We're doing everything we can. We'll find him. I promise."

But there was no promise, not really. Not in the face of what had been found. A 13-year-old boy, gone in the blink of an eye, and the only evidence left behind was his backpack and the bloodstains that led to nothing. No footprints. No traces of a struggle. Just... silence.

Detective Carter studied the scene. He crouched down by the backpack, running his fingers over the straps. "Who called it in?" he asked, his voice sharp, authoritative.

"Mrs. Langford," Claire answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Carter nodded, making a mental note of the neighbor's name. "I need everyone to step back. This is a crime scene now."

As the townspeople murmured amongst themselves, Claire clutched her coat tighter around her shoulders. She wanted to scream. To run. To find Max herself. But there was nothing she could do.

The detective took out his notebook and began scribbling details. "Who was the last person to see him?" he asked.

"I... I was," Claire choked out. "I was supposed to be making dinner, but he didn't come home on time. And when I went to look for him, I found this."

"I'll need to speak with all his friends. Anyone who might know where he went. We'll do a search. And we'll need to check the church yard, the area around it. We'll find him."

Claire wanted to believe him. But deep down, she knew what the detective didn't yet understand. Max was already lost. And whoever had taken him—whoever had hurt him—was still out there.

Somewhere, watching. Waiting.