Case by Case

Coward

Hurry up! Oh my god, doesn't anyone else know the essence of time around here? A lady around mid thirties is stood in front of me, ordering her 'traditional autumnal hot drink' when really it doesn't take 20 minutes to decide.

Once she finally moves on, I am able to order something to keep me going and to keep me distracted from the memories that are now haunting my mind.

I had excused myself from the group to take a walk, just to clear my head.

I walked to a coffee shop called "Chocolate Lane," they made the best hot chocolates in the entire world, but that wasn't what I was after at this time.

"Large Latte please" I say to the barista, handing him my 5 dollars.

The barista was mid twenties himself, and looked oddly familiar.

"Yeah, sure. Can I have a name for the order?" He was still looking at the cup, ready to write, "Alison" I simply say.

"Alison?" I give him a puzzled look, did I stutter? "As in Alison Lester?" my eyes widen.

"Yeah..." As hesitant as I was, I knew there was something I recognized about him.

"Its Joey! Joey Clammens. Remember me?" he places his hand on his chest as he speaks, and then I remember. I lived here in Chicago. I lived here where the killer has chosen as his hunting ground. I grew up here, but yet I have no memory of ever being here. Joey and I used to play out side with each other, until I was about 6 years old, but I cant remember anything else prior to that. He was my next-door neighbor, but our parents were never friends.

"Oh my goodness Joey!" I laugh and smile, something I can't remember the last time I did.

"What brings you to town?" He was still smiling, in awe.

"Oh, I'm just on business." I say putting my purse back in my pocket.

Joey laughs before he continues, "What are you, some kind of cop?"

"More like FBI Agent" I slowly nod my head.

"Top of the Ranks Ali. Good on you" He wasn't the Joey I remember. He wasn't the kid that was always cautious, terrified of the dark, never stopped reading. Perhaps that's where I picked up my habit and love of reading. Then I noticed his wedding band on his left hand.

"Who is the lucky lady?" I ask, slightly jealous and intimidated. Here I am, Miss FBI Agent, and a guy that reads a ton of books in his spare time intimidates me. He takes his time to register what I said to which he answers, "You don't know her."

I was confused, why couldn't he tell me? It either says he's embarrassed that he is married to this woman or it is someone who I know but never liked.

"Kelly... Kelly Isla, isn't it?" I ask and his eyes dart from one side to another.

"How did you know?" He leans closer to me.

"It doesn't take a genius to figure out." He hands me my coffee and I start to walk away but then I stop. "Hey Joe, does my dad still live up on that old property on 5th?"

Starting to pack away his things he answered, "Yeah he should be, I mean I haven't seen him around for about a month or so, he used to come here all the time." I nod and turn my back away from the counter, heading to the exit, bracing myself for the cold breeze. I head in the opposite direction from the station; I need to get to the bottom of this.

I had been walking for about a mile or so before I turn down a street, to escape the harsh cold breeze that is going wild along the main street.

~