Daymare (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 2

'Someone please come pull me out from the shadow of my doubt, wake me up, I'm falling' ~ Something's Gotta Give by All Time Low

It's been three weeks.

That sentence repeated itself every day, hour and minute. Nothing. They had found nothing. Everyone was losing hope as they battled continuously against the feeling of raw failure and defeat.

Alan couldn't get the image out of his head. It was burned into his memory and could not be undone. He doubted the hooded figure now. Hell, he was doubting his crime solving skills as well. Everyone was. This was mainly because people sent him crazy looks whenever he talked about what he had witnessed.

A familiar rhythm bounced off the walls and danced around the room. The knocking stopped short and the door gently opened; a smiling face entering.

"Good morning Alan! I've got your herbal tea, how you like it, and I was wondering if you could possibly let me scan through the information on Miss. Garland's death case? She is the umm..." she cleared her throat uncomfortably, "was pregnant one. I need to write up the final report."

"Of course, they are right here," he rustled around random documents until he found them, "I'll see you in the canteen at lunch break, but now I really need to get a move on on Charles Earl's case."

Breanna Wilson gave him a sympathetic look. The news had spread like a forest fire; everyone knew it was going nowhere. They all tried not to mention it around him, for the reason that they all knew how he got last time a case was failed.

"Oh, and how's Amelia coping?" he asked thoughtfully, worry clouding his face.

Breanna breathed in deeply, not hiding the wretched expression she discontentedly held. "She's... she's not doing well." A shaky breath left her as she shook her head distraught; avoiding eye contact. "The doctors say she m-might not even m-make it. She's in a coma. She's barely hanging on by a thread." Emotional water droplets gushed down as they freely fell onto her crisply ironed clothes and the burnished marble floor.

Everyone loved Amelia and they still do. She was the bundle of joy in the office; she was the group baby. They couldn't tolerate anything happening too her, it was too much. And for something like this happening to her... nobody was coping fine.

Little ripples of sorrow enveloped his weakened body. He hadn't gone to visit her yet. It was too hard. Too hard to get off of his lethargic backside and actually, physically visit his distressed friend. For some reason he felt this sort of connection with her. Not a romantic bond, no. he couldn't explain it. It was special. Too special to be lost.

Breanna Wilson scrutinised Alan's face warily for a while and then decided to let the inner tranquillity console him for a while. She sniffed inaudibly before exiting the room. He didn't even notice her comforting presence leaving the atmosphere as he was gradually drowning in all his suffocating sorrows.

Sleep started to come rolling in like waves until they thundered in like tidal waves. The lack of sleep was plain to any passing eye.

** ** **

"Detectives Roberts! Oh. God damn. Lazy idiot. Wake up. We have a lead!" shouted Archie Penski, a trustworthy colleague who was loved by all and hated by none. Literally.

"Whaaat? A lead? Lola's been needing a new one. The old one is getting rough and tearing around the edges. She keeps on yapping at me and growling." Groggily Alan commented; fatigue still dully painted in his irises.

"No, not that lead," Archie groaned, mentally face palming, wondering why Detective Roberts was in charge of the assignment. "We have a damn lead on Charles Earl's case!"