Picture This

Chapter 1

     Swarms of people surrounded the scene, whispering among themselves. Most had their phones out, recording what was happening ahead. Not far ahead, barricade tape surrounded a certain area. People pressed against the tape, craning their necks to see what was going on.

I slammed the door of my BMW-2, abandoning the steaming cup of coffee I had purchased only moments before. A young woman and her daughter rushed by. The mother's face was pale.

"But Mommy, I wanted to see!" the little girl protested, but she just shook her head.

I pushed my way through the crowd, muttering apologies as I went by. People protested loudly, shouting curses at me. I ignored them.

Finally, I reached the front of the crowd. Dozens of police crawled around the crime scene, an ambulance nearby. Paramedics gently lifted a body, placing it in a stretcher.

I went under the tape, entering the crime scene. People rushed by, not seeming to notice me.

When I got the call to get over here, I wasn't expecting this. Anything but this. He didn't give me the details. All he told me was the word 'suicide' and the location. I wasn't expecting this at all.

Just looking at the bashed in head, the limp arms and legs, made me feel queasy. I looked away, knowing if I stared any longer I would be sick.

"Sir, I need you to leave." A young police officer stood in front of me, arms crossed over her chest. There was a firm expression on her face.

Glad for a diversion, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my certification. Her eyes flickered with recognition.

"I'm sorry, sir. You may proceed." She muttered, cheeks red.

I approached a tall, thin man with a notepad and pen, speaking to a civilian. He asked him a question, nodding his head as he scribbled something down. I waited to the side until he turned to me.

"Sir." I nodded once. He waved the man away, stuffing the notepad in his back pocket. In the evening light, his nametag glinted, reading Bob Hurst.

"Curt, glad you're here." Clapping a hand on my shoulder, he led me towards the stretcher. My stomach immediately flipped, unhappy with this sudden move.

"Can you explain to me exactly what happened, sir?" I tried to keep my eyes away from the body.

"Some crazy woman decided to jump off the side of that building." He pointed. "There was this one guy that saw her jump. Doesn't know why. He tried to stop her but to no avail."

Okay, so a suicide. Not that big of a deal if you asked me. I mean, yes, yes, she took her own life away. I wasn't okay with that. The thing was, there were other things going on here in Memphis. More... How should I say it? Important things. Of course, I didn't say that to my boss. "Has anyone been able to identify her?"

He grimaced. "Oh yeah. She's one of our local reporters and photographers – Chelsea Smith." Noting the confusion on my face, he continued. "I forgot that you haven't been here for long. She's one of the younger ones, maybe around your age."

"You speak as though she's still alive."

"That she is." We stopped in front of the stretcher and Bob leaned in to talk to one of the paramedics. She shook her head.

"I'm sorry, sir, but she needs to get under critical care immediately." She bent to help pick up the stretcher, gently placing it in the ambulance. "Careful, careful!" Pushing a strand of hair from her face, she climbed in with the stretcher, closing the door.

Bob sighed, frustrated. "Women these days. Can't get any information out of them."

I felt sorry for Chelsea, I really did. But I was already onto another case... I didn't have time for this. Irritation began to rise in my chest. "Sir, it seems like everything here is under control. Is it really necessary to have me here?"

A light came back in his eyes. "Ah, right. You're into photography? Of course you are. Come on."

He spoke to one of the police officers, who promptly handed him something in a bag. He smiled, triumphant, and turned back to me. "Look at this."

I took the bag, noticing the camera inside. I turned it over in my hands, noting the brand.

"It was found next to the Smith's body." Bob folded his arms, watching me.

"It's a Canon Powershot, I think." The lenses were gone, shattered most likely. The sides were cracked, and so was the screen. I handed it back to him. "Does it work?"

He shook his head. "No. There is, however, an SD card that appears to be unharmed. I was hoping maybe you could upload the pictures onto your computer, see what's going on."

That was tempting. Bob was right – I did enjoy photography. Often, early in the morning before work I would go on a walk, snapping pictures of the most random things. I wouldn't consider myself professional or whatever, but it was definitely a hobby. "I dunno, Boss. I'm up to my eyeballs with paperwork for the Brown case. There's a lot to do."

Bob shrugged. "It won't take long, Turner. I mean, how long would it take to look at a few photos?"

He was right. It shouldn't take that long. "Where's the SD card?"

Since it was late I went straight to my apartment. I knew Bob wouldn't be happy about my bringing evidence back home, but I was no idiot. It wasn't like I was going to tell him anyways. I snapped on my latex gloves and unzipped the bag, carefully taking out the small, hard object.

Flipping the light on to my living room, I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. I blinked a couple of times at the brightness of the screen. Once my eyes adjusted, I typed in the password and inserted the card into my computer.

While I waited, I placed my cup of coffee into the microwave, determined to enjoy the warmth of the drink.

"Let's see," I muttered, sitting back down. A notification popped up on my screen, asking if I wanted to upload the pictures. I clicked yes.

Scalding liquid burned my lips. I slammed the cup on the table, grimacing as my screen was filled with pictures. My eyes narrowed.

"What in the world?"

There were pictures, yes. Tons of them. But they weren't what I had expected them to be. You know, the occasional daisy. Pretty sunset. But that's not what they were at all.

They were dark, very dark, at least half of them taken in black and white. Which was strange. Most people preferred being able to see things in color.

As I scrolled further down, the pictures got more and more mysterious. An abandoned house, a knife with jagged edges, the typical creepy stuff. Kind of like what you would see in the movies.

I couldn't help but shiver.

But out of them all, there was one picture that stood out to me. A man maybe in his early thirties – he couldn't be much older than me – leaned against the wall. Though this picture was also in black and white, you could see a stream of sunlight touching his face. There was a mocking look in his eyes as a curl of smoke rose from the cigarette between his fingers.

I didn't recognize him. But there was something about him, an aura I guess you could say, that made me curious. Who was he? And why him, of all people? As far as I knew, he had no important status in this city. Surely I would have heard of him, even with my short time living here.

Opening my web browser, I attached his picture to the Search bar, looking for a name... Or anything, really. There was only one name that popped up.

Adrian Webb.