Dead Fools [ FIRST DRAFT ]

Grave o6: ᴇᴜᴘʜᴇᴍɪsᴍs

Almon: Euphemisms

The next set of interrogations had similar results as the first two. The men were found with their throats slit, and the women had been dressed up to the point where they didn't appear dead. The longest estimation of death for one had been four days, which meant a lot in the scheme of things. How would the body have not caused some sort of stir? The girl had been known for excessive gatherings in and out of town, with a record of going missing for days on end. Almon still didn't see this to bode well for anyone.

Most especially for the Graves.

They had some sort of connection to everyone in the town. They may have dealt with clothing, injuries, autopsies, and sometimes they paid house visits to those in need. They had been presented as both villains and heroes in close to every account of them. However, it was noted that they were looked upon with disdain.

From what the two had managed to gather, the Graves were simply on a level that those in the surrounding towns didn't want for them to be on. It was like that with a lot of prominent families, wasn't it? People were so concerned with all the material things of the world, and in a manner that Almon didn't have to time to partake in.

Almon turned his gaze to the digital clock in the room. Upon seeing that it was three in the morning, he groaned and looked towards the ceiling. He had yet to feel sleep pull on him, which was something he wanted to welcome more than anything at the present moment. His thoughts were colliding in an array of ways, but they always lead back to the same golden curls and hypnotic red eyes.

He shut his eyes tightly, hoping to force the image down into his subconscious. Such wouldn't happen for him until the late hours of the early morning.

His eyes flickered open, and he rubbed at them. The glare of the red numbers alerted him to it being only two hours since he closed his eyes. A soft groan slid past his lips as he sat up, pausing. There was the soft resonance of ticking, though it couldn't have come from the digital device on the night stand beside him. His brows furrowed, his features sliding into that of a pensive state. He didn't own a watch that ticked so loudly, and he knew for a fact that Judah's was broken; it could have been because he was the one that broke it.

He stood to follow the reverberation, his steps slow and cautious. They lead him to the bathroom of the motel room, the door slightly ajar and a flickering light pooling into the dark room. Almon was vaguely aware of the fact that he shouldn't be doing this, investigating a strange noise in the middle of the night. However, it was long past the time for him to turn back and be able to return to the safety of his sheets.

Nudging the door open, the illumination of the tiled space spilled out. Almon tensed, readying himself for some form of assault, but found nothing of the sort awaiting him. This didn't mean that he would relax, not at all; knowing his luck, there would still be something that would result in a bloody nose. There was an eerie aspect of the current situation, like that of some horror movie. But he still wasn't seeing what would kill him.

Instead, steam began to clog his vision, followed by the patter of water from the shower entering his ears. He froze in place, sure that someone was inside the shower despite the lack of a silhouette. He recalled watching a movie with a scene similar to the one he found himself in. There was the evident lack of a weapon by which he would be attacked with, though much of what they had could be turned into a means of murder and assault.

He canted his head to the side, the ticking becoming a much louder resonance that vibrated in the walls. Brows furrowed and eyes widened, he risked stepping into the bathroom completely. In a rush of air, he felt the scene change.