Where did they go? Who were they? Why are they gone?
Those are the questions the detectives, police, government, and everyone else have been asking. Each lead turns out to be a dead end.
Until a certain diary is found.
A diary that might just give t...
"Mr. & Mrs. Lay," Detective Sheldon announced, "Have been declared dead after twenty-eight weeks of searching."
Cameras flashed around the detective and questions erupted from the press who'd come to find out the final thought on the case.
|10:09_AM_- {CASE-UPDATE}: Victims dead. Case closed.|
Sheldon answered rapid-fire questions and, unfortunately unable to hear them all not mix them together, tried to answer them all truthfully.
"Sir, how did they die?" One reporter asked.
"Have you found the culprit?" Questioned another.
"Where were the police when this happened?" Was another reporter's concern.
"Why?"
The last question was the detective's main question. In his mind, the world was based on 'why'. Why the Lay's? Why did he have to get the job on that cold, dull, gloomy Saturday morning? Why kill innocent bystanders in the first place?
Were Mr. and Mrs. Lay even innocent?
Questions and cases nagged away at Sheldon. Answers meant the truth, and truth was scarce these days. Each lead had dragged them into a dead end. So many times had they come so close, only to be blocked off.
Officer Sheldon had, by this time, reached his office. His hand grabbed for the handle on a drawer within his desk. Sheldon was pulling out a paper encased in a beige folder.
The young detective set his gaze on the paper he'd pulled out. His eyes shifted to the ink on the bottom of the page, the ink that had dried and already started to fade.
What Detective Officer Sheldon had pulled out was his page of short notes- the main points. Few answers had been written. He sighed, placing the useless paper down on his desk and falling back into his chair. At least with the case closed he wouldn't have to worry about solving it.
No, he thought. There would be more to worry about. There is more to worry about. The press, the next case, the constant reminder that he failed to solve yet another case. Next time, he told himself. Next time.
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