A Bounty of Pictures

Chapter 1

The camera lens shutters the perfect, yet unfocused shot. I step out of the middle of the abandoned old town road.

Parker: u done? The storm should be arriving soon.

Me: yep. Walking to car now

The magazine will accept my article now. I imagine the article in Through the Lens. The school's parking lot comes into view and Parker's car lights shine.

The street lamp catches my photographer's eye as it blinks with the crescent moon in the background. I twist off the lens cover and focus the camera. The hair stands on the back of my neck. I shrug it off and return my attention to the camera. The calming sound of the camera shutter relaxes the pit in my stomach.

Something moves in the field next to the sidewalk. Car lights flicker over the hill and slow down, turning into the field. I step behind a tree with interest as the car's brake lights flash on. My phone vibrates an incoming text in my pocket.

Parker: where r u?

I shove it back in my pocket and watch as another car appears out of the muggy thin air in the field. Both front lights glow. My hip vibrates again.

Parker: I'm calling the police if you don't answer

Me: I'm fine. Just got caught up taking a picture.

Parker: hurry up. 911 is on speed dial right now and so is dad

Me: gotta go. If I'm not back in 15 call ur dad

I slide the brightness down and return my attention to the cars.

Six figures stand between the cars, talking. I raise my camera as a small object is traded with a handshake. I snap a picture and the sound of the shutter churns my stomach this time. Voices rise into an argument.

I take another picture. A person in front the right car raises an object.

Everything goes slow. The camera's shutter, the ring of the bullet, a body slowly falls to the ground. Ringing fills my ears. A small scream lets out and I cover my mouth and curl up behind the tree trunk. More shouting of demands. The two engines start and footsteps replace the ringing in the ears. The ringing replace with hard breathing, hard breathing replaced with a sob, a sob replaced with the buckle of the seat belt.  I observe the surroundings that finally catch up with my brain.

"Go to the police! Parker! Step on the freaking gas!" I scream in a hoarse voice.

The body falling freely like a flag caught in the wind replaces the image Parker's worried expression. Tears explode from my eyes. Why am I crying?

"Dad, I'm speeding to the station! Chloe's freaking out and I think I heard gunshots." Parker says into the phone. My best guy friend's voice drowns out. I curl up in a ball on the seat as the roads and street lamps fly by.

"Chloe! What happened!" He yells.

My head shakes, "I don't know. I don't know." I mumble. Parker hands me his bottle of pop in the cup holder. My hands fumble with the lid, not processing how to turn the white cap. Pop explodes all over the interior and more tears burst knowing I ruined the leather. Parker curses under his breath.

"It's okay. We're almost there. Sergeant Harlow is on duty." The bottle shakes violently as it touches my shaking lips for a brief second before spilling down my sweatshirt.

The car slams to a stop and my body flies to the dash with the pop in the air. I look up from the dash see a building with its lights on. Parker puts the car in park and turns towards me. "We're here. Come on."

My hand searches for the door handle. Parker lets out a sigh and walks around to open it. I step out and he holds my hand.

"Dad'll meet us soon." He holds the door open to the front of the police station. A man in uniform sits behind a window twirling a pen.

"I would like to report a murder."