World Eater

38

IT WAS THREE IN THE MORNING.

The police station was the only source of light in the entire town. Sariel was sitting on a bench, eyes locked on the floor. The aluminum blanket around his shoulders only made him colder.

“Can you give me a description of your nephew?”

Sariel rubbed his eyes. He had cried himself out almost an hour ago. Fluorescent lights burned into his retinas, falling across a sallow, yellowish environment. The tile floor was dingy under his feet.

“He’s...tall…” Sariel murmured, the spirit drained from his voice. He wasn't focusing on the officer sitting in front of him. “He has brown hair that's kinda grayish...and uh, his eyes are green. He was wearing a suit...and his tie was, it was…” Sariel choked, eyes going wide, “I don't know the color of his tie. I just saw it. How could I forget this?!”

He covered his mouth as a dry sob went through his chest, burying his head between his knees.

“Sir, until we find a body, Alzar is still a missing person. There's still hope. The investigation is still ongoing. We haven't even found a shooter yet.”

Shooter. Sariel paused, rubbing his forehead. Images of the bodies in the gym returned to him, the grievous wounds in the kids’ backs.

There was a looming familiarity that had been following him like a ghost, an unshakeable feeling of dread. He knew something, but it escaped him, hidden behind some kind of wall.

Whatever had happened, it couldn't have been a shooting.