CHAPTER EIGHT // SIARA LYNN DUPONT
[WORD COUNT: 2322]
[TOTAL: 24094]• † •
“Lynn,” Jacob tugged at my arm. “Can we talk?”
I brushed his arm away. “Not now, Jobs. It’s not a good time.” Today was Friday and I had no leads. If I didn’t find one soon, there was no telling what would happen tomorrow or late in the night. Would the serial killer continue killing innocent people, inevitably putting them in misery for the rest of their lives or was this just a one time thing? I had an inkling that this wasn’t just a one time thing and it terrified me. I didn’t know who was responsible. My first guess was Holland Jefferson, the man that killed a handful of people in public, but he was being held temporarily in jail until the court gave us a date that determined his jail time, or even his execution. I’d figured that he possibly had an accomplice, but that thought was quickly brushed away.
Though Holland was classed as a serial killer, he was one of the reckless ones. I knew it from the start, since he carelessly left the gun he used on the floor and shot the people in broad daylight, where there was cameras everywhere. He couldn’t be the one responsible for this.
“What’s wrong?” Jacob asked, concern seeping out of his tone.
I bit my lip, feeling the stress prickle underneath my skin like needles as I whirled around and faced Jacob. “I still don’t have a lead and I have possibly less than twelve hours to find something or else another number of people are going to die. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and review the information I’ve gathered to see if I missed anything.” I turned back around and rushed into my office, locking the door. I didn’t dwell on how rude I was being to Jacob and instead collapsed in my chair, running a finger over the pad on my laptop to wake it up.
The screen brightened, resuming my last windows and pages I had left off on until I made the break to go get some coffee. I downed it in less than a minute, though it was scalding hot, which was when I ran into Jacob. I squinted at the luminous screen, wincing as it pained my eyes for a split second. These were the days I despised the most, the ones where I sat slightly hunch backed in my worn out office chair with an empty cup of coffee beside me, the screen of the laptop at it’s brightest setting. It tired me to no ends, and it didn’t help that I was absolutely exhausted. As much as I wanted another break, I could only hope that the coffee I swallowed was enough to keep me focused and awake.
On my laptop screen, it showed the last footage I reviewed the last time Sheryl Larke was seen by civilians. She was a plump, short woman with curled hair that rested just above her shoulders. At the moment she was entering the restaurant she worked for with an stressed and blatantly annoyed expression. I watched her every movement with careful eyes as she entered the restaurant, checking to see if anyone followed her inside. When nothing else happened, I rewinded the tape back further to see if anyone entered the restaurant before her. Much to my surprise I saw Lux. I paused the tape and zoomed in on his expression, faintly recalling the conversation I had with Jacob regarding him.
He told me that his full real name was Owen Wesley. I couldn’t help myself and checked into his file, reading every single detail described fully in dark print. His parents had died a death of a fire from a cooking accident and burned down the whole house. While that was happening, Lux was driving home and managed to drive off of a bridge that caused him to have permanent amnesia. I felt pity lurking beneath my heart, imagining the inner turmoil he must be feeling, constantly wondering if the people around him were apart of his past life or something similar along those lines. He was twenty-one years old and lived on his own, attending college at Rye University. He had little friends and associated with close to nobody. He seemed like the average New York citizen but I somehow couldn’t fathom the uneasy feeling that I got when I was reminded of him. Everytime I imagined his silky brown eyes and his black obsidian locks of hair that hung off of his forehead in a curled mess and his slightly curled nose and small pink lips, I was transported back to the memory when Jacob warned me of him.
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Amnesia [Completed/Editing]
Mystery / Thriller"TO BE A MURDERER CAN BE QUITE SIMPLE WHEN NO ONE SUSPECTS THE PERSON THAT HAS AMNESIA." mystery/thriller | horror | twisted romance description inside... *Current cover by @aciddaisies_