Do You Hear the Dead Speak?

Chapter 2

Farley put down the luggages at the foot of the stairs and went into the kitchen. She heard voices down the hall, presumably from her sister. She just shook her head. The Oneills have earned the reputation of pure craziness and Farley is glad to not inherit the damn psychic abilities. Basically, unlike her sister, she preferred to act 'normal' as she can be.

She took the scones out of the oven and put them in a plate. After that, she returned to the living room where Frieda was laughing. If it were another person, they would mistake her as crazy.

Farley sighed. Frieda was a famous actress back in Valencia and people never heard her talk to herself. More likely to unseen forces. If she remembered well, her older sister was once caught in a scandal.

Poor Frieda.

She set the plate down on the table and sat. She looked at her sister who hadn't noticed her yet.

"Oh mother, you wouldn't—" Frieda glanced at Farley's direction and straightened herself. "Ooh, did you made those scones?"

Farley nodded and took one for herself. "So, how's Valencia so far? After, you know..."

Frieda smiled and started narrating her experiences. Not that Farley was interested, she just wanted her sister to feel better. Situations nowadays are different and Frieda would surely want to get away from all of the stress. Considering another fact that there is a murderer on the lose.

"By the way, have you heard what happened to Viola?" Frieda's voice snapped Farley back to reality.

"My, of course. The mayor was really distraught. That's what happens on bad people." She unconciously took another scone.

"Ugh, the corruption is still there. What would happen to Davenport then?" Frieda said and Farley could hint the frustration in her voice.

"Davenport will still be fine. If they would all just wake up." Farley forced a smile then she remembered something. "You said you passed by the crime scene earlier."

"Yeah, why?" Frieda munched on a scone.

"Do you think it's still there?" Farley stood up and immediately searched for her coat.

"Of course, silly." Frieda laughed.

"If you'll excuse me, I nearly forgot something." Farley grabbed her coat and her notepad.

Frieda watched her sister go out, wondering where in Davenport would Farley go.

Farley walked down the road where the alleged crime scene was. Viola's body was nowhere to be found but the police were still there.

She looked around before asking the police officer in charge.

"Excuse me. My name is Farley Oneill and I'm here to inquire about the crime on behalf of Ms. Francesca Summers. Sorry, if I just asked today but Francesca asks for more." She said, fiddling with the notepad.

"Okay?" The officer frowned and Farley tensed up. She knew that this 'Francesca' was famous for the wrong reasons. That includes pointing out all  the corruption going on in Davenport. "Well, I can't blame you."
The officer shook his head while whispering poor thing.

Farley relaxed a little and maintained her professional look.

She started writing on the notepad but instead of the evidences, what came out of the police's mouth is clearly puzzling.

July 29, 2018; 5:48 pm. Cause of death: drowning. Victim's name: James Shelton

Farley blinked. The police officer saw the confusion on her face and immediately stopped talking.

"Is something wrong Ms. Oneill?" he said and Farley smiled again.

"Sorry, I just zoned out. Can you repeat it again?"

The officer politely did while Farley took notes.

"Wait, what's your name?" She asked, out of curiosity.

"James Shelton, Ms. Oneill. Why'd you asked?"

It took all of Farley's courage to not drop the notepad.

"Ms. Oneill?" Farley looked at the officer.

"I... I'm sorry but I have to go. Thank you for the information." she hurriedly went away.

"You're welcome!" James had shouted but Farley wasn't sure if that's what he even said.

She didn't go back to the estate. Instead, she headed straight to the convenience store and bought a cup of noodles.

"July 29. Shit, what's happening to me?" She muttered, as if someone would answer her. Then she remembered that someone could.

Frieda.