"Mentally," he clarified, standing up, "we can say he's a victim — seeing someone die like that can do serious damage to a mind."
She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Yes, that is true… but only if we assume he was just a witness. Maybe he's messing with us, doing this for the thrill. I've met a few who love that category. Though this… this has been the most carefully crafted."
She pushed open the door without waiting for a response, her voice booming as she addressed the man waiting outside:
"Corporal, take us there."
He nodded, walking beside them.
"Nice to meet you, Inspector. I've heard of your work, though a bit confused why you're into ghost stories now. Thought you were more the logical type… hmmm." He asked mockingly.
Anthony looked down and smiled warmly; it didn't seem to bother him that he was being mocked. After all, it wasn't the first time. He was a celebrated officer — three, no, four cold cases closed under his belt. That was until his mentor was found murdered in his own home. The scene was too clean — clean as a room splashed in red. The body had been brutally rearranged, pieces scattered like clues in a twisted treasure hunt. Yet there were no signs of forced entry or fingerprints. The gouge marks — deep and raw — looked like they'd been made by bare human fingers, though no man should have that kind of strength. To top it off, forensic reports suggested the marks might have been self-inflicted. The children, thankfully, were left untouched—reason unknown. Perhaps the perpetrator held a grudge only against the mentor, or could it have been the work of the Holy relics the mother had placed in the room…? That was exactly why he had grown interested in cases like this.
They arrived at the building. The unlucky officers on duty, not spared by the raving of the maddened man, stepped aside to let them through. The interrogation room was built like one should be: two rooms adjacent, separated by a hollow wall with a one-way mirror. The first room was filled with monitors linked to cameras in the second room — both seen and unseen angles. Devices recorded speech while monitors displayed graphs labelled with tone, decibels, pitch, and other technical terms that would overwhelm a layman. The main room had two doors — one for the criminals, one for the officers entering from the adjacent room, ensuring the subjects couldn't see what happened behind the scenes.
Creak… slam
They walked in briskly. One face was caught in a temporal phase of impatient anger, tinged with disgust; the other was completely neutral.
"Afternoon, Mr. Frinch," He said his voice in the same state as his face
He looked up, eyes dead, posture slumped with bone-deep tiredness and utter defeat. It seemed he had calmed down.
Bang!
Documents were slammed onto the table by Mrs. Shade, causing him to jump slightly before settling, still shaky.
"Mr. Frinch, sorry about my colleague. She's not in a good mood. We'll make this quick, as you know, we're here to question you about the incident."
"Again?" His raspy voice barely carried. "I've told you all I… that happened, and I…"
"Just answer the damn question!" she snapped.
"I'll begin," Mr. Anthony said. "Please state only the truth, as this will be recorded and will affect your case in court."
He nodded
"Alright, Mr. Ledger, start from the top. You said the Shaman came in around 9 PM, yeah?"
"No, around 12 AM," he replied shakily.
scribbling "Then what happened?" The inspector paused, eyes narrowed.
"We went down to the basement all of…"
Anthony interrupted him, still writing. "I thought you said you came down to find them in pieces?" He looked up, feigning confusion.
Ledger looked up responding. "No, I… we went down with them. We opened the door and walked in. I think?"
Mrs. Nightshade's gaze sharpened. Cold. "You think? Is it an I, or are we going with a we? Which one huh?"
"No, I'm not talking about us coming down… I'm talking about… um… the door," he stammered.
"The door?" she repeated, clipped.
"Yes. The door… initially I thought the Shaman opened it, but now… now I'm not so sure. I think it might have been the things inside." He looked up, seeing her cold face, causing him to immediately break into a cold sweat. She looked like she was waiting for him to make a mistake so she would have a reason to rearrange his face "Sorry… the spir—"
"Spirits, yeah? The same that mutilated both victims? So, to sum up: we have a convenient story. Two dead, one survivor, and you're talking spirits. You see why that's hard to buy, yeah?" She hit him with a freight train of questions
"Okay, help me understand how two people end up butchered, and you just walk out alive." she spook firing the last bullet, stunning him
"I don't know… she killed him, I think… because he was the one that killed her," he added quickly, causing both officers to look up sharply.
"He… killed?" they responded simultaneously. "So what you're saying is this spirit killed him as an act of revenge. What of your friend? was he also involved in her death?" The inspector immediately asked, noting the new information.
"He insulted her after the man died, cursing her generation to rot in hell. I believe though mine remains a lighter version of what he said. She didn't take it lightly and proceeded to cut of his little brother. He didn't seem happy with the response to his stupidity so proceeded to call her a… slut while screaming. I don't think she liked that word. The consequence of his rashness was there to behold."
Raven and Mrs. Nightshade looked at each other, faces drained of colour as the image of the gruesome scene overlapped in their minds.
"Tell me more about the killing. You said Mr. Elcore was involved. Start from the top. after that I want you to walk me true the scamming incidents you've been involved in"
...................
At Sebastian's Home
I had just been dropped off from a convoy consisting of three very expensive Jeep Wagoneer Command Operations Vehicles (COV). Well… I wasn't sure how expensive they where as they looked completely different from the unmodified one's civilians normally bought. I walked in, trailed by three officers — the scene giving off a total main-character vibe. Closing the gate behind me, I tried waving them a goodbye, This they promptly ignored getting into their cars and speeding off.
sigh....they don't seem happy with me well who can blame them
I watched them drive of then I began walking up the stairs, accompanied as expected by the incessant creaking, courtesy of the dying wood.
sigh
Today truly was a tiring day. And the rest of the week well worse than a short visit to hell…, I mentally ran through it, noting that I'd have to attend class for a forced study session with the prefect. I couldn't just tell her to f*** off — both directly and indirectly that'd be asking for a well-placed phone call to my mom.
By well-placed I mean the uncanny way my homeroom teacher always happened to call when she was most pissed off. Sometimes I seriously wondered if the guy had a spy cam in my house or just next-level intuition.
I stood up, grabbed my phone, and called Jack to ask about the meetup time and location. Then I called the teacher — my last, futile attempt to change his mind. Once done, and with my ears still ringing from the shouting I'd received, I collapsed onto my bed, praying the week would pass as quickly as possible.
…Three days later
It didn't.But it ended early which apparently I should be thankful for as the others where not so lucky
Currently, I was in my room packing up with the speed of a caffeinated god. I couldn't miss the train, or I'd get both berated and shamed by jack especially as this was as he called it 'His moment a rare opportunity to glow up'
I rushed out, bag slung over my shoulder, sandwich in my mouth, bottle of squash in my arm. I tried to one-arm wrestle my shoe into place — it didn't end well. Tripping and face-planting onto the floor was a welcome addition to my morning.
I stood, eyes red with held-back tears, then ran to the kitchen to replace the now-destroyed sandwich with my mom's. She'll understand, I thought.
I sprinted out to the terminal, hoping I hadn't missed the train — because if I had, even I'd agree well-aimed kick should be the least of my worries.
The reason for my panicked behaviour could be fully attributed to the emotional trauma from studying with that witch.
She'd spared no second informing me of how stupid I was — which, in my humble opinion, can seriously not be the ideal approach to learning. So upon returning home, I decided to doom-scroll my feed in the hope of alleviating my symptoms of acute depression… leading to the situation I currently found myself in.
So as you can see, it's that girls fault that I'm in this mess. In short, if I hadn't set an alarm to wake me up, I would've missed the entire outing.
I sighed in relief on seeing the bus, which I promptly got on. I headed straight for the back seat and slumped into it, realizing too late that it wasn't as dry as it should've been.
Grumbling, I stood, performed a true medical examination of the next seat, and sat down again. Then I began praying — that no one would get on at the next stop, and that no one would get of until my stop.
I jinxed it. Of the twelve stops, all twelve had people coming and going in. Seven of the stops had elderly folks boarding in groups — made me wonder if there was some kind of bingo night going on.
I finally arrived — thirty minutes late. The hard stare from Jacob said it all. It was the kind of look someone gives you after being cockblocked.
"Hi Jacob, looking good. Same to you, Alex," I greeted.
Hmph. Jacob turned away and walked towards the gate he didn't look happy