2025-10-28 19:03:35The morning sky hung heavy with rain when I reached the station. The countryside always looked peaceful after a storm, but peace has a way of lying, it hides the rot underneath. I parked beside the patrol cars and sat there for a moment, watching the droplets run down the windshield.
Inside, the station smelled of old wood and stale coffee. The kind of scent that clings to your clothes. A few officers nodded as I walked in, their voices low, eyes full of sympathy. Everyone already knew who the victim was. Small towns carry news faster than light.
Detective Lee was waiting in the hallway, a file tucked under her arm. “He’s here,” she said quietly. “Marcus Hale. We put him in Interview Room Two.”
I nodded but didn’t move.
“You sure you’re up for this?” she asked, searching my face.
“I’m fine,” I said, forcing a small smile. “I’ve handled worse.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. Lee was good like that, she let silence do the asking.
Marcus was seated at the metal table, his hands folded tightly in front of him. His eyes were red, not from anger but exhaustion. He looked smaller somehow, the way grief can shrink even the tallest man.When he saw me, he stood halfway, then hesitated. “Alan,” he breathed, voice cracking. “They told me you were leading the case. I didn’t believe it.”
“Marcus,” I said, keeping my tone level. “Please, sit.”
He sat slowly, glancing around the room like it might swallow him whole. The fluorescent light buzzed softly above us. Lee stood in the corner, arms crossed, watching but not interfering.
“I don’t even know what happened,” Marcus started. “I was away for work, two nights in Glenmere. Lydia was supposed to call me last night, but she didn’t. When I got back…” He swallowed, words breaking apart. “She was gone. Just like that.”
I studied him carefully. The way his fingers trembled. The way he kept rubbing his wedding ring, round and round, like he could erase what it meant.
“I’m sorry, Marcus,” I said, the words mechanical. “We’re doing everything we can.”
He looked up at me then, eyes glistening. “You don’t believe I did this, do you?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. I leaned back slightly, pretending to think. “We’re following all leads,” I said. “But you were the only one with a key, and there were no signs of forced entry.”
“I told the officer, she sometimes forgot to lock the door,” he insisted. “People know each other around here. It’s safe.”
“Safe,” I echoed, my tone mild but hollow. “Until it isn’t.”
Lee shifted her stance slightly, her gaze flicking between us. She could sense it, the strange current beneath the calm words. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The rain outside had turned into a soft drizzle, tapping against the window like a second heartbeat.“You two were close once,” Marcus said quietly. “You and Lydia.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“Yes,” I admitted after a pause. “A long time ago.”
He gave a faint, broken smile. “I always wondered if you hated me for that.”
I met his eyes. “Why would I?”
He looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “Because you loved her first.”
Something inside me tightened, but I kept my face still. “That was another life,” I said flatly.
He nodded, though the guilt in his expression lingered. “She spoke of you sometimes,” he murmured. “Said you were strong. Kind. The kind of man who’d never hurt anyone.”
The words echoed through the room, cold and cutting. Lee’s eyes flicked toward me. I kept mine fixed on Marcus.
“Marcus,” I said, leaning forward slightly, “did Lydia seem frightened of anyone recently? Anyone following her, bothering her?”
He shook his head. “No. She’d been quiet lately, but I thought she was just tired. We argued a bit before I left, nothing serious.”
“What about?” I asked.
He hesitated. “She wanted to move away. Start over. Said this town reminded her of too much.”
I tilted my head. “Too much of what?”
He looked at me then, and for a second, there was something sharp in his eyes, something that saw right through the calm mask I wore. “You tell me, Alan. You’ve been here longer than anyone.”
The silence that followed was heavy. Lee’s pen stopped moving.
Finally, I stood. “That’ll be all for now. We’ll need you to stay in town.” Marcus exhaled shakily and nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.” As I turned toward the door, he spoke again. “Alan… find who did this. Please.” I paused, hand on the handle. “I intend to.” Outside the room, Lee walked beside me down the narrow corridor. “You handled that calmly,” she said, her tone unreadable.“Just doing my job,” I replied.
She gave a faint smile. “Sure. But you flinched when he mentioned your past with her.”
I stopped walking. “Did I?”
“You did,” she said softly. “You might not have noticed, but I did.”
For a moment, I considered denying it, but the truth was, she was right.
Lee studied me for another second before sighing. “I’ll pull the phone records, check his alibi again. You should get some rest.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly.
“Yeah,” she murmured, walking away. “You keep saying that.”
Back in my office, I sat alone for a long while. The rain outside had stopped, leaving only the hum of distant thunder. I looked at the old case photos pinned on the wall, but my eyes drifted to the one folder I hadn’t opened, the one labeled Lydia Hale.I reached for it, then stopped, my hand trembling slightly.
There were things Marcus didn’t say in that room. But there were also things I didn’t say, things I couldn't.
Because the past doesn’t die easily. It waits. It watches.
And sometimes, it comes back wearing the face of the woman you once loved.
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Chapter Eleven-Echoes Left Behind
Six months after Alan Crowe vanished, Miller’s Creek forgot how to talk about him. The town learned to wrap its silence in routine, to replace unease with habit. The station buzzed again, but the air carried something brittle, as if one wrong word could shatter it. People moved like they were pretending not to remember. They pretended well.Lee stopped pretending the day she found his notebook. It was buried beneath a drawer in the evidence room, between old case files and dust. No name on the cover, only a single mark, an ink line drawn straight through the center. She didn’t open it right away. She placed it on her desk and stared at it for hours, waiting for courage or forgiveness, whichever arrived first. Neither did.The bureau had closed the Crowe file two months earlier. Official record: Missing, presumed dead. The divers had searched the lake twice. No body. No footprints beyond the pier. His car engine was cold when they found it, keys still in the ignition, badge resting on
Chapter Ten-The Vanishing
They started calling it “The Crowe Case” on the news the kind of irony that only small towns and gossip could twist into legend.By the time the reporters arrived at the station, I was already gone.No one saw me leave. No one stopped me.The last thing they had of me on record was a keycard swipe at 8:47 p.m., the night Lee turned in her report to Internal Affairs.She had done what she promised: told the truth.I sat in my car at the edge of Miller’s Creek, engine off, watching the reflection of the courthouse lights shimmer across the black water.The night was colder than usual, the kind that seeped into the bones and refused to leave. A storm was coming, the clouds low and bruised, pressing down on the earth.Inside the glove compartment sat the letter. My confession. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just another version of the truth, written to sound like remorse.I’d written it three times and torn it up twice.What do you even say when the person you’ve been chasing your whole
Chapter Nine-The Unravelling
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the precinct that morning was the silence. Not the usual kind, this one was heavy, deliberate. Conversations stopped when I passed. Papers shuffled louder than necessary. Someone had been talking about me.I set my coffee down on my desk and opened my laptop.The Hale case file blinked on the screen, the same one I thought I’d buried beneath a mountain of other reports. But it had been reopened. A new tag sat on the header in bold red: “Independent Review: Active.”Lee’s desk was empty, but her jacket hung on the chair. She was here somewhere.The sound of footsteps came from behind me, Chief Donnelly, flanked by two people I didn’t recognize. Suits. Not locals.“Crowe,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “This is Agent Rosner and Inspector Hale from Internal Affairs. They’ll be going through our open and closed casework this week.”“Internal Affairs?” I forced a half-smile. “Didn’t know we were that interesting.”Rosner didn’t smile bac
Chapter Eight-Echoes Of The Truth
The courthouse in Miller’s Creek was older than the town itself, stone walls, heavy doors, and the faint smell of damp wood that never left no matter the season.When Marcus Hale walked in that morning, the air shifted. He looked thinner, quieter, like someone who’d aged a lifetime behind bars. He didn’t meet my eyes, but I felt the weight of his silence.His lawyer, a sharp-eyed man from the city, placed a thick folder on the judge’s desk. “Your honor,” he began, “new forensic analysis raises serious doubts about the original investigation.”Lee sat beside me, her pen motionless above her notes.The lawyer continued. “The fabric evidence, the so-called ‘key link’ between Mr. Hale and the victim, has been proven contaminated. Chain of custody errors, improper labeling, and most importantly, missing timestamps on the original data logs.”The judge frowned. “Are you implying the evidence was tampered with?”“I’m saying,” the lawyer replied, “that it was handled carelessly. And my client
Chapter Seven- The Cracks Deepen
The morning fog clung to the station like a ghost that refused to leave.When I stepped out of my car, Lee was already by the front steps, a coffee in hand and that look in her eyes — the one that meant she’d found something she shouldn’t have.“Morning,” I said.“Alan,” she replied flatly. “We need to talk.”Inside, she led me to the briefing room. The blinds were drawn, light thin and gray across the table. She laid a file down between us.“Remember the evidence log you signed the night Lydia’s phone came in?” she asked.I nodded slowly.“The timestamp doesn’t match your shift records,” she said. “It’s off by nearly two hours.”“That’s a system glitch,” I said. “It happens all the time.”“Maybe.” She tilted her head. “But I checked the CCTV footage from that night. You were still at the house when the entry was logged. Which means someone else signed it under your name, or you returned later without logging it.”The air between us went still. I forced my tone calm. “What exactly are
Chapter Six-Fractures
The days that followed blurred into one another. The town moved on, but the echoes hadn’t faded. Every café, every corner, every conversation carried Marcus Hale’s name like a whisper.At the station, the energy changed. People smiled when they saw me, pats on the back, quiet congratulations. They called it closure. I called it fragile.Lee was different, though. She didn’t smile much anymore.She came into my office late one afternoon, a file tucked under her arm. The blinds were half-drawn, strips of gray light cutting across the desk.“I’ve been going through the case notes again,” she said.I leaned back in my chair. “Still can’t sleep?”Her lips twitched. “Something like that.”She opened the folder and slid a page toward me, a forensics report. “Look here,” she said, tapping a line with her finger. “The fingerprint match on the window frame, one of them was partial. It’s only a 60% probability match for Marcus.”“That’s still within range,” I said.“It is. But the partial was li
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