literature

A Case Not Yet Forgotten

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The thundering boots that echoed in the hallway, woke Quentin. The young man instinctually leapt off his cot, and waited beside the door. It swung open, stopping just before it smacked into him. By now he knew better than to flinch.

"Good morning." A familiar voice filled the small cell. 

Quentin smiled. "Good morning. How are you today?"

Still in their work uniform, his captor stepped into the room, setting a heavy boot in front of the door. "Bad, Quentin, very bad. I'm worried about tomorrow. You do know what tomorrow is, don't you?" 

The young man had been dreading this. It had been eleven years, and every morning since he'd been taken, Quentin had feared this conversation. He would be too old. And then, he would die.

"My birthday." He struggled to keep his voice level.

"Mhm. Your eighteenth birthday. You are no longer a little boy. You're a grown man with rights and responsibilities. It's a problem for me." 

Quentin's eyes burned. "I understand."

His captor set a hand on his shoulder. "We've been together a long time, right?" Quentin nodded rapidly. "And if you're worried I'll kill you, just know I could never." A slow smile that Quentin believed was supposed to read as trust, but sent shivers down his spine, spread across his captor's face. "Not when there's a job for you to do." 

********************************************************************

Quentin filled his lungs with icy winter air. His hands fled the safety of his coat pockets to wring anxiously. 

He walked down the busy street. For such a small town, there seemed to be a lot of people around. So much had changed in the years he'd been away. He was sad to see his favorite restaurant had been turned into a cell phone store. In fact, most of the quaint, family run stores he used to know had been taken over by chain businesses. 

Something told him a sensible person would run. Or maybe stop one of these people and tell them what had happened. But Quentin didn't feel like never being able to come home. He knew nothing else in the world than the house he grew up in. The smell of cleaning chemicals that lingered on his captor's clothes. His cell and its uncomfortable metal cot. 

And now because of him, another child would only ever know that house and the possible horrors within it.

Quentin knew how important it was to get it right the first time. Years ago, before his abduction, other boys had suffered an even worse fate than he had. They never got the chance to play at their favorite park again. Or have their first kiss. They never had children, or a car, or a wife. Those boys, never got to breathe outside that house again.

He shook the terrible thoughts from his head as the brightly colored equipment of Brookeville park stood before him. Despite the frigid temperatures, laughter cut through the neighborhood. Parents camped out on the hard, red benches, staring blankly at their iPhones, as their children ran around unattended. 

Quentin parked himself by the swings and gripped the edge of the damp cloth in his hand. It would be best to do this quickly, before the parents snapped back to the real world. He drew in another breath of air, the sharpness forcing him to focus.

With all the layers of clothing they wore, it was hard to tell sometimes which children were boys, and which were girls. One child flew to the swings, the bright pinks of her coat, leggings, and tutu assuring Quentin she didn't need his attention. The child she called to, with his curly brown hair, cherubic cheeks, and dinosaur pajamas pants however, he could be perfect. 

They appeared to be siblings. Same colored hair and eyes. They called each other by name. The boy, his name seemed to be Cameron, reminded Quentin of himself. He prayed that the similarities would earn them both their lives. 

Quentin glanced at the parents, who showed no signs of attentiveness, then hurried to the boy. He stood next to the swing and it slowed to a stop. Curious green eyes looked up at him, full of question and amusement. Quentin drew another breath before yanking the boy to his feet, and towards the forest. 

He shoved the cloth over the boy's mouth. Cameron kicked furiously, fighting against the drugs and digging his nails into Quentin's hand. Quentin kept the boy hidden behind the trunks, praying one could see them. The muffled screams slowly faded, and the small child drooped in Quentin's arms. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "So sorry."

********************************************************************

Richard Blake swore and threw another balled up piece of paper at the trash bin. It bounced off the wall, joining the others on the carpet. He took a sip from his mug, scowling at the cold, bitter liquid that filled his mouth. 

The top sheet of a four-hundred and twenty-three page story glared at him accusingly. All the things I should have done.

It had started as a vent piece and had quickly morphed into a several hundred page account of everything from the body discoveries to the late nights of drinking and tossing useless files at the walls. 

It had all been a wreck from the start. Seven little boys were dead. A community was in shambles. And there wasn't one lead. Quentin Delaro vanished, and everyone waited for his body to turn up. But it never did. Suddenly, boys stopped disappearing all together, and the case went cold. Seven year old Quentin was forgotten, and the town moved on to more current events. His mother had even moved away three years ago. "I have to move on now, Richard." She had said. "And so should you." But he couldn't. Not until he knew what had happened.

Richard shook his head and carried his mug downstairs to the kitchen sink. He poured the cold coffee onto the pile of dirty dishes, then stacked the mug on top. He must've gotten lost in his story again, because he didn't remember missing lunch. His fridge was a lonely box of take-out containers, half-drunk soda cans, and long forgotten TV dinners that sported freezer burn crystals across the tops.  

He chose one of the boxes from the front and took a large sniff of its contents. Month old chicken curry assaulted his nose. "Pizza it is, then." He muttered.

Twenty minutes later, Richard had his feet propped up on the coffee table, the evening news on the TV, and a streaming box of meat lover's pizza in his lap. He was half way through his third slice when a reporter appeared at the scene of a boy's abduction. 

"Good evening Brookeville. Tonight locals are still in search of eight year old Cameron Michaels who disappeared from this park, early this afternoon. He was last seen wearing a grey coat, blue and green pajamas, brown snow boots, and a yellow rain hat. If you have any information on the whereabouts of little Cameron, please call the number below, and speak to one of our Brookeville detectives. Thank you and back to you George."

Richard's stomach knotted up, and he wasn't sure if it was the grease or his instincts. A little boy, a park, broad daylight. It was so similar. He immediately reached for the phone on the side table and dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Kyle, its me. I just watched the news. I think he's back."

********************************************************************

Quentin watched the sleeping boy's chest rise and fall. "So what do you think? Is he the one?" He glanced at the figure that loomed over the cot.

"I don't know." His captor sat on the edge of the bed. Their fingers raked through the boy's curly hair. He was poked and prodded like a poor lab study animal. "He's got the look, I'll give you that." 

Quentin swallowed a smile. "Thank you. Now what do we do with him?" 

The other person stood and paced the room. "What did you say his name was?"

"The girl called him Cameron." He glanced at the stirring child.

"Hmm." They returned to the bed. "The tests. We put him through the tests. You do remember those, don't you?"

Quentin nodded. The tests were the only reason he had survived. He had learned not to cry, not to yell, not to beg for help. Just suck it up and answer anything they asked. And that's why he had lived, he had been a little smarter than the others. "Should I get the chair?"

"Yes," The boy slowly opened his eyes. "and get the shock box too."

********************************************************************

"Blake we've been through this. It was over a decade ago. Do you really believe the kidnapper is back? After all this time?" Captain Kyle Johnston propped his boots on the coffee table, stealing a piece of cold pizza.

Richard muted the TV to address his life-long friend. "I know it sounds crazy, but the route needs to be explored. What if I'm right? Cameron Michaels could be found dead in a few days. What then, Kyle?" 

"I'll look into it, okay? But there's not much that can be done at 8 in the evening." 

"I get that it sounds stupid but..."

"No, no it's not. This isn't some connection on a random case that's only in your head. There are clearly some things that need looked into." Kyle reached for another slice. "I just don't want you to be right is all."

"Thanks, Johnston. This means a lot to me. You get it. We both remember those months." Because the nightmares won't stop.

"Far too well, Blake. Far too well." He scarfed down the remaining two slices before standing and resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "But hey, I'll call you the moment we have anything to prove or debunk your theory, man."

"Thanks again." 

Kyle raised his hand slightly as he headed out of the house. Richard sighed, relief and anxiousness fighting inside him, while he tossed the pizza box out. It could be a whole day, or longer, before they had anything. He knew his friend would investigate solely on his hunch instead of dismissing him like most people. A couple detectives would be sent out tomorrow to quietly follow the lead. Hopefully, they would find nothing and Richard could move on. But for now there was nothing to do but go to bed. 

He shut the lights and the TV off, wanting to call her up so she could set his nerves to ease. I still love you, and I'm sorry. But he didn't.

********************************************************************

Cameron's screams still rang in his ears. He couldn't have imagined it would be so horrible. The boy had been so oppositional he wouldn't answer the questions. All he did was kick and scream. So Quentin had been forced to shock him. Again and again and again. 

He wasn't sure if they boy was still alive. The smell of burning flesh had overwhelmed him until he was forced to dash from the chamber and retch in the hallway. His captor had finished the interrogation their self. He could tell because the electric crackles had stopped. So had the screaming.

Quentin's body shook. This boy wasn't right, he would have to go back out and snatch another. He didn't want to go through this again. He couldn't. 

The doors opened. "He's unconscious. You can put him back in his bed. There's some stuff in the cabinets, for his burns." Quentin nodded and obeyed orders. 

He carried Cameron's limp body to his cell. His small frame was covered in electrical burns that would keep the child in pain for days. Quentin applied to burn cream to every mark and tucked him into bed. He checked his pulse once more, then went to finish his chores.

Quentin walked through the narrow hall and past its many doors to the heavily padlocked exit. One of his new privileges was access to the main stairs. He had been let out before. Holidays, birthdays, other special occasions. But never full time like this. Quentin had been shown where his new bed was in the house and the cleaning cabinet for his chores. He had clothes that actually fit and three real meals a day instead of one. But the price was the innocence of little boys. First Cameron, and who knew who next.  

He wished Cameron had woken up so he could tell him what to do, he'd have to remember to tell the next one. That was his mistake, a rather fatal one, just not for him. He shook away his thoughts as he entered the main floor. The smell of cooking food made him forget all his worries.

"Dinner will be done soon. Once we eat, maybe we can get to partying. Oh its scary, but I can't believe you're getting so old!" 

He hugged his captor tightly. "Me either, Mom, me either."

********************************************************************

Richard tossed and turned all night. He paced all morning. And he drank a full pot of coffee waiting for Kyle Johnston's call. 

He couldn't sit still, so when he heard a car in his driveway he had the door open before Kyle even got to it. "So?"

"Its very similar, Blake, but nothing can be confirmed yet." Kyle brushed some snow from his greying hair.

"But you're not giving up?" Richard lead his friend into the living room.

"No, of course not. But we have to keep this quiet and you know how hard that can be sometimes."

"Yeah I get it." He sighed and plopped down in the room's only chair.

"We'll figure this out, Blake. But uh, they guys are worried about you. Montgomery says you two haven't talked in weeks." 

Richard knew these questions would be coming eventually. "No, no it's been I while since I've called him. Been focused on the book y'know." 

"Has she called yet?" 

Richard focused his gaze on the fireplace. "No." 

"Alright man." He awkwardly slapped his friend's back. "You should call her soon, and Montgomery too. Don't drop off the face of the Earth, okay?" Kyle edged toward the door.

He laughed. "Got it. Just keep working that lead." 

Kyle laughed as well and left. 

Richard knew he was right, he should call her. And after this abduction theory was figured out, he would call. Probably.

********************************************************************

Quentin had spent his birthday eating homemade cupcakes and dancing with his mother. She was really warming up to this whole eighteen thing. They had almost left the house, but the snow was too heavy.

He had had to clean everything up himself, but the house was rather small anyways. A couple of ballons left on the living room couch, frosting on the arm chair, the dishes from dinner, he could handle it. At least Mom hadn't forced him to partake in the second round of interrogation. He couldn't hear them, but he knew there were screams in the basement.

They worked on him, both holding out hope he could just be the one. For days they tried to make him behave. Quentin slipped the boy a cupcake, but he ate it so fast he got sick. And he tried to tell him how to handle the questions, but Cameron just threw tantrums until Mom was forced to sedate him.

That morning he had been ordered to get rid of him to start over. Mom had slipped something into the boy's food, and within minutes it was done. 

Quentin quietly slipped out of the house and down the driveway. He pulled his jacket tighter around him as he weaved around the piles of plowed snow that blocked the sidewalk. Street-lamps illuminated the suburban neighborhood. So many terrible things have happened in such an innocent looking place. The snow covered lawns and beige houses stretched for what seemed like miles as he walked. 

The duffle bag dug into his shoulder, but he carried on until he reached the woods. Quentin unzipped the bag and stared at the still, grey face of Cameron Michaels. "You should have listened better." He whispered. A tear rolled down his cheek as he lay the body on top of a snowy mound. He folded the boy's arms over his torn pajamas, and kissed his forehead. 

Quentin hurried with the empty bag back for home. Tomorrow a new boy gets taken. Let's hope I get it right.

********************************************************************

The stack of pages on his desk grew more and more in the days Richard waited for confirmation. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't focus on the simplest of tasks. He just wrote and chugged coffee.

The bags under his eyes had tripled in depth by the time Kyle found him slumped over the five-hundredth or so page. "Hey man, you alive?"

"Mm, yeah." He sat up, suddenly aware of how beaten he must look. "You find anything?" Richard tossed the pen aside. 

Kyle tried to look at the faded carpet, the overflowig desk, the pile of coffee mugs, anythig but his friend's face. "Yeah, a body."

********************************************************************

"I hate being right." Richard crouched over the heavy black tarp that had been spread out within the taped off square. 

"He's still wearing the fucking pajamas. Christ." Detective Montgomery swore. 

"Chase, don't swear in front of the kid. And someone cover his face before those darned journalists get his picture on the news." Richard stood as a blanket was draped over the boy's head. "What's the news, doc?"

The country coroner pulled his coat tighter around his bully frame. "The boy's body has been preserved over night by the cold. But T.O.D. is sometime last night, 'bout dinner time. There appear to be burns over most of his body. I think jumper cables were pressed against his pajamas multiple times over several days. I won't know more 'til I get 'im on the slab."

"Jumper cables? It's the same as last time, isn't it, Blake?" Chase tried to think back.

"Same relative dump site, same torture technique, same victim age, same amount of time missing, and I'd bet the cause of death is overdose on sleeping pills. Just like the seven boys back then." Richard watched the boy get lowered and zipped into a black bag. "I can't escape this fuc- stupid case, Chase."

"I know, Blake, but now we can get him." Chase gripped his partner by his shoulders. "We're gonna get him, finally. This," He gestured at the press lined at the cheap fence, the worried spectators, and the black bag that was being loaded into the coroner's van. "is never gonna happen again."

"You bet your ass it won't. You bet your ass."

********************************************************************

Quentin paced his room. She was going to ask him to go back out and he couldn't, he just couldn't. He stopped to lay on the twin sized bed. He didn't want to leave this new room. There was furniture and a window in here. A window. But she was going to be so pissed...

"They found him already." She stood in the doorway, home early from work, blonde hair falling out of a loose ponytail. 

"I'm sorry I-I..."

"I get it. The ground was hard, you couldn't dig the grave. He was your first and you just wanted it over with." The crow's feet on her face deepened. "I understand. But you have to go back out now. Before they catch onto us."

********************************************************************

Despite the weather and the abduction warning, small children still followed behind their parents on their way to run various errands. The schools were still closed, evident by the loitering teens and elementary aged kids that seemed to be everywhere. 

Quentin kept his eye out for the next victim. He didn't want to do this. He'd almost rather still be living out of his cell. But he had to. For Mom.

He ducked into a small grocery store, and picked up a shopping basket. He tossed a random bottle of shampoo and some crackers into his basket as he looked for targets. Sure enough, there was crying in the aisle over. Quentin peeked around the corner and saw a little boy, wrapped in a green scarf and matching hat, waving around a remote control car.

"Mommy, I want it. I want it. I want it. Mommy, mommy, mommy! I want it!" He screamed and stamped his feet. 

"No, for God's sake, no! We can't afford a stupid car right now. Don't you want to eat? Do you want a full tummy or an empty one? We can't get it." A grouchy brunette tried pulling the boy towards the check-out.

The boy yanked himself free and ran out of the toy aisle. Quentin took his chance and picked the child up, shoving his hand over his mouth. He sprinted out the back, praying no one noticed him cut across the street, and through the park. The entire time the boy screamed bloody murder. Someone saw me. Its all over.

Quentin rushed in the back of the house and dropped the boy on the couch. 

********************************************************************

"Chase Montgomery, I swear to God if you don't stop pacing in front of my board!" They were organized bewteen the small row of desks in the Brookeville PD. Everyone is the small grey building had their attention on the board. They had just gotten back to start working Cameron's case when they got a call. 

Detective Montgomery froze in front of the whiteboard. "Sorry, Blake." 

"Its fine. Just, sit, down!" Richard nudged his friend aside and stuck a new picture up. "So this Jackson kid was taken from a store an hour ago, yes?" He turned to his boss.

"Yeah. We even have the kidnapper on video, its just taking a while to get the tapes." Captain Johnston said.

"Do you think its the same guy?" Chase sat down on the edge of his desk.

"If it's the person who kidnapped Cameron, we have a different guy than the one who took the boys eleven years ago. Our kidnapper, the one from the store, was called 'kid'. Maybe a teenager. He couldn't have been taking boys back then too. Different perp, same everything else." Richard said.

"That would explain the inexperience."

"But they have to be working with our previous killer. The detail about the jumper cables was never made public." Johnston said.

"Exactly." Richard said. "So not only do we have to ID our current kidnapper..." 

"But we have to solve the old crime too, in order to find out where Jackson is." Chase finished.

Johnston nodded. "Maybe the current kidnapper will give us what we didn't have back then to catch this guy."

Richard sighed. "I sure as hell hope so." 

********************************************************************

Quentin watched his mom pace back and forth. "Some one must have saw you. There are cameras everywhere now. They know who you are. They are going to find us, and toss us in prison! I cannot let that happen." She waved her hands around, gesturing wildly at random objects.

"Mom, Mom, calm down." Quentin rose off the faded couch the sleeping child lay on. "No one saw me. A-and even if they did, how would they find me here?" 

"I-I don't know. P-police are getting smarter..."

Quentin wrapped the small woman in his arms. "We'll be fine, Mom." He whispered.

She sobbed into his shoulder. "P-promise me, no matter what happens, you'll always love me."

He tilted her face up. "I will always love you, always."

********************************************************************

A young uniformed cop rushed into the squad room. "Dete-Detectives, I've got the tapes!" Chase took the tape and shoved it in an old department VHS player.

A fuzzy black and white video of the supermarket, time stamped November 12, 2014, 15:21, appeared on screen. A few seconds into the tape, Jackson and his mother walked into the store. The detectives watched the boy throw a tantrum in every aisle. "Damn, he must be a handful." Richard mumbled. They all leaned forward as a teenage boy, with dark curly hair, walked into the store and picked up a basket. He was clearly just grabbing random items and looking for something else. He apparently found that something else because the moment Jackson ripped free from his mother, the young man scooped him up and ran from the store. 

"There, in aisle five, freeze it on his face." Richard watched as the tape rewound. The screen froze on a shaky image of the kidnapper. His stomach clenched.

"Holy hell is that...?" Chase poked the screen.

"Quentin Delaro is alive, and he's our kidnapper!"

********************************************************************

"What the hell? Based on our profile eleven years ago, Quentin was never found because the killer wised up. He-he's been alive the whole damned time." Richard ran a hand through his hair.

"Holy shit, man. Now what?" Chase pulled the tape out.

"We have to reprofile the original killer." Richard started searching through the stacks of case files. He found the file containing the conclusions draw about the first kidnapper. "Here, we always figured because of the violence the killer was a man. He may have been unable to molest the boys for some reason, at least that's what we figured, but what of that wasn't the case?"

"You think our kidnapper is a woman?" Johnston asked.

"Quentin would have been more likely to trust a woman. He was seven years old, a man would have been frightening but..." He started writing things on the board. "And by now the kid would be completely under the spell of his captor by now anyways..." Richard got lost in his thougts. 

"Alright, you heard the man. Everyone get to work looking back at women from eleven years ago that would fit the new profile. We'll get that going now. Look for triggers, proximity, the works. Hurry." Johnston barked orders and the uniforms were sent scurrying. 

********************************************************************

Jackson was screaming again. Mom had tried pushing a pillow of his face but he bit her. "We have to leave. Run away before they can find us, Mom!" 

"Where on Earth would we go, Quentin? Neither of us have ever left Brookeville. I have $47 in the bank!"

"We can't stay here! We cannot let the cops find you." Quentin paced more. "We have to get out of Brookeville before the cops show up."

Sirens cut through the air. His mom looked up, her eyes wide. "Too late, they're already here."

********************************************************************

Two hours earlier.

Every available body was flipping through records. They had volunteer techs running names through databases, and the secretary crossing out the names. Richard was doing more work than he would have thought physically possible. We are so close.

There hadn't been any female suspects besides one drug addict, who had since overdosed, and the mother of the first boy. But parents were always suspect at first, and she had no reason to kill the other boys. 

It was hard to rule people out. Most of the residents had lived in Brookeville for years, and lived in residential areas. No space to hold captives without being seen. No one had moved right after Quentin's abduction and moved right back before Cameron's. No one had seen Quentin Delaro with anyone in the last eleven years. They were getting no where. 

"Hey, Blake, come look at this." Chase yelled. 

Richard went over to his friend's desk. "What do ya got?"

"I was thinking about the specifics of the boy's ages, y'know? We thought it was the perverts type but..."

"We aren't dealing with a perv. So why so specific?"

"Exactly. So I did a search. All deaths in Brookeville and surrounding cities, between 1997 and 2002, of seven and eight year old boys. I have ten hits."

"Fantastic. Anyone stick out?" Richard's head buzzed. This is it.

Detective Montgomery scrolled through the names, reading newspaper articles and medical reports. "Margret Reynolds. A school janitor, she was recently laid off. In 2000 her seven year old son, Beckett, fell off some park equipment that wasn't up to code, and broke his neck. Mr. Reynolds shot himself three weeks before the first abduction. Rumors say he blamed her for taking him there." 

"Where does she live, Chase?" Richard motioned for his boss.

"I'm looking..."

"Where does she live, Chase?" He holstered his gun.

"On Pine Street, at the end of the cul-de-sac." 

"Let's go."

********************************************************************

Blue and red lights filled the living room, making Jackson scream louder. "Mom?" Quentin turned to face her.

She stared back, but showed little fear. "It's okay, baby." 

"T-they..." 

"I-I don't need to do this any more." Margret embraced him. "Its alright. Let them take the boy to his mother. Let them take you home."

Quentin hugged her tighter. "H-home? Mom, this is my home."

"N-no there is a woman out there who probably misses you. I-I have to let you go. You have to let me go." She kissed his wet cheek. 

"M-mom?"

Outside, Richard turned his megaphone on. "Margret Reynolds and Quentin Delaro, come out with you hands up. No one else has to suffer." He stood in the silence, waiting for his boss to give them the go signal. Surprisingly, Margret Reynolds opened the door, still in her janitor's uniform, and stepped outside. She started down the sidewalk, and the officers raised their guns. "Remember Delaro is a victim too. Don't shoot unless absolutely necessary." Richard whispered.

A head poked out from behind the door. Quentin stood with his hand on Jackson's shoulder. Halfway down the sidewalk, Margret turned and smiled. "I don't want to live without you, son."

"Y-you don't have to, Mom. I'm eighteen, I-I can stay with you!" He took a step out the door.

"Don't do anything stupid." Richard warned.

Margret shook her head. "I killed eight people, hun. A-and my husband died because of what I did to Beckett." She pulled a gun out. "I can't imagine living on without you."

"She's got a gun!" An officer said. 

"I don't need to find a new son, I don't need to replace Beckett because I have you." Margret smiled and raised the gun.

One person died. Two people fired. And three people screamed.

********************************************************************

Jackson had started screaming again the moment Margret Reynolds fell to the ground. Quentin had screamed as well, rushing to her side. Three officers had had to pull him away from her bloody corpse. Richard knew the boy would never be okay again, but maybe he could get some closure for himself. 

His own screams still echoed in his ears. Margret had fired her own gun at her head at the same moment Captain Johnston had fired. His shot went through her heart. Hers exploded her skull. Little Jackson had been kidnapped and witnessed a horrific death. They had loaded him into an ambulance to take him to the hospital to get examined, and he had been silent since. Another life ruined.

At least he finally knew the who and the why. Margret Reynolds, quiet, life-long Brookeville resident. She had kept to herself beneath that innocent looking, grey shingled house. Her sound proof basement extended far beyond her property line and had given the detectives a first hand look into Quentin Delaro's world. Even after they had bonded, she had still kept him a room the size of a prison cell. 

All that time she had been looking for another little boy to call son. Richard almost had a moment of sympathy for her. Almost.

He sipped his coffee and stared at the snow falling. I have to call her. He picked up his cell and slowly dialed the number. It only rang once. "Richard I-I..."

"Save it, Lizzy. I just, I just want you to know I love you and that this horrible case is over finally with and, and I want you to come home." He clutched the small phone. 

"Do you mean it?" His wife whispered. "Is it over?"

Richard pushed his book off the desk and into the trash can. He leaned back in his chair and sighed with relief. "Yeah, babe, it's over."

"I'll be there in an hour."
For this, writers-guild-da.deviantart.co…

I used the forgotten cover but I worked more with the word forgotten than the image on the actual cover. ^^; I barely got this done in time because they gave us July and August, but July was Flash Fiction Month so I only could use half the time. 

:star: Feedback Would Be Lovely :star:
© 2015 - 2024 SarcasticCupcake5
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psycocat's avatar
I wish I could give better feedback, but I don't normally read detective fiction.  This was a fun read.  The attempt to hide the sex of the captor using their was a bit jarring, but unfortunately I have suggestion to remedy it.  Great job.