A Writco collaboration with @I Am Michael







So this is where the charade started. And it was not a disappointment, I mean from the very beginning I knew she was observant, a constant eye wary of her every surroundings. Myself, I was willingly withdrawn. No problems falling back in the shadows and allowing the dice to fall wherever they would. Then I'd pick apart the scene piecemeal, questioning as I went along and documenting my answers. I just functioned better that way. That's how we worked, and the incredible thing is, it lead to a success rate of 100%. Every. Single. Time.

This is why a very wealthy client chose us for this particular cold case.

“I want to go back to the scene of the crime,” I said one morning as we ate breakfast. “Even though I realize the evidence is tampered with and extricated. I just want to get a feel for the crime.”

I knew of course Lissa would have no problem with this. In fact, I was surprised I had mentioned it first. But I wasn't shocked that she'd already been there before I had even opened my mouth.

How did she know about our assignment before I did? We'd received word about it the same time!

Or so I thought.

“Sure,” Lissa replied, finishing up her cereal. “Let's go.”

But as we pulled up to the house, still an awful smell wafted through the front door. I thought after all this time, things would have been repaired and replaced.

It had not.

And surprising to me, Lissa took to it like old luggage. You know, like the kind where it needs to be replaced, but it somehow became close like family. You don't know to replace it because it's become your comfort. I covered my mouth and nose; she entered head-on.

Looking around, there was definitely a struggle leading to this murder. I mean if the blood washed on the walls, dried and stained, didn't spell it out, there were still scrapings of skin and residue on the floor and baseboards as if something—or someone—had been dragged. I wanted to run out, but she challenged me to stay for once. “Come on, Cal,” Lissa said with a smirk. “You're running out so soon?”

I rolled my eyes. She always knew how to get under my skin. That's what I loved, and hated, about Lissa.






Lissa's Pov

I stepped into the crime scene, my senses on high alert. A horrifying smell all its own filled the air, and I fought the urge to gag.

“Alright,” I said as I stepped over a loose plank on the floor. “What's your current theory, Caleb?”

Caleb cocked his head to the side and looked at me. I knew something sarcastic was going to come out of his mouth before he said a word. “I think someone was killed here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Caleb, I'm serious.”

“Okay, then. What's your take, Lissa?”

I pulled my backpack off and set it down on the floor. I pulled my notebook out. “Okay, so according to the initial police reports, the victim was for sure killed in the kitchen, so when she was in this room, she was still alive.”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah, I can see that.”

I closed by eyes, envisioning how everything had gone down. “Okay, let's walk this out. So the victim was here…”

For the next half hour, Caleb and I went over the scene. We combed over the evidence, analyzed the scene, even tried to retrace the steps of the victim—and the killer.

“Think we're any closer to figuring this out?” Caleb asked as the faint light seeping through the window faded. The sun disappeared below the horizon.

I paused. Sure, we'd figured some things out, but was it enough? Had we made any progress.

I had just opened my mouth to respond when a bullet sliced through the air.



© Shelby Pryor