Chapter 9

When are you bringing a girlfriend home, Chris? When do you plan on getting married, Chris? Blah, blah, blah.

Why is my love life a part of their problem? I haven't met the woman who would capture my heart, that's all. I don't want to be that guy who gets married this month and files a divorce six months after. When I get married, I want it to be permanent. Not just a phase that will pass.

My morning started not so great because of Melanie's questions about my love life. Our mom and dad started asking me, too. They wanted to see their grandchildren. And Mark finally having a girlfriend didn't help my situation.

Mark had a few girlfriends in the past. Jeffrey always has a girlfriend. Melanie is in a long-term relationship with her boyfriend, Andrew. While me? Nah, never mind.

"Hey, Chris!"

"Morning, Chris."

My colleagues greeted me as I entered the station, but I just nodded at them. I'm not in the mood.

"Hey, bro. What's the matter?" Oliver asked when I finally sat on my chair.

"Am I ugly? I'm not ugly, right?" I asked out of nowhere.

"What? Haha! Are you seriously asking that? Why? Heh! Let me guess; your family just asked you, again, when are you bringing home a girlfriend, Chris?" I pushed him out of annoyance when he mocked my mother's tone of voice.

"F*ck you, man. Get out of my face." I heard him laughing when he got back to his table. I shook my head and turned on my computer.

Our morning started regular—few calls for police patrols and a domestic violence complaint. Guzman was so loud when he was finally assigned on a big case about the illegal cockfight near the northern border of the town. It's considered big because the suspected owner of the arena is our vice-governor.

"McKnight, Angeles. A body was on the riverside. Handle that." We heard the captain yelled from his office.

"Oliver! Come on!" I called Oliver as I wear my jacket and get our patrol car keys.

It only took us around ten minutes to reach the Burton Grove Reserve that covers the riverside. People look aware of what was on the far end of the reserve. They were all in hushed conversation, and they look afraid.

When we got to the riverside, the crime scene people are already processing the scene. There are bystanders and reporters everywhere. Our police officers already corded the area, but people are always hard to control.

"Excuse me, Det. Angeles, what can you say about the victim? Do you have any leads?" A reporter shockingly went past the yellow tape to question me.

"Excuse me; this is an active crime scene. If you do not get out of here, I will be forced to arrest you." An officer warned the reporter. She looked new.

The reporter didn't have a choice but to get back outside the perimeter. I saw Lorenze, our best forensic, taking pictures of the body.

"Hey, Lorenze. What do you have so far?" Oliver asked him the moment we got near the body.

"Ana Bolton, 27, teacher. She was reported missing at St. Luis two months ago. Cause of death, strangulation. See the ligature marks here, around her neck? I'm guessing a chain." So that's why she looks familiar. We have her picture on the missing person's board.

"How long has she been in the water?" I asked.

"Based on the discoloration, I'd say she was dumped here around 4 in the morning. And get this, my guess is, that's immediately after the time of death. But, I'd know more when I process everything back in the lab." Lorenze replied.

Oliver and I both nodded. For us, we both know that, more often than not, Lorenze is always right about his first forensic insight. I always admire that about him. He's so intelligent and sees every detail, even the tiniest bit.

"Let's talk to the family," Oliver said, and we both walked back to our patrol car.

We drove for approximately 45 minutes before we arrived at St. Luis. It was one of the most historical cities in the state. Back in the Civil war, even women of this city fought for the freedom of the country. A lot of buildings here still have the original structure, giving the town a vintage feel.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bolton?" I greeted when a woman around her fifties open the front door of a two-story modern victorian house.

"Yes? Can I help you?" The woman asked.

"I'm Det. Chris Angeles, this is Det. Oliver McKnight. We're from the Burton Grove Police Department. Do you mind if we come in?" I politely asked the woman.

"Lucas! There are detectives here! Can you come down for a bit?" After a moment, a man, also around his fifties, came downstairs.

"Good morning, sir. Uhm— I think we have to sit down." Oliver stated.

I don't want to witness this, so I decided to go out of the house and let Oliver handle them. I hate seeing older people, especially parents, cry in pain. It just breaks my heart.

When I heard the mother wailed, I knew Oliver already told them the bad news. I pinched my nose and clenched my jaw.

'Damn it!' I sighed to calm myself. I can't imagine hearing my mother cry like that.

Hell will break loose if anybody tries to hurt my family. I'm going to kill without even blinking.

"Damn you, man. Why do I always have to be the bearer of the bad news, huh? I have a mother too, you know." Oliver punched my shoulder as we leave the Boltons' house.

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Meanwhile, Theodore hasn't reported for work in three days. His company's been calling him, but he was ignoring them. He can't get over the fact that he just killed someone.

But instead of feeling remorse, instead of feeling afraid, he felt powerful. He engineered a transparent coffin for Kendra that would keep her intact and delay the decomposition.

He has been keeping her in his room. He was staring at her lifeless body most of the night. Something was awoken inside of him—something dormant but waiting. Something dar that no one would ever dream of encountering in a dark alley in the dead of the night.