~~Ashley’s POV~~
Carson Anderson who lived next door was a detective working in the police station in our district. Makayla was blessed to be born in a wealthy and influential home so her murder case was being handled by more than seventy percent of stations in Chicago alone. And they were all determined to fish him – the culprit – out no matter what. My family and I were pretty close to Casper, so I seized the opportunity to be part of the case. When I mentioned earlier the role I played, this was how. Casper shared intricate details with me. And whatever ideas I came up with, I shared with him.
Casper was a manly man with a noteworthy shoulder span sitting on his mesomorph physique. His straight brows highlighted his hazel eyes which were close set. His button nose looked above his rosette downward turned lip. All his exotic facial features sat on his oval face complemented overall by his jet-black hair.
I came back to the living room to find him eating some cookies.
“Here,” I said, lowering the rolled drawing paper in my hand before him.
“What’s this?”
“The reason I called you,” I replied briefly, getting comfortable on the sofa. “That’s exactly what he looked like,” I explained while he looked at the drawing.
He let out a succinct sigh through his lips before keeping the painting down to face me directly. “Do you really think we’d find him this way?”
“If not, why do you keep coming when I call?” Heck yeah, I knew the reason. I wore a manipulative look while staring intently at him. It was a trick I used to see through average people who were easily flustered, and it worked perfectly on this detective sitting before me. ‘Never mind,’ I let my expression speak, unfixing him. “Put the painting to good use.”
“This isn’t a serial killer case, Ashley. There’s no guarantee he’d reappear on the streets with a black hoodie and nose mask.” The latter part precisely described my drawing. I could sense traces of sarcasm in his voice.
“After several failed attempts, I managed to get the perfect image of him on paper, Casper. This is all I could do to help my best friend. Do you know how much he’s reappeared in my head for me to be able to produce this?”
“It’s fine.” He picked up the paper and rolled it neatly again.
“And the badge?” I inquired.
“It belonged to an upcoming brand located downtown Chicago – chili. We got all CCTV footage from the department store but couldn’t find anything suspicious.”
“What about their records? People who bought from and sold to them?”
“We got those too. But it isn’t easy to catch the culprit just by analyzing the badge on his hoodie. I mean, we can’t possibly add all their guests to the suspect list.” He paused, leaving his statement hanging as I also automatically fell silent. “Well…,” his voice cut through the air once again as he dipped his hand into his leather jacket’s right pocket. Unveiling, it had a flash drive in its grasp. “I put together the CCTV footage just in case you might need it.”
“Oh, thanks,” I replied, hurriedly grabbing it from him.
An incentive placed on the table drove the teams involved in the case to work their asses out. Apparently after digging through anything and everything they could find, footage in the university’s premises caught a distinct badge on the culprit’s hoodie. When solving murder cases with zero leads like this one, anything could be a hint to help unravel the mystery, that much I had learned from crime and psychopath books.
“By the way, are you okay?” he asked with concern while leaning in to place his hand around mine. “I heard you had an episode. Did something happen?”
“I’m fine.” I withdrew my hand from his grip and adjusted to leave his reach. Did I forget to mention he’d had a crush on me for as long as I remember? My bad. That was precisely why he came running whenever I called for him. The dude had even asked me out once but got faced with rejection. Not my fault I wasn’t in any way attracted to his exotic facial features that swept most ladies off their feet to his porch almost every time. Whenever we sat together, it was always about Makayla.
The atmosphere was drifting to a side I never appreciated and so I got up. “Thank you for sparing me your time. I’ll make sure to look through this.”
“Ashley.” He stood up also, prompting my instinctive backward steps. I never missed the opportunity to remind him of his place in my life. The last thing I wanted was to devote my time and personal space to a person of the opposite sex only to get the attention I despised at the time. “Fine, I’ll put your painting to good use.” His compelled reply came after a brief thought exchange through our stares.
“I’d love that.”
To prevent him from getting lost in my eyes, they randomly fell on the plate. “Make sure to finish your cookies. My mom put a lot of effort into that.”
“Oh – yeah,” he answered slowly, taking consecutive looks at the plate and me.
“Excuse me then.”
Hours later…
“Antisocial behavior, impulsivity…,” I read aloud what I scribbled in my diary while glancing vertically at the screen. On my reading table before me sat my laptop which played the footage Casper brought in earlier. To the right were three different novels titled ‘Psychopathy,’ “Murder and mystery,’ ‘Who is the killer?’. And to the left sat my cup of carrot juice, a symphony of halves; the ice cube sitting at its base was barely noticeable, vanishing into liquid whispers. That helped the drink remain chilled for this long. I mean, I’d been sitting in the same spot for hours!!!
Like an unpaid detective, inspector, or whatever post assumes this role, I analyzed Casper’s footage – the attributes, body language, and signs, displayed by the guests on screen were used to compare those of renowned psychopaths in the books littered around. Weariness was already deep-rooted in my eyes having fixated them on the monitor for hours. I was mentally exhausted but it felt like there was glue in my seat. I couldn’t even take a break. Dreading the idea of getting out for a drink was why I dipped my carrot juice as slowly as possible.
I squinted to take a closer look at the blurry figure top left of my screen when I heard a knock on my door. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as the unexpected interruption to the quietude I enjoyed startled me. “What the hell?” I muttered beneath my breath with one hand trying to contain my pounding pulse, placed on my chest.
‘Knock – ’ Ticked off, I dragged the door open, preventing any more of the upsetting noise. My face instantly betrayed the disgust I felt whirling up inside of me at the sight of the petite lady holding a tray containing a glass of carrot juice. I shot her a contemptuous glare while wearing a scowl, my brows the creasiest they could be.
“What do you want?” I asked, giving her a condescending eye.
“Umm… I… I …I thought your carrot juice must have run out so I brought more,” she spoke discreetly. ‘It’s the audacity for me.’ No one’s ever dared to knock on my door and yet this shrimp managed to pull the deed. She was indeed tenacious. I’d snap if anyone like her attempted to disturb me. The last time someone was that clueless was the last of the Sinclair’s house she saw.
“Emmerson!” my mom hailed from down the hallway, prompting her attention to veer but mine remained glued to her. I guess I was so fascinated by her guts that I couldn’t even react to it. “How many times have I told you her room is kept off bounds?!” she scolded the moment her distance was no more.
“I’m so sorry, Ma’am. I’m so sorry, Ma’am. I’m sorry, Miss…,” she apologized, bowing repeatedly to the two of us.
“Now get out! Return to your duties immediately!”
Keeping her head buried, she tilted it further downward, avoiding her direct glare. She then inclined her body in the direction my mom came in, ready to leave when –
“Hold on,” I paused to their dismay. “Let me have the juice.” As much as I hated to admit, the misty cup showing just how chilled its content was, piqued my interest. I was already an ardent lover of carrot juice and nothing beats a cold drink to cool off the steam in my head. “I said I’ll take the juice,” I rephrased when neither of them would say anything.
“Oh… oh…,” she turned back to me and held the tray in my direction.
“I said the juice,” I specified.
“Oh…” she handed me the cup instead and exited the scene, racing in the blink of an eye.
“Hey Mom,” I greeted casually then walked back into the room while gulping down the entire drink. I must have been thirsty.
“I need you to go somewhere with me,” she told, following suit, then shut the door thereafter.
“I can’t, I’m busy.”
“You’re busy? You’ve been in here for four hours!!” she exclaimed owl-eyed.
“I’m busy, Mom.”
“Don’t you even care to know where that is?”
“Not interested,” I stressed, taking my seat.
“How long do you intend to keep this up?”
“For as long as possible,” I stressed the ‘long’ to drive my point home.
“This is Casper’s job, Ashley. Let him handle it.” Placing her hand on the top panel, she shut my laptop to get my undivided attention. “Let’s go get some fresh air, Ashley. I beg you,” she made the last sentence with her right palm cupping my jaw to meet my weary eyes, hers gleaming with worry. Moving her hands, she held my cheek instead before patting my shoulder. My mom always managed to crack this ‘hard nut.’
“Fine!” I cried out, forced to give in to her persuading eyes.
“We’re going to pick up your dad from the airport. Dress the part and we’re leaving in thirty minutes,” she outlined briskly and walked out almost at once to avoid any protest from me. She knew too damn well I’d have blatantly turned down the request if I knew where we were off to. And now I already agreed, speeding off was the better option to avoid a change of heart.