Death is the tyrant of the imagination.– Bryan Procter
He stared at her. “So, Sam. What do you think?” “I’ve got nothing. What does this bastard even mean?” “He’s not a bastard”, said a stern Elmer, “I think he is playing well.” “With due respect, Sir, I must inform you about your ineptitude.” He smirked at her. “Sure, sure”, said that jeering countenance.
She stared at him for a moment. Suddenly, Detective Elmer glanced at the clock. “It is 20:45. I shall ride you home, Samantha. With us being intimately involved in this case, one can never be completely protected. But we can try.” “No, thank you, Detective Elmer. I have my car.”
His eyes revolted her decision, “What did I just say, Samantha?” “Okay, fine. Your car it is.”
Samantha was about to place the scroll inside the pocket of her pant when, “And, I’ll be keeping that, Detective. Let’s just have a peaceful night. We can resume tomorrow.”
The Saab Aero Sedan was now crossing Voltrin Hills. “Any development, Detective Sam?” came the ice breaker. “Not yet.” “Senses, wits, all mine, nibble in bits, scars. Sadistic?” “Could be.”
Just then Samantha screeched, “SHIT!”.
Under an impulse, Elmer halted the car. “What happened?!” Samantha tried to calm her senses down. “I… I left something really important in my cabin. Reverse.” “Man, you petrified me. And that can wait.” “No, it can’t. I really need to leave.” “Samantha. . . listen to me.” “No, YOU listen to me. I need to leave.” He seemed disappointed. “Well then, reverse it is. I’ll wait for you, then.” “That is extremely laudable. But, I am not sure how much time I might take. You can leave, Elmer.”
“Well”, said a parched voice.
Samantha glanced at the approaching precinct. This is it. This is it. This is all I need.