Disturbed Lincoln

10

     The headline appeared in giant grey text: "NEW CLUES FOUND AID IN ROYAL WOODS KIDNAPPING INVESTIGATION." Nothing had caught my attention quicker than those words. Scrolling down past a few lines of text, Clyde arrived at a photo that was Gaussian blurred, and covered in text that read "Warning: Violent Imagery — Reveal?" I was apprehensive but Clyde had no hesitation in clicking the button to unmask the image. It was a shocking sight, as the red splotches and smears fully came into detail as a blood-stained carpet and a cut-open stomach. "Jesus Christ," I said, nauseated. Clyde's face barely reacted. I suppose he'd already seen it and might've even studied it for God's sake. What made him so tough in the face of this kidnapping? Was it his determination, or was the grief leaving an empty feeling inside him that made everything else seem unimportant? I know what both of those experiences are like, so I'd understand it either way. Poor Clyde.

     He laid out the details for me. "Clyde's neighbor was killed. Somehow they found a moment when the police weren't around and slashed him. It was probably at night. The police are pretty sure it's connected with the kidnapping—I mean that's only fair to assume, right? A kidnapping one day, then a murder the next day next door? Anyway, an autopsy report hasn't come out, nor has most of the information. All we know is someone died, it was bloody, and they believe it's connected with Stella's kidnapping. My question is, why would somebody kidnap a high schooler and then kill her neighbor the next day? What purpose does that serve? Maybe he killed him because he was a witness to the kidnapping, but then again, the neighbor would've had hours to call the police and report it. But nope, her mother was the one to report it, and before she died too."

     "Wait," I said, "do you find that suspicious? Her mom committed suicide after she called the police. Didn't care to talk to them or provide them with further information, instead, she had the motivation to call them, then immediately overwhelming despair got to her? Isn't that a a tad contradictory?" Clyde considered it then pulled out a sheet of paper from his desk to write it down. "You're right. Maybe she didn't kill herself. Maybe she was murdered or even terrorized into doing it. I wonder if I scanned these news articles again would I find anything else? It feels like I'm missing something or not seeing the bigger picture."

"Do we have a picture of her mom's body?" I asked.

"Yeesh, I hope not..."

"Yeah, but what if she was killed the same way? If her body was cut open the sane way..."

     I trailed off, and although I believed I was onto something that could lead us to the truth, it didn't feel ethical. It didn't seem right. Clyde shared this discomfort at the idea but I could tell he understood where I was coming from. "You might be right. Though I doubt the body is still at the house, and they probably won't post photos of it if they haven't already. They showed a photo of the murdered neighbor, but perhaps they wanna respect the privacy of a suicide. I wouldn't blame them. So, how do we see the body?" I shrugged. "I guess we don't."

     That's when a coincidence happened. It was so fortuitous it felt like the world was talking directly to us. A loud notification "ding" on Clyde's laptop. We both looked to the screen and read it at the same time. It was an advertisement that said "Hirable private investigator - Only $100."

"Do you have $100?" Lincoln asked.

"Yeah. Let me get my debit card."