I met Oliver on the first day at homicide department. I could never forget that day. That morning, Ella was so excited for my first day of work. She woke up before dawn to make pancakes and squeezed oranges from the farmers market to make orange juice. It tasted horrible. How could anyone mess up orange juice? But I drank it all since it was the first time she made breakfast for me since we got married. I knew how much time and effort it took her to make it. I left my position as a TA after Ella graduated so we could move to my childhood home in Marion Forks and get married. But for a year, I struggled finding a full-time job, so I worked strange jobs varying from Taxi services, carpeting, and even food delivery. After breakfast, I kissed …show more content…
Carter Mendez. HIs parents reported him missing about two weeks ago.” “Any news on the Lee autopsy?” I adjusted my glasses. “It’s the same the rest. Nothing. Are you seriously not catching the pattern? The Marion Forks Killer is a pro —stop wasting your time and disappointing yourself from your stupidly high expectations! Just file them as unsolved murders, Elio. Marion Forks has its very own Zodiac Killer.” He raise an eyebrow. Oliver didn’t take this job seriously. He’d come to work with a hangover, but our chief wouldn’t fire him because he was formally working for the Los Angeles Police Department. Some may see Marion Forks’ Police Department as a downgrade, but this town had its charms. Oliver didn’t see it. “Okay.” I muttered. “And by good luck, I mean Ben was also assigned to the case, too.” Oliver stood by my desk waiting to see a reaction. “Okay.” I said again, showing no form of emotion. Oliver shrugged his shoulders and left. Everyday, he had something rude about me to joke about— from my divorce, to my …show more content…
The sun was setting at the horizon, creating beautiful patterns in the cloudy sky. There had been a small traffic accident in the highway so traffic was terrible. The exhaust from the Honda CRV in front of me was black and musty, showing clear signs that the driver skipped his smog checks. There was about an inch of snow falling onto my car as I waited patiently for the next hour before pulling up to my driveway. My Chinese takeout was already cold. I waded through the empty bottles and potato chip backs that filled my living room. The journey was long, but I made it to my kitchen. I cleared the table and was ready to eat. The smell of the beef and broccoli stir fry filled the room before I even unknotted the plastic bag. I struggled opening the complex Chinese takeout box, spilling the orange chicken sauce all over my Ralph Lauren polo. Crap. I haven’t done laundry ever since the first murders of the Marion Forks Killer. Six weeks worth of dirty laundry. I waltzed into my bedroom, careful not to drip any of the sauce on my shirt onto the wooden floors. I slid the mirror door of my closet over— I had nothing clean to