The boxes fell into a pile, raising a pile of dust. Parker cursed and bent down to pick them up, frustrated at his small size. He was only 4 feet 11 inches, which made carrying anything more challenging. Parker hadn’t even wanted to move here, but the job offer lured him. The opportunity was too much to pass up, and he was excited about that. The living situation just wasn’t the best. He sighed and finished stacking the boxes in the pile again. Right as he did so, his watch beeped the time. 9:00pm. Perfect, he thought. Parker shuffled away from the boxes and towards his computer. The reason I came here. The case. He eagerly went to the kitchen table and sat down before realizing he wanted coffee. Can’t do any work without caffeine. He went to the cupboard, grabbed the coffee container, and began preparing his cup. As Parker finished putting the coffee into the pot, he accidentally dropped his spoon.
“Shit,” he cursed. But before the spoon dropped, it bounced upwards and back into his hand. Parker stared in confusion before shrugging his shoulders and returning to his computer. The sound of the coffee pot dripping coffee grounds into the cup provided a scenic background as Parker logged on. The job offer was to record and research a cold case and report the findings to the Rayard Police Department. Complicated in some sense, with a lot of work plus time to spare. Parker didn’t mind that requirement at all. In fact, he was hoping to find something like this since he was let go of his last job just three months prior.
His coffee finished. Parker stood and poured himself a cup before sitting down again. He opened the case file and started reading it through. This house was the center of a crime scene 20 years ago in 1989. It looked like any regular old case except something strange. A woman had been assaulted and brutally murdered in her living room, with blood spatters everywhere. A weird note had been left on the kitchen table. It read: 82erctainnuhimupnisn. The police suspected it was someone she knew but they never found the person. Leads dried up, and eventually, it turned cold. If someone could rediscover something, they would be paid very well.
Parker nodded, sipping his cup. Seems easy enough, except for that note. Maybe I should look into that note. As he looked further down the page, the note had attempted to be identified. Morse and whatever else they had tried. Parker cocked his head. Maybe not the note, then. He stood up and decided to have a look around at everything. Parker made his way toward the living room where the crime scene had occurred and took note.
The dining table was in the center, with three chairs. An antique cabinet sat in the corner, with pretty blue tea sets inside. The floor had no rug, and a bookshelf sat on the left-hand side. A green sofa nestled comfortably in a corner. Parker stood, thinking about the crime scene based on the reports. The woman was lying on the floor near the bookshelf on a blue fuzzy rug, with a few books near her head. Few books, hmm. Why did they fall? The woman’s purse had been next to her, open and empty.
Her wallet, car keys, everything. Missing. Parker pondered this. If it was someone she knew, then why would they take everything? To hide evidence? But that stuff is prob no good now. The police report said it took a week to identify her through her fingerprints. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. Parker thought about it a little more. Scuff marks. What if she was dragged? He looked on the floor to see any evidence of such but nothing.
Finding nothing useful, Parker moved on to the other rooms. Bathroom. Nothing. Master bedroom. Nothing. Second bathroom. Nothing. Feeling like he had hit an impasse, he sat down, wondering if this was all there was to it. Then he suddenly thought. Basement. Does this house have a basement? Parker thought back to what he had read. The house was not known to have one. Well, we’ll look. Maybe there’s a hidden one. Parker began looking around for an opening in the ceiling or a door in the house that might lead to a basement. After a little while of looking around, he was about to give up when he noticed something sticking out from under the peeling paint of a chair. Parker cocked his head. He was sure that the chair had been closer to the table before. Hadn’t it? Or am I losing my mind? Shrugging he pulled the chair further away.
The place where the paint was peeling was rough and strangely textured. Parker raised an eyebrow and then got excited. This could be something report-worthy. He went to find something to help peel back the paint further. With a butter knife in hand, he peeled the paint back. The paint fell away, revealing an old, vintage-looking door. Parker tried to open it, but it wouldn’t open. He looked to see what was wrong and realized it was stuck closed with paint over the edges. So Parker ran a sharp knife over the edges. After a few attempts, he managed to get the door open. It set off dust and a musty, odorous smell. Parker coughed a bit and pulled the door open further. There was a room inside, and Parker couldn’t see anything. He fumbled for the light switch and didn’t find it on the wall.
So he reached up to see if there was a cord, and he found it. It flicked on.
The room instantly came alight. It smelled acrid in there like it hadn’t been used in years. Parker looked around, and it was much bigger than he was expecting. A walk-in closet. There was assorted junk in there, and among the junk was something. It was a bag of some kind. Inside were two books. A Certain Hunger and Crime And Punishment. These were the same books near the woman when she was found. Parker looked at them and took them back to the kitchen table. Flipping through one, he discovered something. There was a bloody fingerprint smeared on page 82 of A Certain Hunger. Some clear fluid was left on page 62 of Crime And Punishment. As Parker removed his gloves from reading, and put a hand over his mouth, the door to the mysterious room slammed shut.
Helenmollybooks 