It’s funny how your mind can wander even at a time like this. The thought strikes Jeremy as he stands outside this gift shop, staring at the side of the police car. Then again, it’s not as though you can shut these thoughts down, not without a bunch of conscious willpower — which would itself represent a deflection from the trouble at hand.
Three identical cruisers arrived on the scene, just before daylight on this nightmarish Sunday morning. They’ve since closed down that section of the main house, conducted a thorough sweep of the property and interviewed everyone on premise, as they continue to, for so long that the sun is nearly overhead, in this slightly hazy October sky. An otherwise bright morning, if chilly, with an occasional whipping wind, where the officers are just about to wrap up everything they can at this moment. Jeremy stands in the driveway, examining the police cars, and thinking they look unexpectedly cool.
“I like these,” Jeremy tells Emily, nodding at the nearest car’s side panel. Unlike seemingly every other county in the state, they haven’t gone for boxy looking speed cars, rather more dependable, solid sedans. And somewhat of a throwback, too, in appearance, for the cars are painted brown, but with tan doors, the words STOKELY POLICE DEPARTMENT in black block letters upon those doors, surrounding some sort of shield.
“Hmm,” she says, absently, nodding as she glances over at them.
He and Emily aren’t required here, by any means, but they’ve eagerly absorbed and offered as much information as possible all morning. Thus have dutifully followed the police from scene to scene, eavesdropping upon statements given if not contributing their own. Now the chief is by appearances about to climb back into his cruiser, as he chats once more with Harry Kidwell.
Well at least this got Kidwell’s attention, Jeremy thinks with a rueful, and half resentful, little laugh. They had not been able to reach him for about a week prior to this incident. Particularly his parents, who are the latest to have come up missing. The only difference between this and the Jen situation, however, is those weird stains, evidence which appears to suggest they are not just missing, they are dead.
“I agree. I agree,” Kidwell is telling the chief, even as the looks beyond that figure, over at Jeremy and Emily, “that last girl, you know, or really all the other kitchen staff, I mean you never know with these flighty kids nowadays, am I right?” He chuckles, then adds in more somber tones, “but you’re right, this situation does possibly look a little different. Still I wouldn’t necessarily rush to…”
“We’re testing those stains,” the chief cuts him off, which does admittedly give Jeremy some small reason to smile, “but even so, based upon the visual evidence, you know, and these statements we’ve collected,” he shakes the folder, clutched at his side, “this doesn’t look good. The basic assumption is, we’re assuming it’s foul play of some sort. Now, granted, I’ll be damned if we know what this is just yet, but yeah, foul play of some sort.”
Kidwell continues nodding at this, without comment. Jeremy’s thinking he doesn’t look too pleased, however, and as if receiving this sentiment, he glances over this way yet again. All of which causes Jeremy to revisit the known facts. Rebecca reported seeing those lights, and finding that first huge puddle on the desk, somewhere around three thirty in the morning. After her screams woke up basically everyone within a mile wide radius, the rest of them jumped into the mix.
The Druckers were already awake, getting ready to begin their day in typically precise, professional fashion. But Jeremy, having slept a great deal throughout the tour, was actually already just sort of tossing and turning, half alert himself. Thus the three of them had basically spearheaded the search, with additional assists from Denise and Grace especially, as well as about a half dozen more standing around in some fashion. Rebecca, understandably, remained catatonic, glued to an easy chair in the library, while Emily and Kay and some of the others attempted to console her. Meanwhile he and the Druckers and company examined the office and kitchen.
At the desk, that giant puddle didn’t just coat the middle of its surface, but was found on the chair and the floor below it as well. Still dripping, in spots. Nobody had enough nerve to actually touch it, but prodding with an ink pen seemed to confirm the impression that this was a viscous, sticky liquid of some sort.
This pattern repeated itself in two separate, if connected, spots in the kitchen. Identical looking, though slightly smaller, little puddles of neon green, with crimson swirls, on both sides of the walk-in cooler door. What’s interesting here is that Jeremy would swear there was some sort of weird stain in at least one of those spots already, although Grace is the only other person who remembers something like this. And even he isn’t 100% certain it looked the same as this latest stain.
But whatever the details, the basic truth remains that his parents are gone. And Kidwell can attempt to deflect attention for this all he wants, by suggesting otherwise, but Jeremy — and for that matter anyone else here who really knew them — is well aware that his parents wouldn’t have just up and left in the middle of the night. Hell, the Druckers and Rafael and many others seem well aware of this, people who barely knew his folks any time at all.
Jeremy wonders why he doesn’t feel even worse. He supposes it’s mostly shock, with maybe a pinch of this mystery thrown into the blender, occupying his thoughts.
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