As I walked through the front door, the familiar, somewhat comforting creak of its hinges barely registered in my mind, preoccupied as it was with the events of the day. The moment I crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of my home, I felt a slight easing of the tension that had been coiled tightly within me. Moving almost automatically, I made my way to the kitchen, the heart of my little world where chaos and order often danced a precarious tango. Without a second thought, I tossed my keys onto the bench, hearing the familiar clatter as they landed amidst the miscellany of daily life.
Turning my nose up in mild disgust, my eyes fell upon the dirty dishes that had claimed dominion over the bench tops. They sprawled out in an unruly fashion, a testament to the hurried, harried meals of the past few days. Despite the annoyance they sparked in me, I couldn't muster the energy to tackle them just yet. Instead, I found myself reaching for a glass, an action as instinctive as breathing, and filled it with water from the tap. The sound of the water hitting the glass was oddly soothing, a mundane melody in the symphony of domesticity.
I carried my glass of water with a careful, almost reverent grip, as if it were a vessel of tranquility amidst the storm of my thoughts. Entering the dining room, I was greeted by yet another familiar sight - a pile of wrinkled, unironed clothes that seemed to mock my lack of time and energy. With a sigh, I pushed them aside, the fabrics whispering their own tales of neglect as they crumpled further under my touch. I placed my glass down carefully on the table, creating a small, clear space in the chaos. For a moment, I just stood there, the weight of the day bearing down on me, my eyes resting on the still surface of the water, finding a moment of peace in its simplicity.
For the first time since I had unceremoniously stuffed it into my pocket earlier, my fingers reached for the roughly folded scrap of paper I'd surreptitiously taken from the sergeant's desk. The very act of touching it sent a flutter of butterflies dancing a waltz in my stomach, their wings fluttering in a rhythm of anticipation and anxiety. How could such a small, insignificant piece of paper wield the power to cause me such nerves? I wondered, my thoughts a mix of curiosity and apprehension.
With a carefulness that belied my inner turmoil, I unfolded the scrap, smoothing it out on the dining table in front of me. The paper felt fragile under my fingers, like a secret waiting to be unveiled. I leaned in, my eyes scanning the content, a frown creasing my forehead. Is that it? I asked myself, a tinge of disappointment colouring my thoughts. The paper bore only two words, so simple, yet their meaning was enigmatic, shrouded in mystery. All the tension, the sneaking around for this? I felt cheated somehow, my mind wrestling with the anticlimax.
Sighing, I pushed a small stack of case notes off my laptop with a sense of resignation and flipped it open. The sound of the case notes hitting the floor was a stark reminder of the realities of my job, but this... this was something else, something that had piqued my curiosity against my better judgement. My expectations had plummeted, but the intrigue had rooted itself too deeply to be ignored. It wouldn't hurt to do a quick Google search, I rationalised, trying to justify my actions.
I waited impatiently as the machine groaned and whirred through its long-winded start-up routine, the sound seemingly in sync with the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. When it was finally ready, I opened an internet browser with a mixture of skepticism and a lingering thread of hope. "Well, here goes," I muttered to myself, an attempt at encouragement.
I glanced at the two words again, their simplicity belying the complexity of emotions they stirred in me. Typing them into the search bar, I did so carefully, methodically, as if each keystroke was a commitment to uncovering whatever mystery they held. My fingers paused momentarily before hitting 'Enter', a brief moment of hesitation before diving into the unknown.
A quick browse through the first page of search results revealed only one direct match that seemed relevant. My heart rate quickened slightly as I clicked on the top link, a tiny spark of hope igniting within me. Within seconds, a webpage materialised on my laptop screen, the bold heading "Killerton Enterprises" emblazoned across the top. I leaned in, my eyes scanning the text as I read through the few short pages of content. Each word, each sentence, I absorbed with a mixture of skepticism and a faint glimmer of hope.
Killerton Enterprises appeared, at first glance, to be just another large company. Based out of California, its primary focus was on construction – solid, mundane, and seemingly unremarkable. The company's history, dating back to its founding by Francis Killerton in 1874, unfolded on the screen. It was a tale of generational leadership, passed down through the years, with the current CEO, Bill Killerton, presumably a descendant of the founder.
As I read, a part of me couldn't help but feel let down. Had the Sergeant and Louise really only been talking about a construction company? I wondered, a frown etching itself deeper on my brow. My instincts screamed that there had to be more to this company than what met the eye. But what? The question hung in the air, unanswered, the webpage offering no hints of anything beyond the ordinary.
Feeling a mix of disappointment and frustration at the lack of excitement or answers, I glanced at the time. The clock on the wall reminded me of another commitment, snapping me back to reality. It was my night to cook dinner for grandmother, and I had promised her I wouldn't bail this time. Closing the laptop with a soft click, a sense of urgency washed over me. Grandmother would be waiting, each passing minute increasing her hunger and anticipation.
