What Rose Above

Seven

I'd had little to no time to concentrate on whatever the hell I saw last night. My Saturday morning had already started in a blur. I'd received a text from Christian telling me that Fiona Davis was a thirty-six-year-old woman from Lake Bellinor who'd been residing in Canada for the last eighteen years, which meant she left town when she was just eighteen-years-old, and returned for whatever reason that (I figured) she never got to accomplish.

So, what the hell was that reason and why the hell was she found dead in a lake house? More importantly, who the hell hated her enough to kill her so brutally like the other victims? The thought that the culprit was awaiting her return crossed Christian and I's mind once or twice. Maybe they'd been waiting for the other two victim's to return to Lake Bellinor too. Whatever the case, we needed more information on the two men before we could jump to any conclusions.

Obviously—contrary to what we've seen—there was a connection between the victims and the killer somewhere in all of that. It may not have been the clearest right now, but I could guarantee as soon as we learned more about the other two men, it'd reveal itself.

Dragging my hands down my face, I struggled to hide the frustrated growls I'd been releasing.

"Son, you're going to pop a blood vessel soon. Let's call it quits today, yeah?" Mr. Jefferson's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I'd almost forgotten where I was.

The loud clashing of dishes in the background and the smell of fried grease thickened around the diner. He gave me the weary side-eye he'd been giving me since I got here. I would have thought he was trying to take a peek inside my brain, and I wouldn't have been surprised if that's indeed what he'd been doing.

"Wait, no! I'm sorry. I wasn't focused. I can do this, let's try again. We didn't have time to do anything yesterday so I don't want to waste another day," I blurted all in one breath. I should have known he wasn't having it though.

Mr. Jefferson set a plate of food on the counter in front of a nearby customer, then flipped his dish rag over his shoulder. "No, son. I think that's enough for today. Something is distracting you and we can't have that," was his gruff response followed by, "I need your full attention for this." He drove his index finger into the journal I brought with me again.

He was right. I didn't want to admit it but I'd been losing track of what was in front of me for the past thirty minutes now. Oh, who was I kidding? I had been distracted since I woke up this morning. Closing and opening my curtains, watching my window, stalking every detail lining the front of our house. My mother said she had never seen me so observant. It was an obnoxious observance or I was being too paranoid.

I had even asked my mother to make a cup of coffee before I left the house, and I didn't even like to drink coffee. If that didn't say a lot, then maybe I'd lost my mind. She looked at me like she didn't recognize her own son. Whatever I saw last night was officially messing with my head. Every time I tried to shut my eyes, a shadow that wasn't there bugged me to hell and back.

"We are going to get to the bottom of this distraction though," Mr. Jefferson added, and my hopes shot right back up. But then I remembered what the distraction was and fear shot through me instead. "Talk to me," he said, curtly, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

I blinked before I could drift into another daze.

"I think I've got about ten or fifteen minutes to spare before someone else needs me." I followed his eyes to the few customers occupying a couple of tables. Business was running slow today. The sun felt like it was hot enough to boil my skin today, so it wasn't surprising if most locals were out on the beach or swimming in the lake.

With a sigh and a nod, I forced myself to acknowledge his offer.

"Go on now, spit it out," he urged when I didn't speak fast enough.