Hang up

Bentley House murders

The town of Sunderson has always been a sweet, quiet little town. until the murders started happening, that is.

...

In all of his five years of serving as a cop (which , admittedly, wasn't that long), Friday hasn't ever seen something as gruesome as what's in front of him.

Two bodies, both cut up, throats slit, and soaked in presumably (more than likely) their own blood, laying on a once bright green grass that was now stained crimson. He runs a hand down his face, an attempt to rid the image from his mind— ripped clothes, deep gashes, torn necks and faces, blood everywhere. He exhales sharply, turning away to his car to call for backup and the ambulance.

He isn't scared, no, he was just... deeply disturbed. Surely that was normal? After all, this is new. There aren't any precedent murder cases like this, so he wasn't exactly... desensitized? Friday shakes his head to clear those thoughts. He's a great cop-- all because he can't stomach a gorey scene doesn't make him a bad person. Or a pussy, his mind soothes.
He picks up the radio and softly speaks into it, glancing around just in case the killer was still nearby.

“This is officer Pinera, there's been a murder at the Bentley house,” He pauses, swallowing thickly as the feeling of being watched settles into his frame and crawls up his spine.
Kinda like when you feel a tickle on the back of your neck and swear there's a bug on you.

“John and Melody Bentley have been murdered but their twelve year old is missing. I've already cleared the house and any potential hiding spots outside, but she isn't there.”

He gives the address after looking around, making sure to ask for the ambulance as well. He slips it back onto his utility belt before running a hand through his dark strands of hair, hazel eyes slowly roaming through the thick vegetation and forestry, pausing at a small pathway. His heart palpates and he wets his lips as he spots a tall figure, studying it. It couldn't be the missing twelve year old— she was about 4'10.
Just as Friday goes to flip on the lights of his car, the figure darts, heading deeper into the woods, as if they knew what he was doing and didn't want to be identified.

What the fuck?

in any other situation, he'd chase after them only to get lost in the unfamiliar woods. They'd taunt him and lure him deeper into the woods before killing him— but Friday wasn't stupid.

He's seen more than enough horror movies to see where this was going. And though they are movies, they are still very real situations that could potentially happen — if Friday was an idiot. Luckily, he's not! he's a collage graduate and a paranoid.

He turns a blind eye before switching on his car lights anyway, waiting for back up to come.

When three other squad cars pulls in, Friday softly exhales in poorly concealed relief — during the wait he had been afraid. Well, he wouldn't say afraid, just on edge. He subconsciously flushes before striding over to meet his co-workers, filling them in. Two cops go into the house, leaving Friday, Officer Rahar, and the other three cops from one of the police cars and Rahar's car.

“The twelve year old hasn't been found?” Rahar raises a smooth, fine brow before his face hardens at Friday's nod. “It is very likely she was abducted by the killer.” Friday grabs his notebook and scribbles a few things down.

“If that's the case, then if we find the girl we'd find the killer, right?” He pauses, ink pen hovering over his notebook. Officer Rahar shakes his head, tapping Friday's forehead, reminding the black haired man of a mother gently correcting her child.

“No. All we know is that Mr. and Mrs. Bentley were murdered a few hours earlier and their 12-year-old daughter is missing. That's all we know as of right now. We don't know how many killers there were. She could've been taken by an accomplice and not by the person who killed John and Melody Bentley.”

Friday slowly nods, the words slipping into his brain as threads of comprehension fastens it.
“But,” The older man starts, snapping Friday out of his quiet stupor.
“That is what the killer might want us to think...to try and look for two people instead of just one—” Friday deadpans and opens his mouth.

“Sir-” “And waste our time. But they might want us to doubt that as well..”

Friday sighs and tunes his senior out, not wanting to listen to officer Rahar's tangent. He promised he respects the older cop, but seriously? The killer likely knows they're ten paces ahead of the police ....so why complicate it? Surely there's more to this. A missing girl and two dead parents. No further evidence. Just two dead people, throats slit. Where's the knife?

His brows knit together and a deep hum erupts from his throat. He crosses his arms before another chill rakes up his spine, making him glance around once more— there was something seriously wrong. He swallows thickly. This didn't make any sense -- it was clear what happened hours earlier, but where's the weapon? Where's the evidence?

Where are the cameras he saw earlier that week while he was in their home to remove an intruder (squirrel)?

————

Small hands grip a crayon, scribbling on a white piece of paper. A harsh red crayon mark goes across the throats of John and Melody, blending in with the plethora of other crayon scribbles. Nap time with John and Melody Bentley. Two x's are tenderly placed over their eyes before green meets the white of the paper, practiced strokes creating grass.

Nap time with Mommy and Daddy.