• Please go to Chapter 2 first, and follow the links from there:

    Chapter 2



    "911, where is the location of your emergency?" I closed my eyes, grinded my teeth, and with my fingers curled up into a fist on my lap, I replied slowly,

    "My wife--my wife is dead. I'm at..." I stopped for a second. I was dazed at the moment; so much so that I had forgotten my adress. It popped into my head in a couple seconds, and then I continued,

    "1415, Doom's Street." I could hear the crackle of the phone on the other end as the operator pulled away for a second, and chuckled.

    "Doom's Street, huh?" she said with a tinge of laughter still in her. "Is your wife's body there?" I glanced back at my bed, even though I already knew the answer.

    "No..." I whispered, turning my head back forward. "No, there's no body." There was a small pause, and then the operator went on,

    "All right. Some police are on their way right now. Stay calm, okay?" The operator hung up. The dug my fingers into the the deep folds arched on my forehead.

    What was going on? I thought. Who could've done this? Why would they do it? I drew a blank, and shook the thoughts out of my head.

    Let is rest, I told myself. The answers will all come eventually...I'm gonna make sure of that.

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    Before I knew it, police were flocking my house. I stepped outside, and watched as two policemen waltzed on in my house as another walked up to me and comfirmed while flashing his ID like they do in the movie's,

    "Police, John Taylor. We're here to investigate on the incident of your...murdered...wife." He then stepped forward and looked at me with squinted eyes and a confused face,

    "I know you..."

    "Chad Gibson," I told him, and then added, "Detective." His face brightened up, as if he had a revelation.

    "Ah, yes. Chad Gibson. You were the lead detective for the case of the...stolen museum painting. Is that correct?" I shuddered. I wanted to forget about that case in a whole, but I found that no matter how much I tried to stop the haunting memory, it came to give me a scare in my nightmares.

    "Yeah...that was me," I said a little glumly.

    "Well, this is a little ironic," he then went on. "It's not often we solve cases for..." I didn't let him finish as I abruptly interrupted,

    "You won't have to solve it. I'm gonna take this case." John looked shocked, to say the least, and then quickly recovered as he objected,

    "Chad...I'm afraid we can't let that happen. After all, it was your wife who was murdered. I mean no offense, but your opinion would be extremely...bias." I shook my head, and replied with confidence that scared even myself,

    "John, it won't matter what you say. I'm taking this case whether--" Suddenly, the doors of my house burst back open, and one of the policemen exclaimed loudly,

    "Come quick! We found something." My conversation with John stopped, and we waltzed on in.