Detective Howe left the precinct around lunchtime and headed for the hospital. That morning, he’d received a reprimand from the chief of police and a call from the mayor. The incident outside the Miller residence had stirred up more trouble than he’d expected. The trial, he was told, must proceed the next day, no matter what.

Driving across town, a deep unease crept into his chest. It reminded him of that time overseas—right before the ambush. The air had felt heavy then, too. He couldn’t explain it, couldn’t predict the moment, but he knew something was coming. That same weight pressed against his ribs now.

Nothing in Tarika made sense. Not the case, not the town, not the people. Logic buckled under pressure here. Despite everything they’d learned about the bones, the townsfolk clung to their beliefs, and disturbingly, the evidence seemed to agree with them. Howe's thoughts were interrupted by a horn blaring behind him. He accelerated and turned into the hospital’s driveway, parking near the front.

As expected, protestors had already gathered outside. Slogans screamed from hand-painted signs. Among them, Martha and Barnaby stood out—parents of two of the victims. He remembered their names from his first days in Tarika. Back then, he hadn’t given them the time or effort they deserved. Questioning a twelve-year-old girl had felt excessive. But now, he saw the cost of that restraint. Maybe he’d missed something. Something that might have stopped seven families from grieving over bones never properly buried.

Pain can turn people into monsters. He saw it in their eyes—a coldness shaped by too many sleepless nights. He wasn’t immune to that kind of look either. Once upon a time, he'd worn it himself. He wasn’t a killer by law, but he’d spilled blood for reasons he rarely admitted. It was easier not to speak of those things. Safer.

It took him a few minutes to fight off the bodies that blocked his path while making his way inside the hospital; thankful that he need not draw his gun and fire a bullet in the air. An act that constantly invoked fear in his heart, returning him to scenes from his past. That was something about him that he must keep hidden because it could cost him his career.

The scent of alcohol and bleach wafted by his nose the minute his feet stepped on the tiled floor. And as the air conditioning soothed the warmth in his body and dried the perspiration on his forehead and armpits, he couldn't help but tilt his head up and drag a breath.

"Detective, we've been waiting for you."

Howe instantly recognized whom the voice came from. It was a scanty-looking cop named Peter. The kid was too energetic for his liking, but he had no choice. He was the only officer tasked to assist him every day.

"Had she woken?" Howe asked as he proceeded to walk towards the staircase.

"Yup, she woke up an hour ago."

"Are her parents with her?"

"No sir, but her brother is there."

Detective Howe sighed and then asked, "Which one?"

"The eldest sir, Jhon Miller."

Upon the mention of the name, Howe instantly froze on the staircase. He turned around and looked the young cop in the eye before he asked, "I thought her older brother was out of the country?"

"Yes sir, but he arrived two hours ago."

"Great," Detective Howe murmured. John was the last person he wanted to see. That guy was as weird as his sister. John was nineteen when Howe first came to Tarika. The teen almost killed him when he found out that he drew a gun and pointed it at his sister's face. The strong punch he received from that boy's knuckles left a permanent scar on his upper lip. That was one of the reasons why he swore to never set foot on Tarika ever again. But fate played him wrong, didn't it? Not only was he on Tarika investigating the same case again, but he also had to face two of the most confusing teens-well Jhon was no longer one again.

"Peter, I need you to do me a favor," Howe muttered as he fell to a step on the second floor.

"Anything, Mr. City detective," the young cop replied jubilantly.

Howe could only shake his head. He envied the innocence that was still present inside the young cop but give it a decade and he was sure to change. "I want you to invite Jhon to the precinct. Tell him you have a few questions for him."

"B-But I don't have any, sir."

"Well, make something up. I just need him out of that room. I can't have a word with Alyssa with him there."

"Uhmm. Is that wise? I... I mean no disrespect, sir. I know you know what you're doing but... Well, aren't you like, worried?"

Howe frowned and when Peter finally stepped to his side, the young cop added, "Miller is a bit weird. She's smart and she would never answer..."

"I know what to expect from her, Peter. Just do what I've asked."

"Yes sir."

Detective Howe instructed Peter not to mention his presence in the hospital before he sent the young cop to Alyssa's room. He was certain Jhon wouldn't like the idea of him, conversing with his sister alone.

It took Peter five minutes inside before Howe saw Peter and Jhon's silhouettes make their way toward the staircase. When he was certain that they had already reached the ground floor. He moved out from the back of the vending machine where he had hidden and made his way to Alyssa's room. With a quick nod, the two cops who were tasked to guard the door left and Howe stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed upon his entrance was the scent of Jasmine and lavender. It didn't take him long to figure out where it had come from when from beside Alyssa's bed, he saw a bouquet.

He cleared his throat but the body on the bed which was covered with a blanket did not stir and not made any attempt to look at him. He cleared his throat again and approached the bed.

"Alyssa, are you awake?"

No answer. The body remained unmoving with the linen draped over it from head to toe.

"Alyssa, we need to talk. Do you have any idea what you're up against here? You could be jailed."

Silence still.

"I can't help you if you keep choosing to remain silent," Howe proceeded to say as he fingered a petal on one of the lavender beside Alyssa's bed.

"Are you still hurting? Your wounds..."

"Is it a habit of yours to speak to people when they're asleep?"

"Only when I'm certain that they're pretending," Howe replied, eyes still pinned on the lavender between his fingers.

"I'd appreciate it if you keep your hands to yourself, detective. Leave my flower alone." Her words were followed by a giggle.

"And I'd appreciate it if you speak about the events four years ago."

A faint creaking sound permeated from the spring of the hospital bed when Alyssa pulled the blanket off of her body and sat herself up. Her feet dangled at the side of the bed and whether Howe imagined it or not, it seemed like she purposely tried to have her toes brush over his loins when she swung them forward.

Her action forced him to instantly step back and that caused the teen on the bed to giggle once more. "What's wrong detective, scared?"

"Of what Alyssa?" Detective Howe questioned when he finally steadied his legs.

"Of me, touching you."

"Right, that's enough. Tell me, Alyssa, what happened that day? You have to say something. If you don't..."

"If I don't what? I'd be put to jail? But you know that I'm innocent, right detective?"

"Are you?"

"You've seen the coroner's report and even the jeweler's opinion about the items found in those remains, haven't you?"

"Yes, Alyssa but those would never..." Detective Howe sighed, deciding not to finish his words. He allowed a moment of silence to come between them before he whispered, "Do you have any idea what this is Alyssa? What does it mean? Do you even..."

"Have you ever seen a group of people wander around in a fog of ignorance? That's exactly what this is detective. Ignorance, veiled by stupidity."

"That's a stupid way to perceive your situation, Alyssa."

"Perhaps, but the people of Tarika are imperfect and fragmented. I never expected them to give a reasonable or definitive disposition regarding this case. That's why I asked for you."

Detective Howe intently eyed the girl before him. Her deep set of midnight eyes stared at him in a kind of depth that he found unnerving. It was as though, she was reading the blueprints of his past, present, and future. There was too much emotion behind those dark globes that he had to look away. What emotions they were though, he couldn't tell. Stupid as that may sound, he truly couldn't tell. She wasn't blank, she was too full that everything one may see in her would overlap, leaving the reader with nothing. But if there was one thing Howe was confident he perceived clearly in Alyssa, it was that she had a hedonistic temptation in her; one that he knew he should watch out of.

He could only clear his throat and absentmindedly, he asked, "Why were you pretending to be asleep earlier?"

Laughter. That was what first answered him. His eyes followed her movements as she jumped off her bed and walked over to the window. She drew open the curtain, then once more chuckled. She stared out the window for a full minute before she murmured, "How would you feel when you wake up to a nightmare? Vulnerable, right? You'd long to be comforted and reassured that what you experienced while unconscious wouldn't cross over to reality. But what if your unconscious was where the comfort laid, and not in reality? Because in reality, that's where the nightmare dwells. Wouldn't you want to stay asleep your whole life, detective?"

He watched her facial features contort with curiosity. There was something odd about her. Was it psychological? Perhaps, but she was too in tune with reality, it was hard for Howe to perceive if it was. "You're confusing me, Alyssa. If you need my help then give me something! Anything to help me crack this case? Tell me what happened Alyssa, I need you to recount the events of that day! I'm near believing that you are guilty and..."

"I would stop you right there detective. Shouldn't you be threading this carefully? Talking about the past and everything we've kept hidden gives one a unique insight into one's fears that the other wouldn't have gotten otherwise, something that one may regret at a later time. Do you truly want to speak of the past? Mine? Yours?"

"My past has nothing to do with your case, Alyssa. It is you who needs help," Howe snapped.

"I beg to disagree, detective," she murmured before she went over to stand in front of him. She was a good ten inches shorter than he was, so Howe tilted his head down to meet her upturned face. "If you're asking me to bare myself to you, then shouldn't you do the same?"

Detective Howe took a step back after her last word. He frowned then shook his head, "I have no time for this, missy. If you don't need help, then I shall take my leave. Let the town condemn you for a crime that you may or may have not committed. I couldn't care less."

She giggled. Her shoulders rocked in a rhythmic dance with the rest of her body as her giggling continued. But an abrupt silence instantly claimed the teen when Howe, for no apparent reason found himself slapping the girl in the face.

He had no idea what transpired and it took him time to retract the arm that was extended towards Alyssa, palm glued to her cheek. It was only when the teen started to cry that he managed to pull his arm back to his side.

"I... I have no idea what..."

"What the hell is going on here!?"

Howe closed his eyes and a deep frown instantly painted his forehead. That was the voice of Jhon. What the fuck was happening to him, he thought as he turns to face the doorway where he was certain, stood an angry-looking man.