In a quiet town not far from Alexandria, Virginia, life moved at its own steady pace. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft glow over the neighborhood. Inside one of the modest homes, Rose was getting ready for work. She buttoned her blouse, her mind already on the meetings she had lined up for the day. Meanwhile, her husband Adrian was in the kitchen, busy preparing breakfast. He enjoyed these mornings, the routine of making Rose's favorite meal and seeing her off to work.
"Are you sure you don't want to wake her up?" Rose asked, glancing at the clock.
Adrian smiled, shaking his head. "Let her sleep. She had a late night with that school project. I'll make sure she has breakfast when she gets up. Don't worry about a thing."
Rose nodded, grateful for Adrian's calm and steady presence. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door. As she stepped onto the driveway, she didn't notice the car parked a little way down the street, its engine idling quietly. But inside that car, two men were watching her every move.
"That's Adrian's wife, right?" the driver whispered, his eyes narrowing as he focused on her.
The man in the back seat leaned forward slightly. "Yeah, that's her. But remember, we're not here for her. Just the husband. Make sure no one sees you."
With that, the car slowly pulled away, disappearing around the corner.
The next morning, the routine repeated itself. Rose was getting ready for work, and Adrian was already in the kitchen. Their daughter woke up, rubbing her eyes as she made her way downstairs.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Adrian said, noticing the tired look on her face. "Are you feeling okay?"
She shook her head slowly. "My head feels funny... I think I might be sick."
Adrian frowned, walking over to her and placing a hand on her forehead. "You're a bit warm. Why don't you stay home today and rest? I'll make you some breakfast."
She nodded, and as Adrian started to prepare something simple for her, the doorbell rang. The sound was sharp, insistent, like whoever was on the other side was in a hurry. It rang again, and again, each time more urgent than the last.
"I'll get it," Adrian said, wiping his hands on a towel as he headed to the door. He opened it, expecting maybe a neighbor or a delivery. But the moment the door swung open, he was met with a blur of movement.
The man from the car lunged forward, a knife in hand. The blade flashed in the morning light as it plunged into Adrian's chest. The attacker didn't hesitate, dragging the knife upward, cutting deep. Adrian's breath caught in his throat, and within seconds, he collapsed to the floor, lifeless.
A neighbor, out for an early walk, saw the man standing over Adrian's body. Her scream pierced the air, and the attacker looked up, his cold eyes locking onto her for a split second before he bolted. He ran back to the car where his partner was waiting, the engine still running. They sped off, but not before one of them turned the license plate to hide the numbers. As they rounded the corner, the man in the passenger seat rolled down the window, catching one last look at the scene they were leaving behind.
He smiled—a cruel, empty smile—at the young girl who stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock and fear. His dark hair and cold, emotionless eyes were the last things she saw before the car disappeared.
Inside, her father lay dead, his blood staining the floor. The killers were gone, leaving nothing behind but that chilling smile
Los Angeles, 12:28 am
Air was heavy with the beat of music and the scent of teenage exuberance. It was the kind of night where secrets whispered and shadows danced unseen. Somewhere in America, in the heart of a bustling city, a student party turned into a grisly crime scene.
Special officers Mr. Jack and Morgan, walking the dimly lit streets, were drawn to the chaos. Flashing lights of police cars illuminated the night, casting eerie reflections on the nearby buildings. The two men flashed their IDs to the officers on duty and were promptly let through the cordon.
Jack, with his stern gaze and analytical mind, began surveying the scene. His eyes absorbed every detail, every possible scenario, as he moved through the crowd. "Morgan," he called out, but his partner was nowhere in sight. Frustration mounting, Jack called again, his voice cutting through the din of the gathered crowd.
From the throng, Morgan raised a hand, a half-eaten burger in his other. Jack's eyes narrowed. "Why the hell are you over there?" he demanded.
Morgan ambled over, an easy smile playing on his lips. "Sorry, got hungry," he apologized, sitting cross-legged on the ground right in front of the dead body. The sight drew irritated glares from the police officers nearby.
"Is he even an officer?" one of them muttered, incredulous.
Jack, unperturbed, replied, "Let him do his job."
Morgan's eyes sparkled with mischief and confidence. "Don't worry, case is closed. I know who the killer is." He stood up, dusting off his pants, and took a bottle of soda, pouring it into a glass. He offered it to a few underage students, who declined nervously.
"Don't worry," he said, eyes gleaming with intent. He then called over three young men. "Here, have a drink," he urged one, who recoiled at the offer.
"At least smell it," Morgan suggested, pushing the glass closer. The boy hesitated but obeyed. As the scent reached his nose, he recoiled, dropping the glass.
"It smells like blood,"
Morgan said coolly. "Exactly." With a swift motion, he smashed the bottle on the ground. From the shattered glass emerged a pair of rubber gloves and a thin, sharp knife.
The police officers were stunned. Jack remained calm, used to Morgan's unorthodox methods. "Now you know who the killer is?" Morgan asked the silent crowd.
Eyes turned to the boy who had refused the drink, but Morgan shook his head. "Wrong." He pointed to a man standing just behind him. "Him."
The man in question turned pale. "How did you know?" one of the officers asked, bewildered.
Morgan approached the accused directly. "Why did you kill him?" he asked, his voice cold and demanding. "Don't lie. I have checked everything closely."
The man tried to deny it, but his voice wavered.
Morgan continued, his voice sharp. "Maybe your girlfriend was cheating on you with him. Maybe you found out and planned this. Threw a party, thinking no one would suspect you. But you were sloppy."
He snatched the man's phone and displayed a message on the screen. "Sup dude,
we got a party tonight." He thrust the phone into the man's hands. "You killed him, hid the weapon in the bottle, and thought you'd get away with it."
The accused's face crumpled, fear and guilt written across his features. He made a break for it, but the police quickly subdued and arrested him.
Morgan said "When you lie, it's like leaving footprints in the sand, You always leaves some traces "
Morgan turned to Jack, handing him his phone. "When did you take this?" Jack asked, bemused.
"Ordered us a cab when we first got here," Morgan replied nonchalantly. "It should be here in three minutes."
As they left the scene, a junior officer approached Jack. "Sir, about Morgan… How can I be like him?"
Jack smiled wryly. "Well, try to guess," he said. "Morgan found the killer the moment he stepped into the crowd. He stood right beside him, making the guy nervous. The rest was just playing with emotions and gathering evidence. He's a professional detective, after all."
The junior officer nodded, eyes wide with admiration. Jack patted his shoulder. "Remember, it's all about the details and keeping a cool head. Now, let's get out of here."
As they walked away, the city continued to hum with life, oblivious to the dark dance that had just played out
——
"My name is Morgan– Morgan Brownhat.
And this fella is my friend Jack, Jack is a Special Agent;
I am too, He works in the daylight while I can only be found in the dark night. That's why people call me the Black-Jack of America. Even though I no longer live in America, I shifted to Japan for a reason. I'm not telling the reason; keep guessing. I am here on vacation with my colleague, and my mom is with me too.My friend thinks i am smartest,But i dont think so...
They even call me a modern-day Sherlock. I live for the thrill of the chase, the puzzle of each case. Yet beneath the surface, a storm brews. I've solved every kind of case I've met, and even though I'm only 33, I've seen the world more than most. Some call me a genius, but genius comes with its own demons. I can't show my depression; I don't know how to. But as long as there are mysteries to unravel, I'll keep moving forward."
To Be Continued...