THE TOMBSTONE (Melancholy) PRESENT DAY.
He stands before the tombstone, motionless, lost in thought. The sky above is a muted gray, a heavy overcast mirroring the weight in his chest. His eyes, swollen and red from crying, are fixed on the name etched into the stone. The wind stirs gently, but it does little to break the stillness around him.
“I never saw it coming,” he whispers, his voice broken, barely audible over the distant rustle of the trees. The words hang in the air like a confession, but to whom? Himself? The person beneath the stone? Or the ghosts that now haunted his every step?
He stood there for a while longer, lost in his thoughts, the silence around him suffocating. His mind replayed the events, the choices, the moments that led to this. The chill in the air deepened, but he didn’t move.
As the first droplets of rain began to fall, they mingled with the tears already streaking his face. He didn’t wipe them away. There was no point. The ache in his heart wouldn’t wash away so easily.
5 YEARS AGO (The Optimism)
Joanna is in the boardroom at her liquor factory, seated at the head of a long, polished mahogany table. She taps her pen lightly on the surface as she glances at her investors, their eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to speak. The walls are adorned with vintage liquor. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the floor. The atmosphere is optimistic, sales have surged, exceeding projections, and the latest product line is receiving great reviews.
With a smile, Joanna presents the data on the screen. "We've not only met our goals, but we're setting new standards for growth. Our customer base is expanding, and the feedback on the quality has been overwhelmingly positive, even overseas.
The investors nod in approval, clearly impressed. One of them leans forward and says, "It’s clear you’ve built something special here. We’re excited to take this to the next level."
Joanna feels a surge of pride. This meeting isn't just about numbers—it's about the success of a vision she nurtured from the ground up.
“What’s your secret?” an investor asks
Joanna smiles “Well, I just surround myself with the right people, ever since the beginning of my life”
The future looks bright.
The day is over. Joanna packs up her things and walks out of the factory, a satisfied smile on her face. She feels accomplished as she steps into her Audi, pulls out of the factory gate, and begins her drive home.
As she drives, her phone rings. It’s her cousin, Natasha. She answers with a cheerful, "Hello?"
“Hey, Joanna! Just wanted to say I bought the new whiskey, and it’s honestly the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I love it. Congrats!”
“Thank you so much! And thank you for buying it, Nat—it means a lot," Joanna replies, her smile widening.
“So, are you going to celebrate the win?”
“Haha, no. I think I’ll just go home, relax on the couch, and watch a nice movie—that’s how I’m going to celebrate.”
“Ah, sounds perfect. Enjoy! And again, congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“Goodnight, Jo.”
“Goodnight, Nat.”
Joanna hangs up, a sense of calm and contentment settling over her as she continues the peaceful drive home.
Joanna pulls into the driveway, feeling the quiet satisfaction of a day well spent. She steps out of the car, walks up to the front door, unlocks it, and enters. With a quick flick, she turns on the lights, the familiar warmth of home welcoming her. Tossing her keys into the bowl by the door, she lets out a soft sigh. She’s tired, but the happiness lingers.
She takes a hot, relaxing shower, the steam easing the tension from her body. Refreshed, she heads down to the basement and grabs her favourite drink—Macallan Sherry Oak. Pouring herself a glass, she sinks into the couch, the soft cushions a welcome embrace. With a contented smile, she turns on the TV, ready to unwind and enjoy the quiet night.
After about an hour she picks up her phone and dials a number. After about 3 rings, the other line picks up.
“Hey there” comes a familiar voice on the other end.
“Hi, Joanna replies softly, a smile playing on her lips. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
There’s a brief pause on the other end, almost like the person is taking in the sound of her voice before responding.
“It’s been a while, how are things?”
Joanna leans back, swirling the glass in her hand. “Busy, but good. We just had a great meeting with the investors today. Everything’s going according to plan.”
“That’s great to hear. You deserve the win.”
“Thanks,” Joanna replies warmly, appreciating the familiar comfort in the voice. “What about you? How’s everything?”
There’s a soft chuckle. “You know me, always something to chase. But nothing too exciting today.”
She grins. “I doubt that. You always manage to make things interesting.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” the voice teases. “But let’s talk about you. Are you taking time for yourself, or are you still glued to the factory?”
Joanna laughs softly. “I’m actually on the couch with a drink and a movie. Finally taking a breather.”
“Good. You’ve earned it.”
“Yeah”
The Crime Scene (Wednesday Morning, 5 YEARS LATER)
Joanna Sparks, 35, attractive, cat eyes, black hair, is dead. Two knives are protruding from her ears, her eyes open staring straight ahead. She is in her basement office. Her cousin, Natasha Wheeler, discovers her in this horrific state. Natasha's scream of terror echoes through the basement. She runs upstairs and calls the police.
Joanna’s brownstone is now cordoned off with police tape, filled with the media and, of course, the police. News outlets are broadcasting live about the death of Joanna Sparks the owner of the famous whiskey brand Wilde Ember Spirits , found dead in her basement with two knives in her ears.
“Who found her?” he asks.
“Her cousin, Natasha Wheeler” replies officer Brooks.
“What time?”
“She called the cops around 9:10AM”
The two enter the brownstone. Detective Mike Barlowe looks around.
"Big place," he says.
"It sure is. You start a booze company that makes a fortune—more than you could ever imagine—and you go a little crazy with the place you buy, even if it’s just for one person," says Brooks with a little chuckle.
“You’ve got a point there” says Barlowe.
“Yes sir”
“Detective Barlowe” someone calls. He turns to find Brett Grisham at the end of the hall by the door that leads to the basement office. Brett is a forensic analyst. They both work for HCPD (Highland City Police Division).
“Ah, you got here before me” Barlowe says.
“Always will” replies Grisham. They both make their way downstairs to the basement, until Barlowe sees the dead body of Joanna Sparks.
Grisham kneels beside the body, studying the scene carefully. “Two knives, one in each ear,” he mutters, pulling on his gloves. “I’ve seen some messed up stuff, but this… this feels personal. Whoever did this wanted to send a message.”
Barlowe crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Any guesses on time of death?”
“Judging by the lividity and body temp, I’d say she’s been dead for about 12 hours. That puts it somewhere around 9 PM last night,” Grisham replies, standing up. “But I'll need the full autopsy to be sure.”
Barlowe walks over to the desk, scanning it for anything unusual. He spots the usual items: a closed MacBook, a few diaries, a pen stand, three desk drawers, a whiskey bottle, and a glass that looks like it was freshly poured.
He frowns. Pulling on his own pair of gloves, Barlowe picks up the bottle. It’s the Macallan Sherry Oak.
“Looks like she drinks expensive liquor,” Barlowe says, examining the bottle closely. “And it seems like she wasn’t too fond of her own brand.”
Grisham glances over from the body, raising an eyebrow. “Not exactly a ringing endorsement for Wilde Ember Spirits, huh?”
Barlowe places the bottle back on the desk carefully. “No, it’s not,” he mutters, eyeing the glass. “And this pour is fresh, must have been a long day for her”
Grisham gives a slow nod.
Barlowe opens the desk drawers, he finds the usual papers and files, nothing too suspicious. Then, he finds a file that says CADE. He stiffens up, he looks like he recognises the name, he swallows hard. He hides the file in his trench coat in secret.
“Take the bottle and the glass as well,” Barlowe orders, his tone firm. “There might be something on there.”
The forensic team quickly bags the whiskey bottle and glass, carefully sealing them before leaving the basement. The clinking of equipment fades as they head upstairs, carrying out their tasks with precision. Barlowe watches them for a moment, his mind racing with possibilities.
Outside, the sound of the ambulance door slamming shut echoes through the quiet morning. Joanna Sparks' body, now zipped inside a black bag, is loaded into the back. The engine hums to life, and the vehicle pulls away, heading to the mortuary for further examination.
Barlowe stands at the basement door, watching it go. The unease from earlier still lingers in his gut. Something isn’t right about this case.
“We’ll know more when the autopsy is done” Grisham mutters then speaks up “You think we’re dealing with something bigger here?”
Barlowe doesn’t answer right away. His eyes remain fixed on the now-empty driveway. “Let’s just say I’ve got a bad feeling this is only the beginning.”
He then walks briskly to his Toyota Corolla, parked five blocks away from the brownstone. The quiet of the streets feel heavy, but Barlowe doesn’t let it show, he unlocks the car and slides into the driver’s seat, and takes a moment to breathe.
THE CUTLERY MURDER (5 years ago)
Fiona Stamp, 35, attractive, blue eyes and black hair, is dead. Two knives protruding from her ears, her eyes open, staring right ahead. Her boyfriend, Harland Pierce, discovers her in this horrific state. Harland's scream of terror echoes through the basement. He runs out the door and calls the police.
She is in the living room couch staring into the TV. Barlowe crouched down in front of Fiona’s lifeless form, his face devoid of any expression as he takes in the grim details. Something about this kill makes him feel uncomfortable.
Grisham and his team dust the place for fingerprints.
“What time do you think she was killed?”
“Judging by the lividity and the body temperature, I’d say around a day.” Grisham responds.
Barlowe takes a look around the room, his eyes gaze toward the coffee table in front of her, it had the usual newspapers and books and whiskey with a glass freshly poured.
Something about this case felt off, he felt that he was still being watched. He goes upstairs to investigate, he finds nothing. He goes back downstairs. The whiskey glass catches his eyes.
He picks the glass up to the light, examining the faint condensation. The liquid looked undisturbed, as though someone poured it with care but never bothered to take a sip.
“This drink, its freshly poured, it doesn’t make sense”
Grisham looks over, raising an eyebrow “What do you mean?”
Barlowe set the glass back down carefully on the table. “If she’s been dead a day, this glass shouldn’t look so fresh. No dust, no evaporation marks. It’s as if someone poured it recently… after she was already dead.”
A heavy silence fell over the room as Grisham exchanged a look with his team. They seemed to pick up on Barlowe’s unease, the kind that only came with experience in handling cases that didn’t fit into neat boxes.
“You’re saying someone was here… after she died?” Grisham asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s the killer, he might have killed her and poured himself a drink”
He maybe even watching us. Maybe they’re still watching.” Barlowe says in a low tone.
The room suddenly became claustrophobic, Barlowe cast a wary glance around, his instincts on very high alert.
“Get the team to sweep the place again, check every inch of this place” Barlowe orders.
“Will do”
“I’ll go talk to the boyfriend”
Barlowe steps outside, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on his face. Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed the gentle heat, the start of a new day. But today, it only served as a stark contrast to the dark scene he’d just left behind.
He crossed the road from the brownstone on 55th Street Jol Avenue, where Harland Pierce sat, police cars flooded the street, police tapes cordoned off the scene. Barlowe approached Harland sitting on the pavement, he sat down next to him.
Suddenly, Harland broke down, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to hold back his tears. “I came to surprise her… for the job promotion she got. She was so excited, called me last night to tell me all about it.” His voice wavered, cracking under the weight of his grief. “I wanted to do something special, you know? She’d worked so hard for it… and now…”
“I’m so sorry for your loss Mr Pierce, I cannot imagine the pain you must be going through, but sadly I have to follow protocol and ask you a few questions”
Harland nods slowly, wiping away the tears.
“Where did she work?”
“She worked at Wilde Ember Spirits” he responds, sniffing.
“Hmm, okay did she have any problems at work, did she have any spat with the employees?”
“No no sir, she was a sweetheart, everyone loved her”
“What do you work as”
“I head a construction company, these brownstones here, I built them, but I do have to tell you something”
“What is it?”
“When I found her, I felt like someone was still in the house, watching me”
Barlowe felt a surge of adrenaline, so it wasn’t only him.
“Okay, thank you, take my card, call me whenever you remember something”
“Thank you, please find whoever did this her”
“We will try our best sir”
Barlowe gets up and walks toward Grisham, who is standing by the ambulance where Fiona is in wrapped in a body bag.
“All good with the boyfriend?” Grisham asks
“Yeah, I believe him, I think, but there was one thing he said that even I thought was strange, he said that when he found the body, he felt that someone was still in the house watching him”
“Huh, really, that’s kind of scary” Grisham says with a hint on concern.
“Yeah, I have a feeling that this case is not as cliché as it seems”
Barlowe walks away, to his car that’s parked a block from the brownstone.
THE HUNT (15 minutes after her death)
Barlowe crosses the street from the brownstone, his gaze fixed on the terrified woman sitting in the ambulance, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her eyes widen as she notices his imposing 6-foot frame, instinctively tensing up.
“Hey, Natasha,” he says gently, trying to project warmth despite the circumstances. “I’m Detective Mike Barlowe. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He gives her a moment, allowing her to collect herself. The quiet hum of the ambulance and the distant sounds of the street fill the air, but it feels heavy, suffused with the weight of grief.
After a moment, Natasha nods slightly, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.
“I know this must be very difficult for you, but I need to ask you a few questions,” Barlowe continues, his tone firm yet compassionate. He can see the fear etched on her face, the way her hands tremble slightly as she clutches the blanket.
“Okay,” she replies, taking a shaky breath. “I’ll do my best.”
Barlowe watches her closely, noticing the slight quiver in her lip. “I understand this is overwhelming, but any detail you can share will help. Can you tell me what happened?
“I wanted to surprise her. So I just dropped by. I rang the doorbell, but she didn’t answer. I called her phone, and I could hear it ringing inside. I tried the door handle—it was open. I walked in, thinking she might be in the bathroom or something. Then I went downstairs to her basement office... and that’s when I found her."
She starts crying, her body trembling as she relives the moment.
Barlowe gives her a moment, watching as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, struggling to keep herself together.
“I’m so sorry you had to find her like that, Natasha,” he says softly, keeping his voice calm and measured. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been.”
Natasha nods, taking a shaky breath. “She was just... there, on the floor. I-I didn’t know what to do. It didn’t feel real. I kept calling her name, thinking maybe she’d wake up. But—" her voice cracks again, and she covers her mouth, fighting back another wave of sobs.
Barlowe crouches down, bringing himself to eye level with her. “Take your time. I know this is hard, but anything you remember could help us figure out what happened to her.”
She takes a deep breath, her eyes red and swollen. “There was... something strange,” she whispers, her gaze distant as if reliving the moment. “When I walked in, I felt like someone else had been there. It wasn’t just the way she was lying... the air felt wrong. Like I wasn’t alone.”
Barlowe’s brow furrows slightly, his instincts sharpening. “What do you mean by ‘wrong’? Did you notice anything out of place?”
She hesitates, then shakes her head. “No... I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. But when I found her, I swear... I felt someone watching me.”
Barlowe straightens up, his mind already racing. “Did you see anyone? Hear anything?”
“No, I was too scared to think straight,” Natasha says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... ran out of there. I called 911 as soon as I got outside.”
Barlowe nods slowly. “You did the right thing. We’ll handle it from here, thank you for your time, if you remember anything else, here’s my card, feel free to call me”
Natasha nods.
He stands up, his mind working through the details, but a sinking feeling settles in his gut. Something about this doesn’t feel right.
THE UNFORGETTABLE MEETING (5 years before her death)
Barlowe stood at Silvercove Harbour, his eyes fixed on the vast expanse of the sea. The cool breeze carried the scent of saltwater, but his thoughts were far from the peaceful view before him.
A tap on his shoulder snapped him out of his reverie. He turned around, his gaze meeting that of a man standing just a few feet away. The man was impeccably dressed—a sharp three-piece suit that exuded wealth and power. His fingers, adorned with a heavy Soul Engraver ring, subtly tapped against his side as though impatient. Barlowe’s eyes flickered down to the man’s shoes—polished penny loafers—and then up to his wrist, catching a glimpse of a Seiko 5 from Earnshaw. This man was precise in his presentation, and everything about him seemed deliberate.
Barlowe smiles, “you never did change eh?”
“Never will, Cade Christian Carson never changes”
They both hug. “Ah I missed you Mikey” Cade says warmly after pulling away.
“I missed you too”
They stood in silence for a beat, each man sizing up the other, as if cataloguing the years that had passed since their last encounter. Cade was still as sharp as ever, dressed like a man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it. Barlowe could see the same spark in his friend’s eyes, though maybe now it was tempered with something wiser, something harder.
“So, you back here for a reason, or you miss the smell of saltwater?”
Barlowe’s smile faded slightly, the reality of his situation settling back in. “You could say I’ve got my hands full with something… complicated.”
Cade raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Complicated is our specialty, isn’t it?”
Barlowe then becomes dead serious “I called you for something that’s been bothering me, I’m handling a case, it’s something that’s got my head fucked”
“That bad huh?”
“That bad”
Cade’s expression shifted, his playful eyes dimmed to match the seriousness of Barlowe, he’d seen this look on his friend before but very rarely, only when the stakes are high.
Barlowe nodded, running a hand through his hair, frustration simmering beneath his calm facade. “Worse than bad. It’s… it’s different. I keep going in circles. Every lead feels like it’s guiding me somewhere, only for the ground to shift beneath my feet.”
Cade crossed his arms, leaning in slightly, his focus fully on Barlowe. “What kind of case are we talking about?”
Barlowe glanced out into the sea, the moonlight glistening on its surface, “It started as a homicide—simple enough. But the deeper I dig, the more layers there are. Secrets, people who shouldn’t be connected but are. And I can’t shake this feeling…” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s like someone’s been pulling strings the whole time, pushing me toward dead ends.”
Cade’s jaw tightened. “You think you’re being watched? Played?”
Barlowe gave a slow nod. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. But every time I get close to something real, it slips right through my fingers. I called you because… well, I trust you, Cade. And I need fresh eyes on this, someone who can see what I’m missing.”
Cade’s gaze turned steely, his mind already racing. “Alright, Mikey. Let’s get to the bottom of this. Tell me everything you know.”
Barlowe took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He knew Cade wouldn’t back down—not from a challenge like this. And for the first time in days, he felt a spark of hope.
“Any leads so far?”
“Yeah, we’ve got a suspect,” Barlowe replied, running a hand through his hair. “But here’s the thing: we initially had multiple suspects—people we placed at Fiona’s brownstone before her death. They all had solid alibis.”
“Who’s the current suspect?”
“Name’s Frank Gleeson. He works as a waiter at Savory Heights”
“What did he do?”
“Harland called me a while back, saying some guy was harassing him. I went to check it out and arrested Gleeson. Turns out, during questioning, he admitted he’d had an argument with Fiona. Things got heated, and he openly threatened to kill her and everyone she cared about.”
Cade’s brow furrowed. “And it took three months to pin him down?”
“Yeah, surprising for me as well, but these cases, they aren’t straightforward”
“Alright Mikey, let’s talk to him tomorrow, for now, get some shut eye”
“Thanks, Cade. I will.”
“Anytime, it’s good to see you Mikey, really”
Barlowe smiles “You too man”
The two men parted ways. Barlowe walked to his car, his mind heavy with thoughts about the case. As he started the engine and began the drive home, his phone rang.
“Hey there” he answers
“Hi, it’s so good to hear your voice”
He pauses, taking in her voice.
“It’s been a while, how are things?” he finally asks
“Busy, but good. We just had a great meeting with the investors today. Everything’s going according to plan.”
“That’s great to hear. You deserve the win.”
“Thanks, what about you? How’s everything?”
He chuckles softly “You know me, always something to chase, nothing too exciting today”
I doubt that. You always manage to make things interesting.”
Maybe. Maybe not,” he teases. “But let’s talk about you. Are you taking time for yourself, or are you still glued to the factory?”
A soft laughter “I’m actually on the couch with a drink and a movie. Finally taking a breather.”
“Good you’ve earned it”
“Yeah”
“Hey, you remember Cade right?”
“Cade… um, you mean Cade Christian Carson?”
“Yes, I met him down at the docks today, he he’s helping me with Fiona’s case”
“You, and help? This case his tricky huh?”
“Yeah, it’s got my psyche fried. The both of us are going to talk to a suspect tomorrow”
“Okay Mikey, be safe”
“I will, goodnight”
“Goodnight”
5 YEARS AGO (The optimism)
She hangs up and stares blankly at the TV, the flickering images casting shadows across her face. Whatever show was playing had long ceased to matter. Her thoughts were elsewhere, spiralling back in time. Ever since Barlowe had mentioned Cade, a flood of memories she’d buried deep began to resurface.
She hadn’t heard that name—Cade Christian Carson—since the three of them had finished college together. They had been inseparable back then, a tight-knit trio navigating life’s highs and lows. Barlowe, steady and loyal, was the glue holding them together. Cade, with his charm and ambition, was the one who lit up every room. And then there was her—caught somewhere between the two.
But after college, everything changed. Joanna and Barlowe’s friendship endured, weathered by time and shared history. Cade, though… Cade and Joanna. Their breakup had been brutal. Words spoken in anger, accusations flung like daggers—it was the kind of ending that left scars. After that, they stopped talking entirely, their once-bright connection dimmed to nothingness.
She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as though to dislodge the past. Why was Cade back now? Why had Barlowe gone to him of all people? And more importantly, why did the mention of his name stir an uneasy feeling in her chest, a mixture of dread and something else she couldn’t quite name.
Joanna reached for her drink, her hand trembling slightly as she brought it to her lips. The familiar burn of whiskey steadied her nerves, but her thoughts continued to churn. Cade’s reappearance couldn’t be a coincidence, not with everything that was happening now.
She set the glass down, the ice clinking against the sides. Her eyes remained fixed on the TV, but her mind was miles away, tangled in memories and the questions they stirred.
She sets the glass on the table and lies down on her couch and closes her eyes”
THE GOOD OLD DAYS ( 17 years ago)
“Hey, sleepyhead, get up,” a familiar voice says, breaking through the haze of Joanna’s sleep.
She blinks her eyes open slowly, the blurry figure leaning over her gradually coming into focus.
“Come on,” Barlowe continues, grinning down at her. “We gotta go. We’re gonna be late—Cade’s waiting downstairs in the car.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m up,” Joanna mumbles, her voice still thick with sleep. She sits up, groggily rubbing her eyes.
Barlowe smirks. “Sure you are. Two minutes, right? Five tops?”
“Exactly,” Joanna mutters, stretching her arms.
“You do realize we’re definitely missing the movie now,” he teases, folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe.
Joanna groans and shoots him a mock glare, raising her hand to flip him off.
Barlowe bursts out laughing. “There’s the Jon I know, always so charming”
“Keep running that mouth of yours, I’ll make us miss the previews as well”
Barlowe grins and shakes his head. “Alright, now hurry up would you”
Joanna drags herself to her feet, a faint smile tugging the corner of her mouth despite her sleepiness.
Ten minutes later, the three of them emerged from their dorm building. Cade was leaning casually against his car, arms crossed, waiting with an amused smirk.
“She said it, didn’t she?” Cade asked, raising an eyebrow at Barlowe.
“Oh, she said it alright. Two minutes, five tops—right on cue,” Barlowe confirmed with a laugh.
Cade burst out laughing. “What did I tell you? Classic Joanna.”
Joanna rolled her eyes and smacked Cade on the back of his head as she passed. “You two are insufferable,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Ow!” Cade exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head dramatically.
“Hey, I called shotgun!” Barlowe protested.
Joanna turned around with a smirk. “Sorry, I’ve got a permanent spot up front—shotgun privileges revoked.”
“Oh, come on!” Barlowe groaned, reluctantly climbing into the back seat. “This is favouritism.”
Joanna snickered, buckling her seatbelt. “Deal with it, Mike.”
Cade chuckled, firing up the engine. “Alright, everyone settle down. Let’s go, or we’ll miss the previews.”
Halfway through the drive…
“Hey, get this” Cade says. “When someone wants to…let’s see poison someone, instead of sticking the needle into where the cops can see it, why not under the tongue?”
“Why are we talking about this?” Barlowe asks.
“I don’t know, just a thought you know, I mean, it’s smart” Cade says.
“Why, you want to poison someone?” Joanna asks with a chuckle.
“heh nah, but that would be a smart way, don’t you all agree?”
Barlowe rolled his eyes and says a half-hearted “yeah”
As they drove toward the theatre, Joanna opened the glove box and retrieved her trusty Polaroid camera. She quickly aimed it at Cade and snapped a picture.
“Hey! What’s that for?” Cade asked, glancing over at her briefly before keeping his eyes on the road.
Joanna grinned, shaking the photo as it developed. “This is going into the file.”
“The file?” Barlowe asked from the back seat, leaning forward slightly.
“Yep,” Joanna said proudly. “It’s a collection of all the embarrassing and cute pictures I have of Cade. If he ever leaves me, I’ll have these as evidence to remind myself of his ridiculousness.”
Cade shook his head, half-laughing. “You’re impossible. And I’m never going to leave, you might be the one leaving and we won’t see it coming, right man?
“Oh yeah, I will never see it coming”
“Oh pffth, me, and leaving, good joke, and admit it, you like me taking pictures of you”
Barlowe leaned back with a grin. “Man, I feel bad for you, Cade. She’s got receipts.”
The car erupted in laughter, the banter making the drive to the theatre all the more enjoyable.
They parked and walked inside.
“Who wants popcorn?” Cade asks
“Me” Joanna says happily, fishing for her wallet.
“I’ll get tickets” Barlowe offers and heads toward the ticket counter.
15 minutes later, they are munching popcorn and watching the latest Quentin Tarantino film, Death Proof. The auditorium was dark except for the movie playing on the screen. Joanna sat in the middle, Cade to her left munching popcorn and Barlowe to her right sipping a soda.
Midway through the movie, Joanna glanced sideways at Cade, just in time to catch him grabbing a comically oversized handful of popcorn and stuffing it into his mouth with gleeful abandon.
Suppressing a giggle, she slowly reached into her bag, retrieved her Polaroid camera—successfully sneaked in—and snapped a picture before he could notice.
The camera’s soft click went unheard beneath the roar of an explosive car chase on screen. Joanna smiled smugly as she tucked the developing photo back into her bag, adding another memory to the file.
After the film, the three head to the car park, until Barlowe had to use the washroom.
“I’ll be right back” he says before running back to the building.
“I got into HCPD” Cade says turning to Joanna.
“Oh my god! That’s great” she jumps in joy on hearing the news and gives him a tight hug.”
“Thank you” he says smiling.
“This is great news, we should celebrate”
Cade turns and comes face to face with her. His gaze travelling into her hazel colour eyes. He leans in and places a small peck on her lips.
“That was nice” she said, blushing a little.
He leans in again, and this time she came forward.
Just before they made contact, there was a scream, a loud jarring scream from a man. It came from within the theatre.
Both of them run inside, the scream got louder, they burst through the doors to see Barlowe, pinning down a man.
“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU” he screamed, pointing his finger at Joanna. His eyes wide, filled with unrelentless anger.
Joanna just stood there, she looked like she recognized the man, but she didn’t say anything.
The cops came and took the man away.
“What the hell was that?” Cade asked, confused.
“I was exiting the washrooms and I saw this guy charge at me, and shove me into that wall, asking what I wanted with Joanna.”
“What?” Cade exclaimed, turning to Joanna. She had this look on her face, like she knew what was going on.
“Yeah, he was trying to punch me, but I ducked and I pinned him down, I searched him but he had nothing on him except for his keys and wallet”
“Did you get his ID?” Cade asked, with a little hope in his voice.
“Yeah, but weird enough, his last name was scratched out from his driver’s license. But his first name was Jonathan”
Cade frowned, looking between Joanna and the ID. “Does the name mean anything to you?”
Joanna was unusually quiet, her arms crossed tightly as she stared at the ground. She hesitated for a moment before answering, “I don’t know... maybe. It’s not a name I remember right now.”
“Joanna,” Cade pressed gently, “you looked like you recognized him. Don’t hold back if there’s something we need to know.”
She finally met his gaze, her hazel eyes conflicted. “I... I thought he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. I swear, I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him before—not like this.”
Barlowe exhaled sharply, his adrenaline still high. “He was screaming your name, Joanna. ‘I’ll kill you,’ he kept shouting. This guy knows you, or at least thinks he does.”
Joanna shook her head. “I—I don’t understand.”
Cade placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, Jo. Let’s just head home and regroup.”
As the officers wrapped up their questioning, one approached Barlowe. “We’re running the ID, but with the last name scratched out, it might take a while. We’ll let you know if anything comes up.”
The three of them walked back to Cade’s car, a heavy silence between them. Cade finally broke it as he started the engine. “I’m driving you straight back to the dorm, Joanna. I don’t want you out of sight until we figure out what’s going on.”
Joanna didn’t argue, sitting quietly in the passenger seat, clutching her bag tightly. In the backseat, Barlowe stared out the window, lost in thought.
Whoever this Jonathan was, one thing was clear: he wasn’t just a random stranger.
THE INTEROGATION. (5 years before her death)
“Did you kill Fiona Stamp?” Cade asks in a deep voice, leaning over the table.”
Barlowe stood in the dark corner of the room, watching Frank Gleeson intently.
Frank looked into Cade’s eyes.
Did you kill Fiona?” Cade asked again.
Frank Gleeson leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging the corners of his mouth. His gaze shifted toward Cade and Barlowe, his demeanour unusually casual for someone sitting in an interrogation room.
“You’re asking the wrong question,” Jonathan said, his voice low and dripping with amusement. “You should be asking why Fiona Stamp had to die.”
Cade’s jaw clenched, his patience thinning. “Cut the crap, Gleeson. You threatened her. You argued with her. We’ve got witnesses placing you near the scene. You think you’re clever, but you’re just another psycho trying to make himself seem important.”
Gleeson’s smirk widened. “Psycho? You think I’m the crazy one? Oh, Detective Cade, if only you knew.” He leaned forward, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. “Do you even know who Fiona really was? What she was involved in?”
Barlowe, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke, “You like games, don’t you Jonathan?. Twisting the game to make yourself seem like the victim. But here’s the thing- you aren’t as smart as you think you are. We already know the altercation, the threats, the history, so just save us all sometime admit it”
Gleeson’s gaze snapped to Barlowe, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, I’m smart enough, Detective. Smart enough to know you’re barking up the wrong tree. Fiona’s death wasn’t about me.
Cade’s posture stiffened up, he raised his eyebrow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Gleeson chuckled darkly, leaning closer to Cade. “Fiona Stamp? She was just a pawn.
Barlowe stepped forward, his face inches from Jonathan’s. “You think you’re playing some big, clever game, don’t you? Let me make something clear: no matter what you think you know, we will find the truth. And you—” his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper—“will pay for what you’ve done.”
Gleeson leaned back in his chair, his laughter echoing in the room. “Oh, Detective, I’m counting on it.”
Suddenly, Gleeson lunges at Barlowe bringing him down on the floor.
Cade pulls out his G17 and shoots Jonathan. Right between his eyes. The gun clicked with a soft sound as the bullet shot out of the gun. He had an attached a silencer
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?” Barlowe screamed in horror.
“He killed her, lunged at you, no justice needed” Cade said in a smug uncaring tone.
Barlowe stared at Cade, his chest heaving, his mind unable to process what had just happened.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Barlowe roared, grabbing Cade by the collar and slamming him against the wall. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? This isn’t justice—it’s murder!”
Cade didn’t flinch. His expression was eerily calm, a stark contrast to Barlowe’s fury. “Gleeson was a waste of breath. You know he killed Fiona. We didn’t need his lies. I just saved us months of bureaucracy and court bullshit.”
“That’s not how we do things!” Barlowe shouted, his voice cracking. “We’re supposed to bring people to justice—not execute them!”
Cade shoved Barlowe off, adjusting his jacket as if nothing happened. “Justice doesn’t work for people like him, you know that better than anyone”
Barlowe narrowed his eyes, his voice lowering to a dangerous tone, “You’ve crossed a line Cade, a line we can’t return from”
Cade smirked, almost mockingly. “You’re too naive, Mike. You think putting him in a cell would’ve changed anything? Guys like Jonathan always find a way out. This was cleaner.”
Barlowe stared at him, disgust and disbelief warring on his face. “You’re unhinged. This isn’t about justice. This is about you—your ego, your control.”
Cade stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “You don’t get it, do you? People like Gleeson thrive on the system’s failures. I’m just doing what needs to be done. If you’re too soft to handle it, that’s on you.”
Barlowe shook his head, stepping back. His mind raced with the weight of the situation. Cade had just murdered a suspect in cold blood, and now he was trying to justify it. “You’ve gone too far, Cade. I can’t cover this up.”
Cade smirked “You won’t have to, Gleeson was a suspect in a murder case, I’ll write a report saying he lunged at me, grabbed my gun, self-defence, didn’t have much of a choice”
Barlowe’s stomach churned, “I’m not going to let you get away with this”
Cade tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You don’t have a choice, Mike. We’re in this together now. Whether you like it or not.”
Barlowe’s fists clenched, his mind spinning with possibilities. He couldn’t trust Cade anymore—maybe he never could. And now, the lines between ally and adversary had blurred beyond recognition.
Without another word, Barlowe turned and stormed out of the interrogation room, leaving Cade standing alone in the blood-soaked silence.
He stormed out of the building, reaching for his phone, he dials a number, after two rings, the person on the other end picks up.
“Nice work Cade” Barlowe chuckles as he walks down the street.
“How’d you know it was him?” Cade asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Barlowe stopped in his tracks, his breath visible in the chilly night air. “When I first got the call about her death, something didn’t sit right. I checked out the scene and… I don’t know, there was this feeling—like the killer was still there.
“Then Fiona’s boyfriend said he felt like someone was watching. That sealed it for me. I went back to her place a few days later to see if I’d missed anything. When I got there…” Barlowe paused, his voice dropping.
“The door was open, Cade. I didn’t go in, but I saw someone moving inside. He didn’t notice me, but I heard him talking to himself.”
Cade’s breath hitched. “What was he saying?”
Barlowe’s tone darkened. “He said, ‘The bitch had to die.’”
Cade stayed silent for a moment, his words hung heavy in the air. Finally he spoke, low and deliberate.
“And you didn’t tell me this before?”
“Barlowe smirked, resuming his pace down the street. “I wasn’t sure at first. You know how these things are, Cade. Assumptions can cost you the truth. I needed him to slip up.”
“And he did” Cade said, piecing it together.
“Exactly. The way he laughed, the way he didn’t even flinch when I arrested him for the first time- it was all an act. But the real tell was today, in that interrogation room. The moment when you asked her if he had killed her…all I saw was nothing but fucking pride”
Cade let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That sick bastard”
Barlowe’s voice softened, almost contemplative, “But there’s something else.”
“What do you mean” Cade pressed, sensing the shift in his friend’s tone.
Barlowe hesitated for a beat, then said, “When I saw him in Fiona’s place that night, I recognized him. It wasn’t just some random guy. It was him—the man we arrested at the theatre 17 years ago. Remember?”
“Right yes, his name was scratched out of his driver’s license”
“And when I arrested him, he gave me his…second name”
“No way”, Cade muttered
“Oh yes, and here’s the kick to the head, he didn’t kill Joanna out of rage, this was planned, calculated.
Cade’s tightened his grip around the phone. “What are you saying?”
Barlowe stopped walking, his gaze fixed on the glowing city skyline ahead. “I’m saying Fiona wasn’t the target, Cade. She was just… collateral damage. The real target is still out there. And I think we both know who it is.”
The line went silent for a moment as the realization hit Cade.
“Joanna”
FINDING OUT (1 Day after her murder)
Barlowe and Grisham are in the autopsy room, Joanna’s body lay on top of the table, with a long incision in the middle of her body.
“You won’t believe this” Grisham says.
“The cause of her death aren’t the knives”
“What?” Barlowe asks, bewildered.
“I found maitotoxin in her system, I looked around her body for needle holes but couldn’t find any, but then” He opens her mouth and lifts up her tongue “there it is”
Barlowe covers his mouth. He looks her at her, just lying motionless and white on the table. He half expected her to just wake up but he knew that won’t happen. His mind replayed the exact type of murder that he had investigated 5 years ago. Fiona Stamp was killed the same way. But the killer was dead…who is doing this??
“Who injects poison under the tongue, is he some sort of-“ He closes his eyes, the thought of Joanna struggling as the poison took over her body ravaged his mind. He takes in a sharp breath.
Grisham nods grimly, “Someone who knows what they are doing”
He points to her wrists.
“And look here, her wrists are bruised, so are her legs, she was tied up and then given the poison.
“Motherfuc-“ he mutters under his breath. He had to find the person who did this to his dear friend.
“There’s something else” Grisham says
“What”
“When I was examining her stomach contents, I found this note” He holds up a piece of paper. “You can still read it” He hands it over to Barlowe.
The note said “5 years ago and now, don’t trust anyone, even me”
He pockets the note, nods a thank you to Grisham and leaves the room. He heads to his office, locks the door and shuts the blinds.
He takes out the CADE file from his desk drawer and opens it. All the pictures that Joanna took of Cade were in there. He begins going through them, a wave of nostalgia hits him as the memories replay of the fun times he had with them.
THE TOMBSTONE (Melancholy)
I thought nothing would happen to you” Barlowe wails.
The rain pours, his tears fall, his aching heart grows stronger. He stays, looking at her tombstone, wondering how he could have let this happen.
Barlowe's knees sank into the muddy ground as he clutched the damp earth beneath him. The rain hammered against his back, cold and relentless, but it was nothing compared to the storm inside him. His fingers traced the engraving on the tombstone, her name etched forever into the stone, a cruel reminder of her absence.
“I should have done more,” he choked out, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt. “I should’ve been there.”
The rain blurred his vision, or maybe it was his tears—he couldn’t tell anymore. Memories of Joanna flashed through his mind: her laughter, her fiery determination, the way she always had a snarky comeback ready for him. She had been the heart of their little trio, the one who kept them grounded even when the world seemed to fall apart.
A flash of lightning illuminated the graveyard, casting long, eerie shadows over the surrounding headstones. Barlowe’s chest heaved as he let out a guttural cry, the sound swallowed by the roaring thunder.
He stayed there, unmoving, as the rain poured harder, soaking him to the bone.
Barlowe rose slowly, his legs unsteady, his body heavy with grief. He placed a trembling hand on the tombstone one last time before turning away.
AGAIN (A week after her death)
Natasha Wheeler. 26. Brunette. Black eyes is dead. She was found on her couch in her apartment by an old lady.
Barlowe stood in Natasha Wheeler's dimly lit apartment, the flickering of the overhead bulb casting eerie shadows on the walls. The sight before him was gruesome—Natasha’s lifeless body slumped on the couch, her head tilted unnaturally to the side, with knives cruelly jammed into her ears.
The old woman then said “I heard screaming so I rushed here to find her like this, and…and I felt that there was someone else here with me, so I got out and called the police” she whimpered.
A female officer ushered her gently out the door.
Barlowe suddenly gets a call, he picks up, the voice on the other end was deep. “You found my message I see”
“Who is this?”
“Oh…you really shouldn’t trust people that easily, not even yourself…you might not be you think you are”
“Who are you?!” Barlowe demands
“You…did this, look around you…don’t you remember? The voice tickles, then suddenly the voice whispers “to your left”
Barlowe whips his hand around and sees a person in the distance, waving at him, suddenly the figure disappears.
Few hours later, he is in the autopsy room with Grisham.
“She was tied up and poisoned under the tongue again, the exact same death.”
Barlowe was fuming, but he couldn’t let this get to his head.
THE GAME BEGINS (PRESENT DAY)
Detective Mike Barlowe sat in his dimly lit office, the weight of two murders pressing down on him. Joanna Sparks and Natasha Wheeler had both died in the same horrific way, knives protruding from their ears, poisoned under the tongue. But the final piece that sent his mind into a tailspin was the message he had received.
"You might not be who you think you are."
The words haunted him. Who was this killer? And why did he seem to know Barlowe so intimately? He had stared at Natasha's lifeless body for far too long, the unease creeping up his spine.
The case was no longer just about finding a murderer—it was personal.
Then there was the CADE file. The pictures Joanna had taken of Cade all those years ago, the memories of their friendship, the unshakable bond they had all shared. But Cade had changed. The man who had executed Jonathan Gleeson in cold blood was not the friend he once knew.
And now Joanna was dead.
Was Cade behind all of this?
Barlowe ran his hands over his face, exhaustion pulling at his mind. He needed answers. Fast.
THE SHADOW WITHIN (The Night Before)
Barlowe sat in his car outside his apartment, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. He knew what he had to do.
He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small, unmarked key.
A key that he had found hidden in Joanna’s desk drawer.
THE SECRET ROOM (Two Hours Later)
The key led him to a storage unit on the outskirts of Highland City. The place was cold, eerily silent. As he stepped inside, the dim overhead bulb flickered to life, casting long, ghostly shadows.
Rows of filing cabinets lined the walls. Barlowe's heart pounded as he unlocked the nearest one and rifled through the folders.
His breath caught in his throat.
Joanna Sparks had been investigating something. Something dangerous. Her files contained surveillance photos, old police reports—some of which were from his own cases. But the most chilling discovery was a single envelope addressed to him.
He tore it open, his hands shaking.
Mike, if you’re reading this, I’m already dead.
There’s something bigger at play here, something I only recently uncovered.
I need you to go back to the beginning. To the first case you ever worked on.
Trust no one.
Not even yourself.
THE MURDER OF FIONA STAMP ( 5 years ago)
Barlowe sat in his old rookie office, staring at the case file in front of him.
Fiona Stamp
But there was one glaring problem.
He didn’t remember writing half of the report. In fact, the more he read, the more he realized something horrifying.
The notes. The timeline. The suspect list.
None of it matched his own memories.
His hands trembled as he flipped through the pages, and then he saw it—a security footage still.
His heart stopped.
It showed Joanna talking to Jonathan Frank Gleeson.
THE UNRAVELING (Present Day)
Barlowe stumbled back, the room spinning.
The security footage showed Joanna and Jonathan Frank Gleeson speaking outside Fiona Stamp’s apartment 5 years go.
Jonathan had known her all along.
Digging further, Barlowe uncovered a file, Barlowe uncovered an old report detailing a criminal syndicate Joanna had secretly infiltrated. Fiona and Natasha had been members, unknowingly tangled in a web much larger than them. Joanna had executed them because they had uncovered her true identity—an undercover operative working outside the law.
Joanna was never just a businesswoman. She had been a vigilante, operating in the shadows, taking down key figures in the syndicate one by one.
Jonathan Frank Gleeson was part of that syndicate.
And he had tried to stop her.
Joanna had killed Fiona first, eliminating her before she could talk. Natasha, suspecting something was wrong, had begun digging on her own. When she got too close, Joanna had to silence her as well.
But Jonathan had uncovered Joanna’s secret and was planning to expose her. He had been the one trying to warn others. And Cade had killed him before he could speak.
Barlowe grabbed his coat and stormed out of the station, heading toward Joanna’s old apartment. But as he reached his car, his phone buzzed.
Unknown Caller.
He answered it, his pulse hammering in his ears. “Who is this?”
A low chuckle on the other end.
Then a whisper.
"You already know."
Barlowe froze. The voice was distorted, warped. But beneath it, there was something chillingly familiar, because it sounded exactly like Joanna.
THE FINAL CHAPTER (One Hour Later)
Barlowe burst into Joanna’s apartment, gun drawn, heart pounding. The room was untouched, as if she had never left. But something was off. The furniture was dust-free, the air carried the faint scent of lavender—fresh.
His instincts screamed at him.
Then he saw it.
The large mirror on the wall. A note stuck to its centre.
"Look at yourself."
Slowly, he stepped forward, feeling the weight of every breath. He lifted the note with a shaky hand. And then his stomach dropped.
Joanna’s reflection was standing right behind him.
Smiling.
He spun, gun raised—but there was no one there.
His phone buzzed again.
"It was never about me, Mike."
The message sent a chill down his spine. He looked back at the mirror. His reflection had changed.
A smear of blood was now across his cheek.
"It’s always been about you."
CLOSURE (Three Days Later)
Barlowe sat on a park bench, staring at the horizon, his mind heavy with the weight of everything he had uncovered. Joanna had been the killer, yet someone else had orchestrated her murder.
Then the truth dawned on him.
The person who had killed Joanna had done so because they knew she was getting too close to something bigger—something neither he nor Cade had ever understood. The murders were part of a game that had been playing out long before Barlowe had ever stepped into law enforcement.
A small, brown envelope appeared on the bench beside him.
No one was around.
He picked it up, hands shaking, and opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
Of himself.
Standing over Joanna’s lifeless body.
A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t remember this moment.
But someone had been watching.
And they weren’t finished yet.
Barlowe exhaled, gripping the envelope tightly.
Joanna, the woman he loved, is dead, and it was all his doing, without him realising it.
