Page 51 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

The town was only just beginning to wake. The sky hadn't committed to morning yet. It sat somewhere between charcoal and blue; the mountains wrapped in low mist that drifted lazily through the trees like smoke. A few lights glowed in distant houses. Somewhere down the road, a truck growled to life before disappearing into the silence again.

It was quiet, maybe too quiet for me. I'd worked in cities most of my career. Cities never shut up. Sirens. Traffic. Arguments. Someone was always fucking yelling at someone else. Here… The silence had a pulse of its own. The kind of silence that made you feel like the town was holding its breath. Steam curled from my coffee as I lifted the mug with one hand and took a slow sip. Strong, black and enough caffeine to restart a small engine. Exactly how I liked it. Fuck that’s good coffee.

Max had already stationed himself beside the back door, staring at me with the unwavering confidence of someone who believed breakfast was an internationally protected human right.

"You ate nine hours ago."

His ears perked.

"I'm aware that's practically starvation in dog time."

Tail. Thump. Tail. Thump. I sighed dramatically.

"You know, I spent four years studying criminal psychology."

He blinked.

"I've interviewed murderers."

Another blink.

"I've talked a man into surrendering after an eight-hour hostage negotiation."

Tail. Thump.

"And somehow..."

I reached for the bag of kibble.

"...you're still the best interrogator I've ever met."

The bowl hadn't even touched the floor before he buried his face in it with enough enthusiasm to convince anyone he'd never been fed a day in his life. I watched him for a second and couldn't help the small smile that escaped. While he inhaled breakfast, my eyes wandered back toward the window. Across the narrow stretch of road separating our properties… A warm light glowed softly inside the cottage next door.

I frowned. Already? It was barely after six. Who the fuck was awake at 6:02 in the morning? Most people wouldn't have a light on this early. Either she was an early riser, or she hadn't slept at all. Maybe she was one of those irritating morning people. The thought alone was enough to make me dislike her slightly.

Only slightly.

Yesterday's encounter replayed itself without permission. Garden gloves, mud on her jeans, talking to ceramic gnomes like they were members of parliament, apologising to flowers after pruning them and smiling at Max like she'd known him his entire life. She had a strange way of staring. I noticed it yesterday. Those honey eyes lingering on me long after I'd turned away.

Weird. Objectively...Very fucking weird. I took another sip of coffee. On the other hand… I'd met far stranger people. Most of them had ended up wearing handcuffs but she wasn't strange in that way. She was… I searched for the word and came up empty. Different. Comfortably different. Like someone who genuinely didn't care if the rest of the world thought she was odd. There was something strangely refreshing about that. Max wandered over and nudged my hand with his nose.

"Don't start."

He nudged harder.

"You already had breakfast."

Another nudge I looked down at him as he looked up at me and after I looked back toward the softly lit cottage.

"Don't you even think about trying to make friends with the neighbour just because she’ll probably spoil you."

His tail answered before he could. I had a feeling I was going to lose that battle.

The station smelled the same as it had yesterday. Burnt coffee, old paper, dust and someone's microwaved breakfast that should've been classified as biological warfare. Nothing ever changed. The missing people board, however, changed every single day.

Every time I walked through those doors, I'd convince myself that today's adjustment would be the one. One photograph moved, one date rewritten, one overlooked statement and one tiny thread I'd somehow missed.

It never was.