Driving home Friday evening felt different when it being a crime scene from two weeks ago was still etched in her mind. Jackie put her truck in park and pulled up a local news website on her phone. After she finished browsing the front page, she typed Simon McCarthy in the search bar and pressed ENTER.


    No results.


    Frustrated, she searched, Michigan college student death.


    Nothing she hadn’t already seen before.


    Jackie flung the useless piece of junk into the passenger seat, tears forming in her eyes. She punched her steering wheel. She released a restrained scream. What was taking so long?


    She took a calming breath and removed her keys from the ignition.


    Pausing in front of her apartment door, more thoughts ran through her mind. Jackie’s breathing quickened, and with sweaty palms, she counted to ten, stopping when the aching in her chest disappeared. She unlocked the door and turned the knob. A dark entryway greeted her, with no enthusiasm or even relief that she made it back alive. She still hadn’t gotten used to coming home to an empty apartment. She walked inside, standing in the foyer with her eyes closed tight. She didn’t want to get used to Simon’s absence. She wanted him alive. She missed coming home and complaining about the long monotonous lectures they had and comparing whose major was the hardest, or even about how they dreaded finals and hadn''t caught up on any of their assignments. Now, those stupid lectures in biology class detailing the lifespan of a plant species had her thinking of the boy who couldn’t take care of a plant no matter how hard she tried to teach him. She took a deep breath and flipped on the light switch, the lamps illuminated their—no, her living room.


    Their favorite beige couch was the first thing her eyes settled on. A few weeks ago, Simon and she bickered over which corner felt the most comfortable. They argued over the spoiled milk in the fridge. More and more of these petty arguments flew across her mind. With each one, she sent her apology. She didn’t mean it when she said Simon was beginning to look like a fat pig. She was just angry. They were angry.


    After his death, these moments were relentless and popped in throughout the day. The police statements and her repeated answers to their questions went past like a blur, in her mind’s eye. Jackie regretted hiding that note, it could have been used for evidence. Except those times she had been grateful she hid it. There were enough villain stories of werewolves. The real questions were, why was someone threatening her? What had she done? She walked to her desk and pulled up the folder with all her research documents on her monitor. Jackie looked down at the sticky note she’d written, marking down the pages that were stolen. She used to regard her research as a long trek of endless goose hunts, but now it was the key to solving Simon''s murder.


    The more this mysterious murderer wanted Jackie to leave the barrier alone, the more she delved. The forensic photographers snapping photos of her roommate dead in the bathtub, the detectives sniffing around their small apartment, rummaging through their kitchen cabinets, desk drawers, and the boxes Jackie kept in the closet finding zilch. The invasion ended with no fingerprints, no definitive evidence or suspects to interrogate. It wasn’t yet a cold case, but it lost its priority status.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    She found the files. The document''s title read: Theory of Lycanae Genetic Mutation. It was an early thesis of hers on the genetic variable that caused werewolves to shift forms. Jackie had a faint memory of the project’s goal, but she was positive it was thrown out by one too many professors to count as significant. Just like a lot of her work at the time was. Her approach had drastically changed since those days. Jackie didn''t even know she still had these.


    She skimmed over some of the data, cringing at her grammatical errors and how unprofessionally her facts were presented. She leaned closer to the page on the screen, was that a random r in between specimens? She deleted it, restraining a groan.  She refreshed her recollection a bit while reading and trying not to cringe. It was as she did this that something caught her interest, a gene-type called D-H56, a commonly overlooked category due to its close relation with genetic repair. The data didn''t have any notable changes between humans, wolves, and werewolves. Interesting but still, the change was very slight and incrementally minor. Nothing important. This document couldn''t have been the reason Simon was killed. This is ridiculous. She checked the sticky note again.


    A knock at the door broke her focus, pulling her out of her reverie. Riley’s apple cinnamon scented perfume gave her away. Her best friend loved to wear them during the Christmas season or when she needed a pick-me-up. Jackie unlocked the door and let her in. Riley gave her a brisk hug. As she was pulling away, Riley placed both hands on either side of Jackie’s cheeks causing her to stand still while Riley turned her head this way and that.


    “Are you okay? I called your phone, and you didn’t pick up.”


    Jackie pat her pockets and spoke through squished lips, “Oh, I left it downstairs in the car.”


    Riley looked at her, a concerned look in her eyes.


    “You didn’t lock your keys in the car as well, did you? You sound so lifeless and distracted.”


    Jackie pointed at the bowl on the glass table where she had deposited her keys.


    “I’m not that dumb…” Jackie said then ambled back to her computer, eager to finish where she left off. Next on the list is the hormonal imbalance report Jackie submitted three years ago. She furrowed her brows, scanned the notes and found the corresponding documents. She skimmed its contents. These were all her failures. The things that were tossed out by their department heads. They also needed heavy revisions. Most, if not all, of these were her shortcomings as an undergrad.


    “What are you doing?” Riley asked, putting her chin on her friend’s shoulder.


    “Why would anyone want these?” Jackie pointed at the screen. “There are typos everywhere and some of my math is off. It is clearly incomplete.”


    “I don’t even know what I’m looking at, so I’ll just take your word for it. But why are you looking at these?”


    “The killer took these before or after he killed Simon and I’m trying to find him—”


    “You’re trying to chase down a murderer?”


    Sighing, Jackie replied, “He killed Simon and I could be next.”


    Riley cocked her head to the side, opening and closing her mouth. She then looked skyward before her gaze returned to her bestie’s as she said, “I know I can’t change your mind, but can’t we just report this to the police first?”


    Jackie gave her an exasperated look.


    “Sure but I doubt anything will come from it.”