Prologue
In the perspective of Detective Herb Jackson
The sun rose steadily over the mountains on an early Monday morning in the developing
town of Jeade. The air was crisp, though the weatherman had predicted that it would be
the first warm day of spring. Along the town’s border, congested highways tested the
patience of commuters navigating crowded roads. I, however, found myself tucked away in
the Jeade City Police Department, in the Forensics Center, where the workday had just
begun.
The division’s offices slowly filled with the groggy, yawning faces of men and women,
reluctantly returning to their routines. The ubiquitous coffee cups and donuts in hand were
the department’s hallmark—sticky glaze left behind on keyboards and doorknobs. Staff
members glanced out the windows, watching the traffic below, their eyes drawn to the
vibrant hues of the sunrise. It seemed like the beginning of a pleasant, warm day, but in
the precinct, the challenges of the job loomed ahead.
I arrived early this morning after a weekend that left me drained. Late nights, too much
alcohol—both of those were hard to bounce back from, especially for a man my age with a
full week of responsibility ahead. My middle son, Dean, celebrated his eighth birthday at
the bowling alley after our usual Sunday morning trip to the Methodist Church. Afterward,
my wife and I attended a wedding for a dear friend—the kind of friend who also happens to
own the local beer distillery. So, the reception was… well, let’s just say it was more lively
than expected.
I made my way to the Forensics Division, taking the elevator to the second floor. As I
passed the secretary’s station, I gave Dawn a friendly smile before walking down the
narrow hallway that led to my office. That hallway always seemed to offer some kind of
encounter—sometimes a shoulder bump with a colleague you’d rather avoid, inevitably
leading to a five-minute conversation easily avoidable with a wider hallway.
I opened the heavy glass door to my office and began preparing for the day. A striking blue
sky, dotted with white clouds, was above, although I glanced out the window at the
freeway, still choked with traffic. I picked up the first manila folder from the stack on my
desk—it was filled with classified material, including some graphic photos and police
summaries from an active investigation.
Just when I thought I had seen it all after fifteen years on the force, I remembered how a
lead pen and a hammer could truly reshape a person’s skull. As I reviewed the files, I
heard a faint knock on my door before it swung open.
“Hey there, hotshot,
” said Kevin, a fellow detective. His energy was unusually high for this
early in the morning, and his grin seemed to match.
“I heard you needed a ride home last
night. I’m surprised you made it in this early.
”
“Well, after the call I got at two this morning, I figured sleep was a lost cause,
” I said with a
wry smile.
“And don’t act like I’m not a pro at dodging hangovers.
”
Kevin was my partner—actually, he was the first detective I hired when I was promoted
three years ago to head the division. He’d started as a general detective, but his aptitude
and drive earned him a fast promotion to becoming unit leader.
“The police responded to a call early this morning from a home on Vensilla Street,
” I
informed him.
“They found the body of an elderly woman, bloodied in her bed. When I
spoke to the responders last night, I told them to secure the scene and that we’d send your
team over first thing in the morning to start gathering evidence. The scene should be pretty
much untouched.
” I handed him the address on a small yellow sticky note.
“Get your crew together. We’ll head over around nine.
”
Kevin adjusted his reading glasses, scanning the address.
“We’ll meet you there,
” he
replied before walking out of the room.
A few minutes later, as I was reading through another police summary, I was interrupted
once again. This time, it was Dawn, my secretary.
“Good morning, Herb,
” she greeted me warmly.
Dawn was the kind of person you could rely on—compassionate, kind, and always willing
to help others, even at her own expense.
“I left a little gift for Dean on your desk on Friday,
” she said.
“I know you were out on a call,
so I just left it by your computer.
”
“Yeah, I saw it,
” I replied.
“Sherry was upset with me for getting home so late. I didn’t make
it home until after nine.
”
“Oh my goodness, Herb. You really need to take some time off. You can’t keep working
these fourteen-hour days. Those kids of yours—they’ll be grown before you know it. You
need to be there for them.
”
I sighed, considering her words.
“I’ve always worked like this. It’s a habit I picked up from
my father. I haven’t been able to shake it.
”
“When I was at Fort Knox, I’d always get approval to stay late and load trucks for the next
day. I couldn’t bring myself to let the troops do all the heavy lifting in the morning.
”
Dawn shook her head.
“The police will handle the urgent stuff. I appreciate your
dedication, but you need a break. Your family needs you. Don’t let these years slip by.
”
For a brief moment, I mulled over her words. I understood what she was saying, but I
struggled to find a balance.
“This agency needs my devotion. If I don’t give everything I’ve got, how can I live with
myself? These cases won’t close themselves.
”
“You’re so stubborn, Herb,
” she said with a soft chuckle. She walked closer, gently rubbing
my shoulder with her weathered hand.
“I’ll be honest with you, Dawn,
” I said, my tone shifting.
“I don’t have much faith that
anyone else here can handle the darker aspects of this job. There’s a darkness in this
town that I’m just starting to comprehend.
”
I caught Dawn staring at the desk, her eyes wandering to the wooden box that sat on the
corner, the only thing not covered in files or coffee mugs. A smile briefly reappeared on her
face.
“What did Dean think of his present?” she asked.
“I’m not sure how you knew it was the exact book he wanted, but he loved it. It’s already
his favorite.
”
“Well, that’s perfect,
” she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
“He pointed it out to me in a
magazine last week.
”
After a brief pause, I returned my attention to the case summary in front of me.
“I sent over a few emails this weekend,
” I said, shifting focus.
“Could you follow up on
them? There are also assignment sheets for the crews you can distribute and some files I
wrapped up that need filing.
”
Dawn nodded.
“Anything else, Herb?”
“Decaf. Two sugars, one cream.
” I smirked.
I peered out the window once more. Traffic had eased, and the day was beginning to settle
into its usual rhythm. However, I was still preoccupied by the multitude of tasks ahead. I
quickly made a list in my head—Sherry’s doctor appointment was a priority. I couldn’t
afford to forget that.
Dawn returned with my coffee and set it on the desk.
“I peeked into Jay’s office. His lights are on, but I haven’t seen him yet. Is he already at the
house?”
“No,
” I replied, glancing at the clock.
“I haven’t even had a chance to meet with him about
it yet. The state is strongly recommending that we cut investigative positions to reduce
spending.
”
“We’re already stretched thin,
” she said, concern lining her face.
“If we lose more
detectives, you’ll never get to go home.
”
“I’m fighting it,
” I said.
“I have a meeting with the Lieutenant Governor tomorrow. It’s a
delicate relationship, so make sure the conference room is ready for us. We can’t afford to
start off on the wrong foot.
”
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
“Why is he so hard on you, Herb?”
“He wants answers,
” I said, regret heavy in my voice.
“And, truth be told, he’s not wrong.
The crime in Jeade is out of control. He thinks I can’t fix it, and I’m not sure I’m able to
prove him wrong yet.
”
Dawn hesitated for a moment, her gaze fixed on the window. I knew what she was
thinking.
“The Lion is going to fall, Dawn,
” I said softly, my voice low with resolve.
“I can’t sit on this
much longer.
”
Dawn looked at me with a mixture of concern and fear.
At that moment, Jay poked his head into my office.
“Am I interrupting anything, Mr.
Jackson?”
“No, come in. I have something for you.
” I handed him the weekly assignment sheet.
“I heard the agency is cutting a unit in June,
” he said, looking for confirmation.
“Nothing is certain yet,
” I replied.
“I’m doing everything I can to keep all four units we
have.
”
I glanced at the clock. Nine o’clock was fast approaching.
“If you don’t mind, I need to make a quick phone call,
” I told them.
Dawn and Jay left the office, the door clicking softly behind them. I dialed our family
physician’s number to schedule Sherry’s appointment.
As always, Doc answered with a warm, scratchy voice.
“Hello?”
“Doc, it’s Herb Jackson.
”
“Herb! How’s everything going? How are the kids?”
“Well, I can hardly believe it, but Dean just turned eight this weekend. As for William, well,
he’s your typical teenager—lives in the moment, makes poor decisions now and then.
”
Doc chuckled.
“I hope it’s not one of those poor decisions you’re calling about.
”
“No, actually, it’s Sherry. She’s been dealing with some mild stomach pain, dizziness, and
nausea over the last couple of weeks. It’s bothering her enough that she insists on seeing
you.
”
“How long has this been happening?”
“I’m not exactly sure. It could be anything, but I’d appreciate it if you could take a look.
Hopefully something simple—a quick check up and prescription.
”
“For an old friend like you, I’ll make time. I’m booked tomorrow, but I can see her around
five when the office closes.
” he offers.
“You’re a lifesaver, Doc. She’ll be thrilled.
”
Once the call ends, I immediately dial Sherry. It’s strange how quickly she’s come down
with something. She’s never one to make a fuss over minor pain or discomfort.
“Sherry?”
“I’m surprised you’re calling. Is everything okay?” she asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I rarely hear from you, Herb. It’s just odd that you’re calling me during your workday.
Do you not have a heavy caseload, or are you waiting until it’s time to come home this
evening to start your day?”
“Sherry, is this really necessary?” I ask, frustration creeping into my voice.
I can sense she has more to say, but before she does, I hear her swallow back her words,
and her tone shifts—there’s a noticeable emotional change.
“The kids feel like you’ve abandoned them. We haven’t even had the chance to talk about
it. Do you have time?” she asks, pausing for a response. I don’t immediately reply,
choosing instead to listen to the silence, knowing she’ll continue in a few moments.
“You
decided not to coach William this year in baseball, which is strange considering you’ve
coached him for the last eight years. It would be nice if you would talk to him,
” she adds,
her voice soft but firm.
“I will,
” I assure her.
“When you do come home, you’re pretty much dead to the world for the night. I know how
exhausted you are, but you don’t tell me about your day. I don’t know how you feel about
anything anymore. I couldn’t even tell you the last time you kissed me.
”
“Sherry…
”
“I’ve been sick, and you haven’t been here.
”
“Honey, I told you I would schedule you an appointment.
”
“Do you realize this is the most we’ve talked in the last week?” she responds quietly.
“You’re being awfully harsh right now, Sherry. How is this fair? I spent the entire weekend
with you.
”
“That’s bullshit, Herb!” she snaps.
“At our son’s birthday party, you sat at the back table in
the bowling alley, flipping through file folders. I’m sure it felt just like any other day for him.
”
She pauses, and the weight of her words sinks in.
“We had a great time at the wedding,
” I remind her, trying to grasp at a positive moment.
“Yes, for most of it,
” she agrees, her voice edged with bitterness.
“You got so drunk that
you started making a fool of yourself in front of people who I need votes from in November.
You finally let yourself relax, and you had no idea how to handle it.
”
Sherry is running for city council. I don’t quite understand why she’s worried about what
voters will think about a wedding reception.
“I could barely even eat last night,
” she continues.
“I vomited constantly throughout the
evening, unable to keep anything down.
”
“There’s no winning with you,
” I mutter under my breath.
“Why are you concerned about winning, Herb?” she responds sharply.
“I scheduled your appointment,
” I say after a brief pause. She can undoubtedly hear the
resignation in my voice.
“Tomorrow at five. Dr. Richardson was kind enough to make
special arrangements to see you.
”
“Principal Lambert wants to meet with one of us tomorrow after school to discuss her
concerns with William. I won’t be able to do both, so you’ll have to help me,
” she says, her
voice strained.
“I’ll call the school and see if Mrs. Lambert has time after school to talk to us today. I’ll
leave work early tomorrow so I can go with you to Dr. Richardson’s office. I want to be
there,
” I respond. I can hear her starting to cry through the phone.
“I’m sorry,
” I say, my
voice thick with guilt.
For ten or fifteen seconds, neither of us speaks. During that silence, I make a silent
promise to myself. I’ll change. I’ll focus on restoring my marriage and being there for my
wife and kids. But each moment of regret I feel, another thought reminds me I spend every
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
minute of overtime trying to protect them. This is a battle I fight every day.
Sherry and I go way back. We were high school sweethearts—the two everyone looked for
between classes. We’d sneak behind the theater’s thick black curtains, or we’d kiss under
the back staircase. We carved our names into nearly every wooden surface in that school.
When we weren’t in school, we were out causing trouble somewhere else. We spent
nearly every evening, weekend, and holiday together. Her younger brother played baseball
year-round—games at least three nights a week—so we attended most of them. But on
some nights, we’d sneak away to the car parked outside the stadium. After graduation, we
went our separate ways to college, but made time to see each other every weekend. She
majored in business at one of the most prestigious schools in our state, while I stayed local
to study forensic science. After she graduated with a business degree, she returned to
school for a second degree in political science. That was when I enlisted in the Army.
The next three years were the hardest of my life. We were apart more than we ever had
been before. We wrote letters as often as possible, but when I was sent to Afghanistan,
our communication was cut off for months until I returned to Fort Knox. The day I was
discharged was one of the best days of my life. On the flight home, I thought constantly
about how I would make up for the lost time, how excited I was to finally be with her again.
Seven weeks after I got off that plane, we received the news that we were going to be
parents for the first time. She was beginning her career in finance, and I had started as a
patrolman with the police department. It seemed like everything we had dreamed about as
kids was finally coming together. After nine difficult months, Sherry’s complicated
pregnancy ended, and she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Daisy. We were overjoyed,
but more nervous than we had ever been. Complications during the birth kept her in the
hospital longer than expected, and we quickly realized the extent of her injuries—and the
challenges she’d face if she managed to pull through. She fought for a week on a
ventilator, but ultimately, it wasn’t enough to save her.
Her passing devastated me. We had witnessed our greatest joy turn into one of the most
difficult trials we would ever face. We knew that if we could get through that, we could face
anything else life threw our way. It took several months before we even considered trying
again, but when we did, we were blessed with William.
That boy is grown now. He’s tall, stubborn, just like his father—and his mother. He
inherited every great quality Sherry has: keen athletic ability, a priceless smile, and just a
bit too little patience. I’ve let him down, I know that. Sherry’s the campaigner; I have no
business running for father of the year. The painful truth is that Sherry’s words are not
without merit. The worst part is, they confirm everything I’ve been trying to find excuses
for.
“Hey, hotshot! Did you decide not to come or what?” Kevin asked as he entered my office.
I glanced up at the clock—it was already two minutes past nine.
“Oh, shoot!” I exclaimed, louder than intended. In a quieter tone, I added,
“Sorry, Kev. I’m
running a bit behind.
” I quickly explained,
“I’ll be there in a minute—let me just shut down
my computer.
”
I began putting files away in the cabinet and closing tabs on my laptop.
“Herb, are you alright?” Kevin asked, his voice tinged with concern.
I nodded, choosing not to delve into any unnecessary explanations. It was better to leave
the conversation there. Instead, I focused on the task ahead—heading to Vensilla Street to
investigate the night-time murder.
“Keep it together. Keep it together,
” I whispered under my breath.
“I’m heading to Vensilla Street. If I get any calls, Dawn, please forward them to my
voicemail. I’ll be back by noon.
” I said, passing her desk.
I left the agency parking lot and pulled onto the two-lane road, taking a sharp left onto
another road before speeding up the freeway ramp. Since the school and work traffic had
quieted down for the day, I flew down the highway and took the third exit, heading into one
of Jeade’s largest residential areas near the college. Street after street of homes, packed
tightly together, lined the neighborhood. The yards were lush with Spring-green Bermuda
grass, still dewy from yesterday’s rain. The sun filtered through the oak trees, casting
gentle shadows over a little boy sitting beneath one. It felt like any ordinary, peaceful
morning—quiet, calm, and unhurried. The sounds of birds chirping and lawn mowers
humming replaced the buzz of the city’s downtown chaos.
“This neighborhood isn’t usually where we find incidents like this,
” I radioed to the other
cars.
“Everything seems normal here. I assume most people haven’t caught wind of this
yet.
”
“It’s definitely strange to be here for a homicide,
” a member of Kevin’s unit radioed back.
“Are you almost here?” Kevin’s voice came through the radio.
“I’m turning onto Vensilla Street from Park Street now,
” I replied.
I passed a few more houses, each with gleaming sidings, vibrant doors, and meticulously
trimmed yards. Then I arrived at 32 Vensilla Street—the scene of the homicide. The
house, though modest, stood out with its yellow door and bright red shingles. Other than
the police tape around it, the house fit right in with the rest of the neighborhood.
“I feel so out of place,
” I muttered aloud as I stepped out of the car and shut the door
behind me.
Kevin and another officer followed me to the front entrance. We donned shoe covers and
gloves to prevent contaminating any evidence. The body had already been removed, sent
off for examination, but no other physical evidence had been taken from the house.
“Ms. Marsh lived alone?” I asked.
“She’s been widowed for years. Lonnie moved out after high school, so she’s been living
alone ever since,
” Kevin explained. Lonnie, a fellow police officer, was a regular at meeting
up with our team for lunch dates.
“I bet he’s devastated,
” one detective said.
“I was thinking about stopping by his house tonight, taking him a card, maybe offering
some company for a while. Losing a mother’s hard—especially since his father’s also
gone. He’s grieving alone.
” I suggested.
They seemed sympathetic toward Lonnie, and I’m sure most of them considered joining
me. But Kevin, always focused, didn’t seem interested in small talk. He was already deep
in the crime scene.
“Through here, guys,
” a police officer directed us as he led us through the house and into
the bedroom.
“The medical examiner believes she was sleeping when the attack occurred.
She was in this bed.
”
“Has the lab confirmed the cause of death?” I asked.
I called the laboratory to see if they had any leads regarding the cause of Miss Marsh’s
death and any potential murder weapons related to her injuries.
“We think we have a
diagnosis, Mr. Jackson,
” a technician informed me.
“There are many puncture wounds, so
we have to expect the killer used some sort of sharp object. We found several broken
bones, bruises around her stomach, chest, and upper legs, as well as a severe skull
fracture.
”
I covered my mouth, processing the information.
“So, this was a brutal beating? A brutal
stabbing? She never stood a chance.
”
After a few clarifying questions, the call ended. We were all well-trained investigators, so
there was no need for lengthy team meetings or assigning tasks. The front door seemed
intact, which made it unlikely that it had been forced open. Kevin began examining the
exterior windows, checking for fingerprints or signs that someone had climbed or peeked
inside. I focused my attention on the bedroom where Ms. Marsh had been killed. There
were no signs of theft or any damage to her belongings—everything appeared
undisturbed.
“Mayor Meyers is out front, Herb,
” one of the detectives informed me.
I looked out the window. Mayor Meyers was standing beside his new green truck, still
gleaming from his recent purchase. He appeared just as puzzled as we were when we
arrived.
“This is crazy. This city used to be one of the safest in the state,
” he said to a
group of officers standing nearby.
“It all started when they put that highway right through
the middle of us. Once businesses started rolling in, our crime rate shot up. The economic
benefits are great, but incidents like this make it frustrating to develop this community.
”
I approached the truck. The mayor, with his high and tight black hair, had a few graying
patches in his stubble. His long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled
up to his elbows. He wore his usual disheveled style: no tie, shirt untucked.
“Didn’t you just get a new truck last year?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“And who picks
your colors?”
“Well, it’s good to see you too, Mr. Jackson,
” he said dryly.
“I have full faith you’ll get to the
bottom of this.
”
“Meyers, we’re doing our best, just like we always do,
” I replied, trying to remind him that
we didn’t need any judgment from elected officials like him, especially those who are so
quick to blame the highway for their negligence.
“What’s the story?” he asked, squinting toward the house. He had no clearance to enter.
“Stay out here, Meyers. It’s a crime scene,
” I said firmly.
“She was found around two this morning. We’ve still got a lot of work to do, and it’ll take
time to identify suspects,
” Kevin added from the doorstep.
“It’s a bit strange that someone like Ms. Marsh would have any visitors at that hour,
” the
mayor mused. He was trying to sound like he had a breakthrough.
“This is terrible.
”
Kevin continued his conversation with Meyers while I slipped back into the house. I was
trying to focus on the evidence and ignore the distractions. Then, I could hear a phone
ring—a sudden, alarming ringtone that quickly caught my attention.
Meyers, looking concerned, pulled out his phone to answer, likely the source of his sudden
anxiety. I motioned for Kevin to rejoin me inside.
“We’ve done most of what we can for now,
” I told him. I pointed to the team of officers.
“Tell
them to wrap up their exterior checks. We’ll review the photographs later, and the evidence
will go to forensics. The lack of a motive here is troubling, we will have to interview the
family.
”
I glanced out the door and saw the mayor ending his call. I signaled to the officers,
instructing them to clear out.
“Meyers, we’re wrapping up. I just need to board up the
windows and lock the door.
”
“Well, if you insist,
” he said, walking away.
“The lodge was calling. Apparently, we have a
leadership meeting this afternoon.
”
“And don’t forget the Lieutenant Governor will be in town tomorrow.
” I remind him, already
knowing that he wouldn’t miss an opportunity to rub elbows with powerful figures. Mayor
Meyers was smart—slick—slimy, like any self-serving politician would be.
After everyone left, I stayed behind, lost in my thoughts. I had a lot on my mind—Sherry’s
anger, William’s school problems, Dean’s disastrous birthday party. Kevin had gone with
the others, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I covered the exterior windows with wood to prevent curious neighbors from peering in. As
I stepped back and checked that everything was secure, I noticed the basement door was
wide open at the back of the house.
Why had Kevin not shut this?
The basement was pitch black, with only a sliver of light filtering through the open
doorway. I grabbed my flashlight and ventured inside, the darkness closing in around me.
The basement was filled with boxes—hoarded school supplies from Ms. Marsh’s
retirement. I began moving through the rooms, shining my light into each corner. It seemed
to grow darker the deeper I went, and the unease inside me began to intensify. There were
so many hiding places—so many places where someone could be lurking.
I noticed a fresh wet footprint on the floor, still damp from the morning dew outside. It
wasn’t mine. Someone else was in here.
My heart raced. I pulled my gun from its holster, realizing I wasn’t alone. My hand trembled
as I carefully moved forward. I shined my flashlight into the shadows, but saw nothing. I
tried to steady my breath, my body freezing in place.
Then, I saw him.
A man emerged from the darkness. I recognized that shirt, that hair, that face. I knew who
he was. The Lion.
He grabbed my arm with a tight grip, pinning it against the wall before I could react. My
flashlight flew from my hand, and before I could do anything, he twisted my wrist, forcing
the gun from my grip. His strength was overwhelming as he pressed me into the wall.
I struggled to break free, as he tightened his hold around my neck. Though the pressure
made my vision blur, I saw another figure appear out of the darkness. I start to fade,
feeling myself start to lose consciousness. Then I felt it — the blade. It penetrated my skin
with a sharp sting, cutting through the flesh just below my right eye. Pain exploded through
my face as he slashed again across my neck.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out. My head was spinning. My breaths were ragged.
And then, everything went dark. I am dying. I could no longer feel anything.
And even though my eyes are closed—I can see. Dean sitting on his bed, munching on
Teddy Grahams. There I was reading him a bedtime story. William’s triumphant smile after
hitting a homerun at the baseball field. He looks so proud.
And then it was gone. It was dark. This time, a much greater darkness than I’ve ever seen
before.
Complete, total, pitch black darkness.