A LOVE FORGOTTEN

Shadow of doubts

I hadn't planned on coming home to an empty house. I should've stayed longer at the funeral, should've talked to more people, but all I wanted was to be alone. To think. The room felt suffocating, like the weight of all the unanswered questions was pressing in on me. I tossed my keys onto the counter and kicked off my shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor too loud in the silence. But nothing about today felt quiet, nothing about it was still.

James was dead. I had just buried my best friend.

But what really bothered me wasn't just the fact that he was gone—it was what I found in his room before the funeral. That damn black book. I could still see the worn edges of the leather cover in my mind, the way it had felt in my hands as I was about to turn it over, expecting some kind of message, some clue that could explain everything.

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone. Stolen.

No one had seen anything. I'd asked everyone, including his dad. But no one had any idea. James' father, a stoic man, didn't seem to care much about what I found in his son's room. That dismissal, that apathy—it gnawed at me. A quiet dread was crawling up my spine, whispering that I was missing something. Something big.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, my mind racing. I needed answers. The stolen book, the way James had been acting before he died—it didn't feel like an accident. I couldn't let this go. I couldn't shake the feeling that something, or someone, had been after him.

I picked up my phone and scrolled to a contact. A private investigator. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the call button and I said aloud I need to investigate this.

"You really think that's necessary?" Anita's voice came from behind me, making me jump. I hadn't even heard her come in. She leaned against the doorway, her face calm, almost too calm. "Ethan, you need to let this go."

I clenched my jaw. "Let it go? Anita, James is dead, and it doesn't add up."

She stepped closer, her gaze softening with practiced concern. "Sometimes things just… happen. Not everything has to be a mystery." Her voice dropped, coaxing, almost pleading. "James was a sweet guy. He didn't have enemies. You're torturing yourself for nothing."

"But the book—"

She cut me off gently. "Maybe it was just an accident. Don't waste your time chasing shadows."

Her words brushed against my doubt, but they didn't break it. Something in her eyes flickered for just a second—an edge of something sharp, cold. It was gone before I could grasp it.

I sighed, turning away, but the tension coiled tighter in my gut. She was wrong. She had to be.

After she left, the silence closed in again. I picked up the phone. My thumb hovered over the button.

Then I saw it—a faint reflection in the dark window.

Anita's car was still parked outside. She wasn't leaving.

She was watching.

I hit call.