Chapter Four.

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I keep thinking about how lovely it would be to have my own padded cell, but quickly realize one flaw: I'm not a psycho killer. Not yet anyway.

I don't even remember getting in the car, with Rogers driving me back to the CSI.

Rogers looks at me like I'm insane because apparently I am talking to myself. "Kylie?" she asks. "Are you okay? You seem... anxious."

"Why would I be anxoius?" I ask sarcastically. "Both my parents murdered and their psycho killer may be my biological father. No, that's no reason at all to be anxious." I'll feel sorry about my cruel rude talk to this nice woman later.

"Well, I do understand that, hun. Really I do." Curse her extreme kindness.

"I'm sorry, Rogers. You're trying to help me and I'm being a bitch," I say, not even caring that I probably shouldn't apologize.

"Hey, it isn't your fault. He's the psycho, here, not you," Rogers replies. "And watch your language, Kylie-Rae. I don't think your mother would appreciate it." She smiles.

That's when I really start to think that I may actually like Rogers. She understands me. "Hey, agent, I don't think it's very polite to use victim's real names," I smirk.

"It's all part of the job," she responds with a smirk of her own.

"Rogers?"

"Yes?"

"How'd you decide you wanted to be a CSI agent?" I ask sincerely.

She answers, "Well, Ky, I've always been interested in finding out what killed people--or who, in this case. Even as a kid, I used to take the fish in our koy pond and have a 'mystery' killer, using one of my brothers, and had one of them choose who got to kill the fish and how. Then I examined the 'case' and determined who the killer was."

"And who was it?"

"Someone different every time, though usually it was Timmy."

"Timmy?" I ask. "Wasn't he one of the agents I saw earlier?"

"Yep," she replies. "Hey, don't you need a place to stay until we get the case figured out?"

"Um, yeah," I say. "Why?"

"Why don't you come stay with me," she suggests, a small smile forming on her tan-ish face.

"Really?" I ask, face lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"Oh, sure. I mean, why not?" Her face turns into a full-blown smirk and grin combo. "It'll be just like an long slumber party! We can paint each other's nails, and watch bad horror movies, and stay up!"

I stifle a laugh. "Please tell me you're being sarcastic," I plead.

"Well duh," is her response. "Except the horror movies."

I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. "Except the horror movies, of course."

We laugh, and I think about where my mom is now. Judgement? Heaven? Hell? I shudder. No, not hell. She's too... Well, maybe. She HAS lied to me my whole 14 years of existence.

I jump, feeling my phone vibrate. Rogers gives me a look that says maybe-the-psyche-ward-is-her-best-option. I pull my butt-ugly maroon-colored cell phone out of my jeans pocket and hold it up so she can see. "Ah," she says. "Your phone scared the living hell out of you."

I stick out my tongue. "Maybe," I respond, turning my attention back to the little cell screen.

Hey, Ky! it reads. How R U? Long time no chat.

I fight yet another smile today. Maybe I should just tape my mouth together in a perma-frown. The text message is from Alysin, the last person I saw before seeing my dead mother. But I don't reply to the text; I never really cared about Alysin ever since she stole my fruit snacks back in third grade. Yes, I remember that far back.

Sigh, why can't my life be normal? I don't want to be the killer's daughter. I look out my side window and let a few tears escape. I'll save the real ones for the stupid horror movies tonight at Rogers' house.

She surprises me by pulling her little car into the crime scene house. "What're you doing?" I ask.

"Don'tcha need your stuff?" Rogers asks.

"Eh, I could deal with one night. I'll go shopping tomorrow." I pat my handbag, which contains $100 I took from my mom's old rugged wallet.

"Mhm," she mumbles. "Fine then, let's go back to the station."

"Why can't we go back to your house to watch the crappy horror flicks?" I whine, sounding like a small child.

She laughs. "Because I wanna investigate another case further."

I pout as she drives to the CSI station, with Rogers laughing all the way. Ha, ha, ha. (Notice the Christmas parody-ish?)

I pull my light auburn hair into a braid and brush my bangs over my left blue eye. "Wait... Can I help?" I ask, my face lighting up as I drop the pout.

She sighs dramatically, making a face. Now it's my turn to laugh. "Ugh. I guess so. But hear me out when I say this: Jones ain't gonna want no kid screwing up a case," she says.

I stick out my tongue on impulse; Rogers laughs and elbows me playfully as she drives to the station.

She pulls into the parking lot and takes me inside. "That's Jones," she mutters under her breath to me as we pass a chubby man with a worn look on his face. "Don't piss him off."

I smirk, and walk with her to the autopsy lab. She looks at an official-looking file document, and scans the file cabinet-looking compartments till she finds the right one. "Ah," she says, pulling out a drawer after unlocking it, revealing a pale white man with bloodshot eyes. "Found it."

"Woah," I say. "Who's that?"

She looks me straight in the eyes and says, "Fredrick Haven."

My jaw drops.

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Hey guys! CG here(:

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CullenGirl :3

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