Suspect Your Elders

File 1

"Murder is like potato chips, you can't stop with just one."
~Stephen King

._._._._._.

The middle. That's where mysteries usually begin, right? They rarely start at the beginning. Well, we will start at the end of the beginning. The last line of your first paragraph in an essay.

Lily Evans was an intelligent woman. She was a redhead, green-eyed beauty. Her red locks the color of red fire, swishing in different directions as if it was a real life fire instead of hair. Her emerald green eyes were what people usually were drawn into, but only the ever so observer would notice that they are full of knowledge and mysteries.

Lily Evans had a best friend.

Her best friend was Emmeline Vance. A smart girl, that one. She had a long pixie cut and dazzling blue eyes that had a nick for solving problems and mysteries. Emmeline has always loved puzzles. Always have and always will. But that didn't affect her career as a starting musician.

"How's your boyfriend?"

"Good."

It was a boring conversation. They both knew Lily had been in hiding for three years now. That and that she was going to be going to another city. Just so he can't catch up to her.

"Where will you go next?"

"I think I'll be going to Mexico next. Or go back to New York City. Maybe Spain should be next."

"Lily," sighed Emmeline, "I want specified detail. Not general information."

"I know, but I've always loved letting you have a little adventure."

Emmeline smiled. Lily may have been in hiding for three years, but that didn't mean Emmeline gave up when she found out her best friend went missing. She worked hard into finding her. Even when people said she probably died, Emmeline still tried to find her best friend. She did it alone, and she succeeded.

"Why won't you take my suggestion of changing your name?"

"He'll be expecting it, plus this way it's easier."

"Why?"

"So I don't go to jail because I gave false identity to everyone."

"Two-faced bitches always do that," reasoned Emmeline.

"I may be a bitch at times, but I'm not two-faced. Mysterious, yes," smiled Lily.

"Lily, please."

"You can say all the pleases in the world, Emmeline. I'm not changing my name or telling you where I'll go next. Where would the fun be?" smirked Lily.

Emmeline rolled her eyes and shook her head, "Have it your way, but I always find you."

"I know. You've always loved puzzle pieces."

._._._._._.

The best detectives out there were obviously the Marauders, who were...

James Potter...
A 25-year-old man with a mess of raven-colored hair on his head and fascinating hazel eyes.

Sirius Black...
A 26-year-old man with a tad longer black hair and intriguing silver eyes.

Remus Lupin...
A 26-year-old man with soft brown hair and lovely amber eyes.

Peter Pettigrew...
A 25-year-old man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

After all, who else would you rather have solve the mysteries of London than the best of the best?

"James?" asked Remus, "You okay?"

"Yeah," said James absent-mindedly.

"No, he isn't. Someone misses runaway girl," whispered Sirius, loud enough for James to hear.

"Can we not talk about it?"

"How long has it been?"

"Three years."

"Why haven't you called?"

"I tried. I think a cat answered me."

"Probably changed her number," reasoned Remus.

"Did you ask-"

Before Sirius can continue, Remus said, "She is still a bit heartbroken that her best friend left her. She's still trying to find out where she is, although I think she's not pushing herself as much as she did when runaway girl first disappeared."

"Why not try to track her down?" piped in Peter.

"It's not like he hasn't been doing it for years," muttered Sirius.

"Tried Peter. It's like she went off the grid. Completely," said James, not listening to his best friend.

"To be honest, you didn't start dating when she disappeared. I don't see what's the problem," shrugged Peter.

"We were close, Peter. Close. I could feel it."

"I'd love to stay and chat about James confessing his love to a girl he didn't even date or sleep with, but I've got a personal case to get going too."

"How is that personal case going with?" asked Remus.

"Not good, Remus," Sirius shook his head, "I'm afraid they'll put it under heart attack. It's not that big according to them, and it's been three months."

"She'll be mad."

"Ya think?" asked Sirius, knowing that she will be mad.

"See you later, lads," saluted Sirius and left.

._._._._._.

The dictionary states a mystery as A and B.

A being something that is difficult or impossible to understand or explain while B a novel, play, or film dealing with a puzzling crime, especially a murder.

B sounds rather true here, doesn't it? Because mysteries are never impossible. Hard or difficult, yes, but never impossible.

"Lily?" inquired a voice into the empty flat at Chiswick, London, United Kingdom.

"Lily, are you here?" asked a female voice.

"Damn it," cursed the same voice, nearly avoiding a mouse's trap.

The girl, by the sounds of it, was examining the flat. It was empty. Silent. It was trashed. Really trashed. Trashed as if a bunch of underaged teenagers were in an alcohol-involved party. There was some garbage on the floor. The bed was laid on its side as if someone was using it for protection from I don't know... bullets?

She must have left.

The sound of a door closing was heard from behind, and a loud bang!

The world stopped. Her last thoughts being she must have left. No more sun. No more moon. No more light. No more anything. It was pitch black.

"Not the target," said the killer into its sleeve," but someone very dearly close to the target."

"Excellent," came the reply in the killer's ear.

The killer smirked and left. The killer's job was done, after all. Not necessarily done, but half done. The killer didn't get its target, but they did get someone very dearly close to their original target.

But do know that it was definitely not the killer's first time doing this kind of stuff. The killer has done this many times, but nobody seemed to connect it. The killer was a murderer after all. A murderer of tonnes of stuff, but mostly, people was its specialty.

The killer decided to check this as a success in its mind.

After all...

The very dearly close person was dead.