Finola cranked up the music on her car's radio when a song by Fun. came on. She belted out the lyrics while driving back home after a long day of school. Apart from the odd encounter with Leslie, who she didn't see again for the whole day, everything was pretty normal. A pop quiz in Math class about the one thing Finola did understand - simultaneous equations - and an English Literature essay on understanding the characters in the book Death of a Salesman, were her highlights of the day.
The time was five fifteen, Finola had stayed late for the afterschool photography club that was held every Wednesday. Few of the other club members spoke to her, as she was regarded as one of the elite populars in Cyprus Academy. She had broken the status quo a bit by not joining the other popular girls at the school field, who were adorned in skimpy navy, black and gold cheerleading outfits, practicing the school cheer with a handful of airborne somersaults and cartwheels. Finola was once invited to join them, but she quickly refused, explaining that her lack of coordination and gymnastics skills would surely bring school cheer down to the ground. That was not always the case; Finola was quite acrobatic and sporty back when she was a ten-year-old child. Although one day two years later, when her father returned from South Korea with a fancy Nikon camera, Finola was hastily hooked into all that was photography. Her friends had supported her passion, probably due to the fact that her school-related photos showed up in the yearbook.
Right then she had hundreds of photos in her MacBook Air back home, patiently waiting to be sifted through before the deadline of next week Thursday.
As she turned into Burberry Lane, she noticed a yellow band that partitioned off a certain area near the woods. Her hometown Winslow was surrounded by a forest, with dots of lavish trees scattered around the city.
Finola neared the area, wondering what was going on. POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS was the bold black writing on the bright yellow tape. Several police officers were there, some investigating the area, others interviewing people and two were crouched beside a body on the ground, chatting animatedly amongst themselves.
Finola noticed that the separated area was fairly close to the stately home of Reese Logan, her boyfriend.
Maybe he knows what's going on, she thought and parked at the curb near the elegant maisonette.
Finola got out of her car and got a closer view of the possible crime scene. The body was partially covered; she could see messy dark brown hair and the unmoving bare chest of a young male. She also spotted a bright blue mountain bike, similar to the one Reese used when they went biking last summer.
Wait a minute...
Finola sprinted up the slightly inclined yard of the Logans' house until she reached the band.
"I'm sorry Miss, you are not allowed near here." A balding burly cop stated in a professionally polite tone.
Tears began running down Finola's flushed cheeks even before she could confirm the identity of the body. "I-Is that..." A sob rocked her petite body. "Is that Reese?"
The seconds the cop used to answer the question stretched out for eons in Finola's head. All the memories from their previous dates rushed through her mind in quick succession. The time he taught me how to ice skate... When we tried to make dinner for our double date with Leslie and Roy Turner... Attempting to carve our initials on the pine tree at the right hand corner of his back yard...
When the cop answered, Finola didn't hear the words coming out of his mouth. All she saw was him nodding, Reese's seemingly lifeless body on the leafy ground as she heard the sound of a wailing ambulance growing closer and closer.
