I awake in a cold sweat to a loud noise and the sound of rain pattering on the roof. "Gloria?" She was next to me, also sitting upright. "You good, Edith?" "Yeah, you ok?" "Yeah." We paused for a split second. "So what the-" She tapped on the bed frame: '..-. ..- -.-. -.-' "was that?" I chuckled for a second, then getting up to investigate- I knew it was a bad idea, but what was I supposed to do, not know what was possibly knocked over? Yeah, right. As I walk down the short hallway and turn on the light to the kitchen, I see Cardboard on top of the fridge, frozen, staring at the front door. Going off track for a second, I know 'Cardboard' is one of the most ridiculous names for a cat ever, but Gloria thought it was funny so I went with it, thinking it was funny too. I stand on my tippy-toes to reach him and pet him as his eyes stay frozen on the door. "Anything there?" A voice, Gloria's, called behind me. "Just Cardboard staring at the door, I think something's up." She walked over. Suddenly, a knock on the door. "Your turn," I whisper to her. We take turns answering the door, as we both hate it. As the door creaked the silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. His shoulders were broad and he was wearing a long trench-coat and black hat. He was drenched in rain. "Good evening,
ma'am." His voice was welcoming, charming even. "Yes, sir?" He paused for a second, possibly thinking of what he was about to speak. "I was wondering, would you please be so kind to help with a mystery I've needed to solve?" "Of what kind, sir?" He tipped his hat to reveal the photo of a young woman, maybe in her early 40s, sitting on a bed with floral sheets holding a calico cat. The cat's eyes seemed to stick with me, their empty glare returning mine. My wife, she's gone missing. "And, no mean to sound rude, but why didn't you call the police for this, sir?" "I did, they directed me to you, they said you and your 'partner' be the best for the job." I was flattered, and I could tell Gloria was too. "Alright, sir, we'll get on it right away- could you by chance have any evidence of her whereabouts, or who possibly took her?" He nodded and gestured towards his car. Its black paint shined within the streetlights. We walked over to it, the rain lightly pounding on our backs. He opened
the door, pulling out and opening a suitcase of plastic zipper-seal bags. Within some were pictures of the scene, of the bed she was upon in the very picture from before, within others were supposedly DNA samples like hair or blood. The bed was covered in light blood spatters, only passive drops. I thought to myself, "Man, this guy knows his stuff, he knew to bring pictures and everything." He even handled it all with gloves that he changed every so often, disinfecting his hands between each pair.
