𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐀

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛

Solomon could hear the sounds of his sneakers as slow, decisive footsteps scuffed against the winding, concrete path beneath his feet. The cemetery was quiet, the air still as he walked. The scent of fresh flowers lingered in the air, tombstones decorated with arrays of elaborate, colorful bouquets as far as he could see. The wind blew flower petals and fallen leaves from the trees about the cemetery - a cool breeze subtly wafting and nipping at Solomon's exposed arms. The cemetery was well taken care of - headstones in pristine condition, along with the look of freshly cut, vibrant green grass.

In life, Solomon and his sister, Samaria, were inseparable. Born less than two years apart from each other, the two of them shared a lot of the same moments, a lot of the same hardships, and a lot of the same experiences - and were there to see each other through various changes and transformations in their lives. Samaria was the first person he told when he decided to become a police officer, and the first person to congratulate him when he went through the police academy in secret. Solomon was the first person Samaria told when she was pregnant and scared of what to do - and the two of them worked it out together.

Yet in death, it was incredibly hard for Solomon to maintain that same sense of closeness. In his mind, it just wasn't the same - life had stopped for her, while life continued for him. And sometimes, he felt guilty. He felt undeserving.

Samaria's headstone was made of polished, black granite, with the design of two doves etched into the stone. The headstone was smooth, unbothered by the elements, with a large bouquet of pink and red flowers planted along either side.

Solomon could feel a sense of a longing, painful hurt wash over him, and he held back tears as his eyes scanned her headstone, his chest tightening as he exhaled sharply. He missed Samaria so much, and without her, he felt alone. He felt like a piece of him was missing - a piece that he'd never get back, a piece that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to soothe, trying to heal. He never got used to no longer being able to hear her voice, her laugh, or see her smile, and they were all things he was never going to be able to experience again.

Time didn't heal all wounds in Solomon's case - and grief never got any easier for him, either.

"Tough week?"

Looking over his shoulder, Solomon's eyes fell upon the tall, slender figure of his father. The spitting image of an older Solomon, Solomon Sr's features aged like fine wine - sporting a low Cesar along with a graying, salt and pepper colored beard. Dressed relaxed in a Jackson State University crewneck and sweatpants, retirement had been doing his father well.

Approaching from the side, his father's footsteps squished the grass beneath his feet, Solomon watching as his father laid the bouquet of roses in hands at the base of Samaria's headstone.

Exhaling, Solomon's shoulders slouched, "Way worse than tough. Was it this bad when you were in my position?"

"Of course it was - it just wasn't such a wildfire like how it is today with social media," Solomon Sr., nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He stared intently at the headstone, continuing, "Solving murders ain't never easy, but that's why they pay us to do it."

"I don't even know where to start," he admitted, shaking his head. "I feel like I'm still at square one, but these murders keep piling up. I can barely sleep."

"I can only imagine," his father sighed, "Now those leeches are all over it like white on rice. Only makes the job harder for the rest of us - cause now we have to deal with the court of public opinion."

Solomon was glad his father was able to sympathize with him. Nobody on the force could quite understand the predicament he felt trapped in. He wanted to do all that he could, but with what little information he had, he felt like his investigation was going nowhere, and fast. It had been months - bodies were piling up, and he had nothing to show for it. No suspects, no leads, no next steps. It was depressing to think about, and infuriating to know that for now, the Carmine Killer was running around freely.