Beyond the tree line

the beginning

( hey guys just wanted to let you guys know before you get started that it's my first time writing anything like this and it's very rough...I want to apologize in advance for any grammar error you will come across and sorry about the length of each chapters...they are pretty long...if you enjoy my work then comment, vote whatever and let me know because I'm still working on it and seeing where the story will go  )
Thanks all
Cae xxx

                                1.

You would think that as a highly qualified detective working for the county state law would earn you extra brownie point...but waiting impatiently at the counter of an old dingy diner somewhere of route 65, I had come to the conclusion that that is the biggest bunch of bullshit, because no matter how urgently you tell the diner lady that you are in a bit of a hurry and make an effort to flash your badge "discreetly" in her direction; that wrinkled, grey hairs, gum chewing diner girl...she'll just keep on clapping her traps on that old piece of stale gum and say nonchalantly in her heavy southern accent thick enough to slice through goats cheese "it'll come when it comes sweetheart, can't rush such a fine art."

What I wanted to tell her was that there was no god damn art to making filter coffee and that I would have to arrest her for "assault on an officer of the law" if she called me sweetheart one more time. I decided against saying either of these things and reluctantly kept me mouth shut. In the end, when the waitress had finally brought me a cup, I asked her to put the coffee in a "to-go" styrofoam. Checking my watch with much irritation, and had the realization I was late , and being late to a crime scene was never a good idea.

I had received the call in the early hours of the morning...2:00 am to be precise , from my colleague and long time partner Walter Blackwood, and by the sounds of his Grimm murmuring voice through the phone,  it wasn't good...but when are crime scenes ever good? So rather reluctantly I slipped out of bed and into me formal wear of black blouse and tight navy pants with my sleeked back low pony to compliment, sleep still clinging in the corners of my eyes, and headed down from Greymore by the route 65 to Gordon

Now Greymore and Gordon are a bit apart from each other but are the same town, if you understand my meaning. Both are undeniably small and don't usually show up on any given map. If you were to sneeze while driving past you might miss it completely. Founded during the 1800's by a group of colonist who called themselves Canis Lupineers who stumbled upon this land in the foothold surrounded by forest and pine woods, decided they liked the quiet serine feel of the wind through the branches and the way he mountains loomed almost like watchful eyes in the far distance.it hasn't changed much since then and its sleepy, quiet residents don't do too kindly to loud music, vulgar language and accents that don't mirror their own which makes growing up in this town just as hard as it is trying to leave it. It rains mostly every second day  and the weather never seems to change its meloncolly, Impetuous mood. These circumstances ,causing umbrella selling business to flourish.

On the day I responded to the call it was just like any other morning and although it hadn't started raining just yet , large looming clouds cast damp shadows all along Gordon.  I pulled into a dirt road after traveling along the deserted highway for about an hour or so and headed far south from Gordon. Though Walters directs had been rather vague to say the least, i knew I was heading in the right direction when I came across a wooden, paint chipped sign that greeted me along my pilgrimage. I slowed my car down to a crawl to get a better look at the letters, the brakes of my old mustang shrieking in protest
" Sterling home" was written in bold but faded words along the rickety old plank of wood. Just by looking at the rust along the pole and the crust settled in the corners told me the farm I was heading to had long since been lived in.  An eerie shiver ran along the bringer of my spine but I shook it off by shifting into gear and stepping on the accelerator.