It was 3 AM, and Sam was abruptly awakened by the persistent ringing of his phone. Irritation filled his groggy thoughts as he reluctantly reached for the device, hoping the caller would give up and let
him return to his slumber. "What?" he grumbled in a sleepy tone, regretting his decision to answer. It was the police, informing him of a body that had been discovered. Sam resigned himself to the
reality that his job knew no boundaries when it came to sleep. "I'll be there in 30," he mumbled, drowsiness tainting his voice.
Half an hour later, Sam arrived at the crime scene, a cup of coffee in his hand attempting to fend off the cold bitterness of the night. A look of distaste adorned his face, the frustration of interrupted rest
evident. "Talk to me, officers," he demanded as he approached the on-site police. They explained that there were no signs of forced entry, no indications of a struggle, and no external marks on the
victim. The neighbor had reported hearing screams late the previous night, followed by an unsettling silence that prompted the call to the authorities.
"Great way to start my morning," Sam muttered, maintaining his disgusted expression. "Where is the body?" he inquired, bracing himself for what he was about to witness. As he stepped further into the victim's apartment, his eyes widened, and his grip on the coffee cup loosened, causing it to crash to
the ground, spilling its contents. The scene before him was unlike anything he had ever encountered.
The victim had been killed in a macabre and unique manner—suspended in a sitting position, adorned in a tuxedo with a button on his left collar, bearing the number 42. Clutched tightly in the
victim's right hand was a handwritten note that read, "and sold to No. 42," as if the poor soul was part of an auction.
"What is this?" Sam asked in disbelief, unable to tear his eyes away. He cautiously approached, examining the victim's face—an eerie smile frozen upon it as if he was still alive. Shock reverberated
through his core. Despite his ten years in the force, he had never witnessed something so gruesome.
"You said there were no signs of forced entry?" he questioned the officer beside him. "Yes, sir," the officer replied, sharing in Sam's mixture of disgust and disbelief.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Sam instructed his team, "Okay, boys, it seems we have our work cut out for us. And where is Eric?" His partner had yet to be found. "We tried reaching him
multiple times, but he hasn't answered his phone," came the disheartening response. "Great," Sam muttered sarcastically, "I guess it's only fair to punish the one who doesn't drink himself to sleep."
Retrieving his notebook, he continued, "Which neighbor made that call? Let's start with them."
They proceeded to the door of the concerned neighbor. Sam knocked, trying to maintain a professional tone despite the grim situation. "Helloooo, anybody home? This is the police, and we would like to ask you a few questions," Sam announced after several knocks. Moments later, the door opened slightly, revealing the neighbor peeking through the narrow opening. "How can I help you,
officer?" she inquired cautiously. Displaying his badge, Sam introduced himself as Detective Samuel Michaelson and requested permission to ask a few questions about her neighbor, Mr. Peter Salt.
With a slight nod, she invited them inside, offering coffee, which Sam declined, keen to proceed with the inquiry. "I live alone with my cats, so I don't get visitors often," she mentioned, motioning for
them to take a seat. "What was your relationship like with your neighbor, Mr. Salt?" Sam inquired.
"To be honest, we never really talked much. He always kept to himself," she explained. "Sometimes, he would come back drunk and pass out in front of his apartment. I always felt pity for him. But last night, I heard screams coming from his apartment. Mind you, this wasn't the first time. He would frequently scream and talk to himself, lamenting how he had failed in life. But last night was
different. It sounded as if he was having a conversation with someone. Then the screams and pleas started. He kept repeating, 'I'm not who I used to be anymore, I promise.' And he just kept
screaming," she recounted, her concern clearly evident. "That's when I got scared and called the police."
Sam's stern expression deepened. He took a moment to let the weight of those words sink in. Finally, he uttered, "Mr. Salt was murdered, ma'am." Sam articulated as he finished writing key points in his
note, "oh my Goodness who could've done such a thing?, he was a sweet man" she said as a solitary teardrop gracefully traced its path down her face, "that's what we're going to figure out ma'am" Sam said in a comforting tone as he gracefully rose to his feet, "did Mr salt have any family, friends or
enemies perhaps anyone who has threatened him before? Sam asked as he was in the process of making his exit, "uhh no, i don't think so, he was a sweet man who loved beating himself up" she
uttered still in tears she offered a dissenting shake of her head "Very well, madam. I appreciate your time". Sam conveyed his gratitude as he and the accompanying officers departed the neighbor's apartment. After the interview with the neighbor, Sam revisited the crime scene to find that the forensic team had already meticulously documented the chilling tableau in Mr. Salt's living room. "First thing tomorrow morning i want the autopsy results" Sam instructed the forensic team as he retreated to his
vehicle, Upon his return home, Sam found himself haunted by the image of Mr. Salt and the singular, gruesome manner in which he had met his demise. As his revulsion deepened, so did his intrigue, fueling his relentless curiosity about the identity of the perpetrator and the motives behind such a distinctive murder.
A gentle voice, originating from the bedroom, softly resonated with the words, 'Darling, is that you?', "Baby did I wake you up?" " Sam inquired, his movements deliberate as he removed his clothing and made his way to the bedroom. "No, my love. I was waiting for you," Sam's wife replied, gracefully adjusting herself to a sitting position. "Grace you're four months pregnant, you really shouldn't keep yourself up this late at night" Sam said with genuine concern, as he joined her in bed. "You know I can't sleep when
you leave late at night in a hurry" Grace responded with a gentle touch, her fingers tenderly gliding over his head as it rested on the pillow. "so tell me, what happened, you look pale" With a concerned expression still etched on Sam's face, Grace inquired, her worry evident in her voice.
Baby, I witnessed something deeply disturbing today," Sam began to elaborate, his voice laced with solemnity. "The victim was killed in an extraordinary manner, unlike anything I've encountered before.
There were no signs of forced entry, no struggle; it was almost as if the victim was acquainted with the killer. The method of murder continues to haunt me, and though I haven't yet figured out how, I'm determined to find answers. I'll have the results in the morning, and I will bring the murderer to justice." "Oh, my word, how was the victim murdered?" Grace inquired, her curiosity intensifying with each uttered word. "Okay that's enough information for one night, I need to go to bed I've got a long day tomorrow" Sam declared, as he prepared to surrender himself to slumber. "you're very boring I hope you know that" Grace said in protest as Sam resigned himself to sleep, "I love you too" He replied and shut his eyes immediately after.