Page 36 of When You're Gone

"Amelia? What time isit?" His voice scratched, throat raw as if he’d been shouting in hissleep.

"I've been trying your phonefor ages," she stated, her tone carrying the weight of unspoken news.

"Sorry," Finn mumbled,rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye. "I was dead to the world."

"Seems you needed it."There was a hint of concern in her voice that softened the edges of herauthoritative demeanor.

"Ha," Finn scoffed out adry chuckle, squinting down at her as he leaned on the windowsill. "Thisfeels very Romeo and Juliet."

"Except you're Juliet, upthere in the window," Amelia retorted, a wry smile touching her lipsdespite the situation.

"Touché, InspectorWinters," Finn replied with an attempt at lightness, though the jest fadedquickly in the face of her grim expression.

"Get dressed," was allshe said before turning away, leaving Finn haunted by the certainty that thenightmare he'd woken from had merely shifted into reality.

Finn's hand hovered over thestaircase railing, a chill from the night air still clinging to his skin as hedescended. He could hear Amelia pacing in the foyer below, the soft tap of hershoes against the wooden floorboards a stark contrast to the urgency that hadpulled him from his bed.

"Amelia," he called out,his voice steadier than moments ago.

At the sound of his footsteps, shehalted, turning to face him with an intensity that bordered on impatience. Finnreached the bottom step and met her gaze, the gravity in her eyes telegraphingthe severity of what was to come.

"Tea? Coffee?" heoffered, gesturing toward the dimly lit kitchen. It was a feeble attempt toinject some normalcy into the early hours of their impromptu meeting.

"No time," Amelia repliedbriskly, her hands clasped together as if to physically hold back the tide ofinformation she was about to unleash. "Another person has beenmurdered."

The words hung heavily betweenthem, a grim echo of the pattern they were becoming all too familiar with. Thesilence was brief, but it allowed the reality to sink its claws into Finn'salready weary mind.

***

They arrived at the abandoned postoffice at daybreak, the building standing like a haunted relic amidst thesilent street, a place forgotten by time but remembered by malice. Crime scenetape flapped weakly in the breeze, the only sound apart from their approachingfootsteps.

"Inspector Winters,Finn," greeted Rob, emerging from the shadows that clung to the entrance.His expression was grim, his usual stoicism failing to mask the concern etchedinto his features.

“Chief,” said Amelia, nodding.

"Rob," Finn said wearily,"what have we got?"

"Name's Henry Walsh," Robsaid, leading them through the vacant corridors of the post office.

"Like Emily Stanton, Henry wasa live streamer Big following. Millions in fact. This will be all over thenews. He was only twenty-six."

"Damn," Finn mutteredunder his breath, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the youth snuffed out socallously, another life reduced to a statistic in their growing investigation.

"Here." Rob stoppedshort, and they rounded a corner into a room that once might have bustled withpostal workers, now reduced to a tomb of scattered envelopes and dust.

"This is getting worse by theday," Rob commented, an understatement that resonated with the cold factthat they were now staring at a spree with no end in sight.

Amelia's rubbed her temples, asubtle sign of her rising frustration that Finn had come to recognize. Heshared the sentiment, the weight of each victim pressing down on them,demanding an answer.

"Let's take a look," Finnsaid, stepping closer to the scene, his eyes scanning the environment that hadbecome Henry Walsh's final stage.

Henry Walsh's body was a grotesquemarionette, slumped over the tarnished brass of old postal scales. The grime ofthe abandoned post office clung to him as though he were part of its decay.Finn crouched beside him, the cut across his neck a violent contrast to thepallid skin, stark and deliberate.

"Clean," Amelia observedquietly from over Finn's shoulder, her voice steady despite the tableau beforethem. "No other bruises..."

"Means he knew his killer andwas taken by surprise or..." Finn straightened up, surveying thedesolation around them, "was forced here at gunpoint. No signs of astruggle."

"Voluntarily walking into yourown death," she mused, with a note of irony that didn't quite mask herunderlying horror. Their breaths formed wisps in the chill air, fleetingevidence of life amidst so much death.

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