Dark Explorations

(Samantha POV)

One of the many responsibilities they don’t tell you about when you sign on to become a member of law enforcement is the amount of paperwork you’ll need to do everyday. The amount only increases as your rank and range of responsibilities increase. When I agreed to join on to this investigation as a state attachment, I had not considered the effect it would have on my paperwork. Not simply the increase in reports and forms that needed to be made, but also the amount of time I would have to complete them. I found myself being pulled in new directions so often that a solid pile gets built up every day. The only positive I had found to this change in my routine was the fact it was marginally less boring than being on highway patrol three-fourths of the week.

I had turned an unoccupied conference room into my office for the afternoon as I went through page by page describing the interview last Sunday. It was now Tuesday and I found myself being hassled by the sheriff’s office to make my report as it was now a day late. In all fairness, Agent Zimmerman hadn’t made his report either. The office clerk was frustrated by our delays, but didn’t really have a position to make demands aside from a simple email reminding us. I didn’t want to make the poor woman wait for me so I went ahead and began it now. The only issue was I couldn’t figure out how to describe what happened.

When I spoke with other officers who were at the scene, but not in the room when the video played, they all independently came to the conclusion that the camera being destroyed affected the computer’s ability to record the incident. When they looked through the computer, they saw the gap in the footage and blamed it on the broken electronics. I didn’t correct them, I didn't know how I could. That assumption made zero logical sense, but the witness and Zimmerman both went along with it.

I stared at my written report on the computer screen and frustratingly watched my keyboard refuse to give me an answer. How do I approach this? If I wrote what happened as I remembered it, I would be giving a possibly different story than Zimmerman and the official statement by the sheriff’s office. That could lead to them questioning my capabilities as an officer or even assuming I lied. They could also take my story at face value and discredit Zimmerman, an outcome I did not want either. I rubbed my temples as a minor headache began to pulse in my head.

Anytime I thought too hard about what happened, the headache would return. No matter how many ibuprofen I took, it wouldn’t go away until I found something to distract myself. It was an ever present dull ache in my frontal lobe which sent waves of pain as I tried to imagine what the video looked like. It was as if static was all I could remember and the grainy particles were being directly pushed into my mind. This made zero sense. The only reason I couldn’t question it further was the headache that came from wondering why these headaches were happening. The noise that sent me recoiling and the gap in my memory was something that seemed almost paranormal. I may need to start considering a possible supernatural explanation for this headache. Too bad West Virginia wasn’t exactly known for their populations of kind helpful psychics who I could reach out to for assistance. Any witch in the woods of Appalachia was bad news and needed to be kept clear of.

I was forced from my reports and headache as the door of the conference room opened. I fixed my posture and was surprised when I saw the familiar Agent Zimmerman walk in. He wasn’t in his usual FBI jacket and instead wore a basic white dress shirt and black pants. He carried with him two McDonald’s bags and gave me a kind smile from his aging eyes. He walked over and sat one of them down next to me.

“I figured you wouldn’t have had lunch yet. Thought to get you something.”

He smiled as he sat down at another chair on the large conference table. He looked down into his bag and pulled out the same burger and fries he ordered last time we ate together and took a bite into it. I couldn’t help but smile at the gift. The distraction was a good way to ease the pain, but I couldn’t let my respite distract me. I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking that.

“I’m assuming you didn’t get this out of the kindness of your heart. What did you want?”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin as he placed back down the burger. His face twisted back into a serious and professional stare as he looked towards me.

“I want to know what you’re putting in your report.”

I sighed as he said it. A slow rolling ache began to form as I thought about the incident.

“I don’t know. The official statement by the department is that the video footage was not recoverable.”

He shook his head as I spoke.

“The department can say whatever it wants and we can write whatever we want. You’re a state police officer and I’m in the bureau. This is only a matter of bureaucracy and record keeping. The reason I ask is because I want to know why you deleted the footage and if I should tell the truth.”

I had to do a double take from my computer back towards Zimmerman. What did he just say? Me? I didn’t delete anything. I thought he did. I remember it as such. I was incredulous as my jaw dropped and I found myself stammering.

“What? You’re the one who deleted the footage?”

It was his turn to be shocked as he dropped a fry he was about to eat into his lap.

“Huh? What are you saying?”

His voice wasn’t accusatory. It was a frank question. A matter of confusion as we both seemed to fail to understand what the other meant.

“I fell down when it started making that noise. You were right next to it and I thought you reached out and turned it off and deleted it.”

He shook his head.

“No, I covered my ears and you got up to shut it off. That’s what I remember.”

I just shook my head in response. We both stared at each other, like a poor game of chicken as we both waited to see who would concede. It wasn’t like either of us truly believed the other was lying. The genuine distress on his face told me he was as confused as I was at this difference in memory. I decided to ask the next obvious question.

“You don’t remember anything on the video either, do you?”

He shook his head in response.

“No, and I get this strange headache just trying to remember.”

He stroked his short facial hair as he stared at the food on the table. I found myself leaning back in my chair just trying to figure out something while this headache passed through. Neither of us spoke for at least a minute. Zimmerman seemed stumped as he could only stare helplessly into space. He finally closed his eyes and sighed before throwing up his hands, as if he was surrendering to an attacker.

“That’s it. I’m done with this shit. It’s not even related to my fucking case. I don’t have time for weird hillbilly magic in the middle of nowhere Appalachia. The locals can figure it out. I don’t know about you, Sam, but I’m going to say what the department said so I can just move on with my life.”

He stood up and grabbed his food to put back in the bag. I found myself shocked by his behavior. He always seemed stoic and distant. Was this getting under his skin?

“You’re seriously not questioning this?”

He shook his head as his unfocused eyes looked off into empty space.

“I’ve lived to fifty-two without seeing any ghost or feeling the need to go to church. I’ve had no trouble in my life because I know when to mind my business and let someone else in another department handle a problem. I’m not from these mountains. I grew up in Delaware and was happy to not have these spooky things happen around me. I’ll let a West Virginian handle this weirdness. I’ll focus on my serial killer case. I know you’re from here, so be my guess if you want to investigate. But I’m not sticking my neck out when it could only get cut.”

He wasn’t angry as he spoke. He was simply out of his depth and clearly tired. He was right that this likely had nothing to do with our serial killer case. Zimmerman grabbed his belongings and finally made his exit, leaving me with my food and paperwork. I sighed as the quiet returned to the room. At this point, saying he deleted the footage could only harm both of us. I didn’t need this turning into an investigation about possible poor policing as we played a blame game about who did it. Frankly, it was impossible to know who did it if we both admitted to having a poor memory of the moment anyways. I began to type up my report to be in line with the sheriff’s department.

It still bugged me though. Two wild murders in one week, each with no evidence and one having been possibly tampered with. Even if I ignore the odd headaches and the gaps in my memory, this was an odd situation and seemed closer to something out of a crime drama. Even if it was practical to assume the two were unconnected for now, it felt like a huge coincidence. Something in my gut told me they were and I needed to assume it was.

I didn’t have the same feeling of detachment as Zimmerman. He could be moved to a different investigation by his bosses at the bureau without his opinion. He could afford to not particularly care about the mystery aside from solving it. To me, this was my own backyard. It was my job to care. Maybe he was right, it would take a West Virginian to solve this one. A local who knew how the crazies and peculiarities of the area behaved and acted. Of course, that wasn’t exactly me. My detective skills were only surface level and what was trained at the academy, which was very little for the state police.

I submitted my final reports then leaned back into my chair and let my head rest as I stared at the ceiling. I closed my eyes as I tried to think of anything else, but these investigations. These headaches were driving me insane and if they continued I would make zero progress in figuring these cases out. It wasn’t just about solving a mystery. Four people had died. Three kids in college who had genuine futures. They were now dead and likely suffered torture just for someone’s sexual pleasure. I saw on the news one of the mothers crying at her only son’s funeral. She was hysterical as the body lay hidden in a coffin, too grotesque to let his family view him. Now just this Sunday, a mother of two adult children who left a widower. I wasn’t affected personally. But when you see these people left behind, you feel the need for justice. There needed to be justice for those who passed for the sake of those left behind.

I needed to find someone who could finish this puzzle. My vision was shattered as I tried to find a suspect. I needed someone who could stick out their neck for justice and find answers where there seemingly is none. If I had someone like that, I could get a lead and make something happen. Hopefully before there’s another victim.

My eyes shot open as an idea crossed my mind. It parted what seemed like a sea of headaches with a surprising amount of clarity. Miraculously, it also caused the pain to subside. I did know someone who was willing to throw himself into the fray of mystery in an attempt to find the truth. He may have an overactive imagination and is prone to theatrical theories, but he was smart enough to realize things that most did not. Alan Anthony could be that West Virginian we need.