The Man in the Shadows

Jessica Bowden’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as she gripped the steering wheel of her car, her trembling fingers slick with sweat. The flashing blue and red lights of the approaching police cars cast eerie shadows across the darkened street, illuminating the old farm house she had once called home. Now, it was a crime scene—a place of horror, a place where her mother lay dead.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare, flashing lights in the distant and the shouts of officers as they positioned themselves around the car, and the house, brought her back to reality.

Jessica had seen her mother’s lifeless body in the shadows of the morning dawn, sprawled across the living room floor, the house ransacked, papers and shattered glass littering the expensive hardwood. The image was burned into her mind, a grotesque painting she couldn’t erase.

"Step out of the car! Hands where we can see them!" shouted one of the officers.

The voice was commanding, sharp, leaving no room for argument. Jessica’s hands shook as she reached for the door handle, pushing it open. A cold gust of wind rushed in, making her shiver despite the summer heat. She slowly stepped out, arms raised as instructed, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Are you Jessica Bowden?" one of the officers, a tall man with a severe expression, asked as he approached, gun drawn but lowered.

"Y-yes," she stammered. "I called 911. My mother…she’s inside. She," Jessica’s voice trailed off as she began to weep.

"Turn around, hands behind your back." The officer meant business.

Jessica’s eyes widened. "What? No! I just found her! I didn’t…" she followed the instructions, in a daze.

"Standard procedure," the officer said, his tone giving nothing away. Before she could protest further, the cold steel of handcuffs snapped around her wrists. A fresh wave of panic surged through her. “You are not under arrest“ he continued. We are just detaining you for the moment.” He explained.

The other officers moved past her, weapons drawn, stepping into the house. Muffled voices crackled through their radios. Jessica stood frozen, her mind racing. Why were they treating her like a suspect? Shouldn’t they be looking for the real killer? The person who had turned her mother’s home upside down and taken her life in cold blood?

Minutes stretched into eternity before the Sheriff stepped onto the porch, his gray eyes calculating as he studied her. His uniform was crisp, and she knew he held some authority. His badge hung from his belt. "Jessica Bowden? I’m Sheriff Franklin. You found your mother’s body?"

She swallowed hard. "Yes. I heard something like furniture being turned over and I got out of bed to see what was going on.” The Sheriff looked at her disheveled hair, and pajamas.

It was dark, but I could see what looked like light from a flashlight moving across the room. I knew by the size of the person with the light that it was not my mother. The front door was open. The house was a mess. I thought maybe mom had been robbed. Then I saw her lying on the floor. I could see a pool of something on the floor by her head, and she wasn’t moving." Her voice broke on the last word, and a lump formed in her throat. “I called 911 and ran. I didn’t know if the man would come after me."

The Sheriff nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. "You said the house was ransacked. Do you know if anything was taken?"

Jessica shook her head. "I don’t know. I have been hiding in my car the whole time. I did see the man leave. He walked right past my car.” Her voice cracked in fear. “I was so scared he would see me, or hear the dispatcher talking to me. But he seemed to be in a hurry. "

Franklin exchanged a glance with the uniformed officer who had just exited the house. "Take those off."

"We’ll need you to come down to the station," Franklin said, his voice softer but firm. "Standard procedure. We need to ask you some questions."

Jessica exhaled sharply. "I just want to know why this happened. Who would do this?"

"That’s what we’re going to find out," Graves assured her, but there was something unreadable in his expression. "Change your clothes and meet me at the station at noon."

Jessica nodded. She was about to go into the house when the ambulance arrived, and she was once again detained until they could remove her mother’s body. It all seemed like a nightmare. When would she wake up?

At the station, Jessica was escorted to a cold, grey, and brightly lit room.

“Interrogation,” was all she could think. She sat in the room, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. The walls seemed to close in on her, the fluorescent lighting too bright, too artificial. It smelled of old coffee, stale cigarettes, and despair. She had seen rooms like this on TV crime shows, but this made it all too real.

Franklin entered, a folder in hand. He dropped it onto the table and sat across from her. "Tell me about your mother. Did she have any enemies? Someone who might have wanted to hurt her?"

Jessica shook her head. "No. She was kind. Generous. She lived a quiet life on the farm. Everyone loved her."

"What about your father?" Franklin asked, watching her reaction closely.

She hesitated. "He left when I was a child. It was just me and my mom."

Franklin leaned back in his chair. "Jessica, we have to consider all possibilities. Finding a loved one dead is traumatic, but the fact remains—you were the first one on the scene. That makes you a person of interest."

Her stomach twisted. "You think I had something to do with this?"

"I didn’t say that," he said evenly. "But we have to look at everything. Your mother’s house was trashed, yet nothing obvious was stolen—no electronics, no valuables. That suggests the killer was looking for something specific. Do you know what that could be?"

Jessica thought back to the mess, the overturned furniture, the shattered lamp, the open drawers. Her mother’s jewelry box had been left untouched. It didn’t make sense. If this had been a robbery, why wouldn’t they take the valuable items?

"I don’t know," she admitted. "But my mom kept journals. Lots of them. She wrote down everything. Maybe there’s something in them?"

Franklin nodded, considering. "We’ll need to take a look at those."

Jessica’s pulse quickened. " I need to find out who did this. My mother has lived in this community for the past 35 years, she didn’t deserve this."

Franklin sighed. "I know. And we will find out. But I need you to be honest with me. Is there anything—anything at all—that your mother was involved in that might have led to this? Can you think of the smallest detail, a conversation you may have overheard? Something that seemed out of the ordinary? Even if it doesn’t seem important, it may hold some answers?"

Jessica’s mind raced. Her mother had always been private about her past, about certain things. There were gaps in her life story that Jessica had never questioned until now. And then, something clicked.

"There was a man," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "a few months ago when I was visiting mom. He came to the farm. He spoke to my mother and I could tell there was tension between them. At the time, I assumed it was a bill collector, or someone mom had dated and then broke up with. When she saw him, she told him to leave. She looked angry and a little terrified. I asked her who he was, but she wouldn’t tell me."

Franklin sat up straighter. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

Jessica nodded slowly. "Tall. Maybe late fifties. He had a scar along his jaw. He was wearing a black ball cap, jeans, and a white tee shirt."

Franklin exchanged a glance with the officer standing by the door. "We’ll look into it. But Jessica, if there’s anything else you remember, anything at all, you need to call and update us."

Jessica swallowed hard. She had been watching far too many real crime shows on TV. She was setting herself up to be on edge about what could happen.

She wasn’t sure what scared her more the fact that her mother might have been hiding something, or the realization that whoever had killed her… might come back for whatever they hadn’t found.

And this time, they might come for her.

To Be Continued….