Daily Dose of Serial

The sails whipped in the morning breeze. The boat not moving at all in the wind. Being that it was sitting on dry land might be the root cause. He smirked to himself how surreal it felt to be stationary, while at the same time, looking across the grass as if it were a real ocean.  The sun was just clearing the treeline in the distance giving the dew covered field the appearance of the usual great blue expanse. Blades of nature moved with the breeze as if waves of water dancing in the morning light.  Were it not for the yellow flowers disperced amongst the greenery, the image would be possible.



While most people stop to rest on benches, he had found the abandoned boat a comfortable place to rest his own "sea legs".  Surely, some redneck had left it sitting on their property discarding it like any other vehicle that was beyond use. Their laziness was his excuse to be lazy himself. This makeshift rest stop allowed him to pause his journey long enough to gather back some strength from the days he'd been travelling.  The small vessel would barely house two burley fishermen. Yet, it's size was perfect for his needs. He briefly imagined himself pirating the seas before finally pushing himself to move on.



Reaching down he scooped up his backpack by a strap and slung it behind him.  Maybe the next town ahead would have some magical treasure to make his journey worth while.  He amused himself with more piratey thoughts and he headed on down the road.  As his mind drifted off into his throughts the hours passed before he'd even realized he was standing at the door to breakfast.



The diner's smell of bacon brought him back to reality. He'd forgotten how long it had been since he last ate.  As he opened the door he was greated with a cacophony of glorious scents.  Coffee mixed with maple syrup, hashbrowns with butter.  His mouth watered as he slid to the bar.



Clara noticed the man immediately.  She'd been waitressing in this rinky dink town for close to 40 years.  She'd seen plenty of drifters before, and she sighed at the sight of him. He'll eat. Leave. And of course, not tip.  He looked cleaner than most of those types that wandered in here.  At least this one was clean shaven. He even looked showered which was more than she could say about most of the folks that came in, including the regulars.



Without so much as a glance at her, the man requested coffee, eggs, toast and bacon. He was too busy being focused on the television. 



"Again at this time, we have no information regarding the body found last night. The unidentified teenager was found brutally murdered in her home." 



That poor dear, Clara thought.  She had been here for 58 years and this town has never had a murder.  What has this world come to?  As she set the cup of coffee in front of the stranger he again didn't turn from the news story that was being repeated all morning.



He wondered to himself as he watched. Was this a one time incident?  His eyes glistened as he stared at the screen. He was pretty sure this town was about to see their fair share of death.











Edward Stevens was your typical southern small town policeman.  He didn't consider himself Barney Fife-like but people often called him Barney anyhow. Most townsfolk, just like anywhere else, had little respect for law enforcement.  Growing up, Ed found himself longing to be a policeman saving people's lives.  He wasn't about the respect.  He had yet to save anyone, nor any cats from trees, but still he was good at what he did.



His first murder, not what he expected to see when he walked onto the scene.  The movies always have murky rainy scenes or chalk figures on the ground.  Not this one.  The morning sun beat down, already the heat breaking a sweat on his brow.  And there was too much blood for anyone to draw any lines around her.  The roped off area already had the town's other four law enforcement staff busy at work inside it's perimeter. Already they five of them were severally outnumbered by both onlookers and camermen.



Is it cameramen still? He wondered. Or is it camera person these days? Just as fast as the thought crossed his mind, he turned his mind back onto the scene around him. 



Wiping the sweat again from his brow he continued his hand back through his short brown mop of a doo.  He wished he'd grabbed his hat from his car.  The sun was going to be relentless out here.  Any shade, even a two inch brim of his issued hat would be a welcome assistance today.  He could see the blood already crusting from the suns rays.



So much blood. No training prepares you for the real thing.



Mark and Sawyer, two of his counterparts, were rapidly trying to makeshift a tent with a tarp to both hide  the sun and onlookers from anymore infringement of the body.  Carefully they worked trying not to disturb the murder scene.



Murder scene. That's a phrase this little town never used before.  Those gawking from the far side of the ropes didn't seem at all uncomfortable with it,  as if it was a common thing around here.



Ed was disturbed by the whole thing.  The body, the blood and of course the message left nearby.  This was only the beginning.  He needed to accept that as fast as possible.