The next day Shannon awoke with an ache in her soul. Just by seeing that photo had brought back the horrible memory of when she had found his body, head lolled back against the seat, blood running down the side of his face onto his new blue suit. She had tried so desperately to remain calm those days that had followed the murder but without warning she would break down, never knowing the little things that she would miss once he was no longer there.

Sighing deeply her gaze led her to look at an old photograph of both her parents. The photo was taken nearly ten years ago, just a few weeks before Mrs. Larson walked out one night. Shannon was fifteen years old and remembers finding a note from her mother saying to call her if she ever needed anything. She had been so angry with her mother she had ripped the note up and threw it in the trash. Shannon doubted Mrs. Larson even knew Mr. Larson was dead, not that she even cared to let her know.

Dragging herself out of bed she tried to shake off the feeling of loneliness without success. Crissy met her in the hall. Shannon scooped her up and scratched her behind the ears; the young dog wagged her tail with satisfaction. When the pair reached the bottom of the staircase the phone rang.

Setting Crissy down she went into the kitchen and answered the phone. “Larson residence.”

An unfamiliar and hoarse voice whispered something on the other end of the line.

Shannon’s throat tightened, “I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you could you say that a bit louder?”

“Keep your nose out of this case Shannon.” It croaked.

Shannon slammed the phone down onto the receiver. She didn’t know why that one statement made her feel so uneasy. As she started to walk away the phone rang again. It rang about six times before the answering machine picked up. “Shannon it’s Mark, pick up the phone I know your home. I can understand if your mad but I need to talk to you.” He sighed loudly. “Just call me Shannon. I’ll have my cell phone on.”

The loud droning tone emitted from the machine once he hung up. She rolled her eyes; she hated it when people acted like she was going off the deep end. “I’m not going crazy Mark!” She said to the machine. It didn’t answer her, not that she had expected it to. Muttering under her breath she went outside to the back patio.