The parking lot was dark. There was an eerie sound from parked cars leaking oil and the screeching whistles of the wind brushing against open, rusted car doors. The cars were old, and they belonged to Mr. Bentley. Though his surname might suggest he came from a well-off family, it was merely irony—he did valuable work towards the relief of indigence. It was his automotive shop. He shouldn’t have been there—not at that time, not that day. At the sound of his shop alarm, he cautiously moved through the cluttered aisles, his flashlight casting long shadows. His footsteps echoed ominously in the otherwise soundless, deserted space.
He reached the parking space after what felt like a lifetime of silence and blind walking. Passing the 1967 Ford Mustang he had been working on, his flashlight beam fell upon the lifeless form of a young girl. Her eyes were frozen in a haunting gaze, and her body sprawled in a pool of blood.
James Bentley tried to take a breath, but suddenly it seemed the oxygen around him had run out. He found some relief in the idea that whoever did this was no longer there, and his safety was guaranteed. After all, he was an old, weak man, in no condition to put up a fight (or clever enough either).
He steadied his trembling hand before gently prying the note from her grasp. Even though the words on the page looked to him like they were shaking, and letter by letter slipping off the page, he managed to read:
“The past catches up with you, even in the darkest corners.”
He dialed 911, and the beginning of a chilling investigation into his macabre scene began. The quiet town of Willowbrook, where you could literally see tumbleweeds run across an eerily quiet road, was really small—but not the kind of place where secrets would rarely stay hidden. It was one of those places where there wouldn’t be secrets to begin with.
So, it was natural that a shroud of unease had settled.
Lily Donovan, just seventeen, had picked out the material for her senior-year farewell just two weeks ago. The news had spread like wildfire that she had been found dead—murdered!
The town's residents gathered in small groups, their faces etched with concern. Lily had been a fixture in Willowbrook, her infectious laughter and bright smile part of the town's daily life. Her untimely death cast a dark cloud over the community.
Bentley’s Automotive, usually a hub of clanging tools and revving engines, now bore the mark of tragedy. The dusty car parts and grease-stained floors served as a grim reminder of the events that had unfolded within its walls. And, unfortunately, Mr. Bentley was punished for it. At least by the residents exiling him completely and making sure no one would make use of his services, as they couldn’t consider any other suspect.
Not because James was necessarily a good candidate for the scene, but because everyone knew everyone in town. Why would anyone do such a thing, and why to her? Why leave a threatening message behind, and who was it for?
As the investigation began, whispers filled the air. Who could have harmed Lily in a place so familiar? What secrets might lie hidden in the heart of Willowbrook, now exposed by this tragic event? The townspeople knew that answers were needed, and the truth would force them to confront the shadows lurking beneath their idyllic town. A detective from one of the bigger neighboring towns was called in to start the investigation. A muscular old-school detective began moving around town. The girls, of course, noticed him first, and the divorcees had already offered their helpful hands. “Whatever the detective needs,” they would say to him in a sing-song manner.
Because of all this attention, he decided to go hide away for a quick lunch at one of the diners.
“A burger and chips. Large meal, please.”
The very young waitress wrote his order down and, without saying a word, blankly stared at him.
“That will be for Hopper. Detective Hopper.”
Very unphased, she answered, “Will that be all?”
He nodded, bringing his hands up in a gesture that showed he would not bother her anymore. He dropped his head in half a chuckle, knowing the attitude from an annoyed teenager all too well. He was urged to ask her a couple of questions, but decided to find the automotive shop where it all went down first.
Within 10 minutes, a very bland burger rested next to the tiniest portion of chips. He assumed the very poor quality of the food might have something to do with the smell of marijuana that came from the back and hung in the air when he had just entered.
“Who is the chef on duty?”
The girl dipped her hip and swung her head around to the kitchen window. “Brett!”
This very slim and odd-looking boy peeked his head through the window, a stained white t-shirt under his apron and a piercing in his left ear. That was one thing Hopper had always hated. The boy had some stubble around his face, pimples all over, and his eyes were bloodshot red.
“Sup, dude, enjoy your food, man.”
Hopper let out a chuckle again, at this point because he knew this attitude all too well, but also that his hand was literally twitching because of how badly he wanted to slam it down on the counter and tell them to get their act together—but they were just kids.
So, instead, he bit down into his burger.
Detective Hopper took a bite of his burger, the tasteless patty crumbling between his teeth. He couldn't help but wonder if the lack of flavor was a reflection of the town itself, devoid of its usual charm in the wake of Lily's murder.
As he chewed, he pondered the events that led him to this diner. The eerie silence that greeted him at every turn in Willowbrook was unsettling, yet it only fueled his determination to unravel the mystery surrounding Lily's death.
Finishing his meal, Hopper left a few bills on the table and made his way out of the diner. The faint scent of marijuana still lingered in the air as he stepped back onto the quiet streets of Willowbrook.
His next destination was Bentley’s Automotive, the scene of the crime. He needed to speak with James Bentley, the man who had discovered Lily’s lifeless body. Hopper knew that in a town as tight-knit as this one, even the most innocent-seeming individuals could be hiding dark secrets.
Arriving at the automotive shop, Hopper found James Bentley sitting alone in his cluttered office, his eyes filled with a mixture of grief and fear. Without a word, Hopper pulled up a chair and sat across from him, his gaze piercing.
“Mr. Bentley,” Hopper began, his voice steady and authoritative. “I need to know everything you remember about the night Lily Donovan was murdered.”
Mr. Bentley scratched his head and scrunched his eyes. Trying to relieve the tension in his eyes, Bentley took his glasses off and rubbed his fingers over his closed eyelids.
“The poor, poor girl. I found her. Right here in my shop!”
“This was long past midnight, wasn’t it? What were you doing here at that time?”
“Well, Mr. Hopper, sir, I stay right behind my shop. I heard the alarm go off. I didn’t think much of it. I came around, thought an animal might have set one of the sensors off. I mean, it’s Willowbrook. Nobody’s first thought would be that someone is breaking in.”
“Did Lily come around to the shop often?”
“Never. I think she broke in to get away from somebody.”
Hopper leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. “Do you have any idea who she might have been trying to escape from?”
Mr. Bentley shook his head, his hands trembling slightly. “No, I can’t say I do. But I know this town, Detective. People here don’t just break into shops for no reason. There’s something more to this.”
Hopper nodded, absorbing Mr. Bentley’s words. “I need to speak with Lily’s parents. Do you know where I can find them?”
Mr. Bentley hesitated for a moment before speaking. “They… they live on the outskirts of town, up in the old farmhouse. But I must warn you, they’ve been through a lot. Losing their daughter… it’s torn them apart.”
Despite Mr. Bentley’s warning, Hopper was determined to get to the bottom of this. He thanked Mr. Bentley and headed out, following the directions to Lily’s parents’ home.
As Hopper approached the old farmhouse, he could feel the weight of grief hanging in the air. The front door creaked open, revealing a man and woman huddled together in the dimly lit living room. Their faces were drawn and pale, their eyes haunted by loss.
“Mr. and Mrs. Donovan?” Hopper said, his voice gentle yet firm. “I’m Detective Hopper. I need to ask you a few questions about Lily.”
The parents exchanged a weary glance before nodding silently. Hopper took a seat opposite them, his notepad at the ready.
“Can you tell me anything about Lily’s behavior in the days leading up to her death?” Hopper asked, his tone sympathetic.
Mr. Donovan shook his head, his expression grim. “No, Detective. Lily was a good girl. She didn’t have enemies. Or boyfriends—she was sixteen!” His voice sounded harsh, but it wasn’t raised.
Hopper didn’t disagree with this. This wasn’t the work of a teenage boy who got his heart broken. This was someone smart enough to leave a clue for us, and sit back and laugh at the fact that no one knows who it was, even still. He thought they might know this as well.
Hopper frowned, sensing there was more to the story than they were letting on. “I understand this is difficult, but I need to know everything you can tell me. Anything, no matter how small, could be important.”
The parents exchanged another glance, their faces tight with apprehension. Finally, Mrs. Donovan spoke, her voice trembling with emotion, and her eyes constantly glancing over to her husband—as if making sure she had permission to continue with her sentence.
“I think that maybe...” Mr. Donovan interrupted.
“We can’t help you, Detective. We’re sorry. But whatever happened to Lily, it’s... it’s too painful to talk about.”
“Whatever happened to her? She was murdered! Don’t you think she deserves justice?”
“She deserves to be alive. Nothing we do now can change the fact that she’s not, unless you could. Then we don’t need some damn detective dredging up all the pain again.”
Mr. Donovan’s eyes flashed with a primal fury, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You have no idea what we’ve been through,” he growled, his voice low and menacing.
The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken words and unresolved anguish. Mrs. Donovan glanced nervously at her husband, silently begging him to relent, but his steely gaze remained fixed on the detective.
Hopper squared his shoulders, determination burning in his eyes. He took a breath and relaxed his tense body, realizing that he could’ve—should have—handled this better.
“I’ll find out what happened to Lily,” he declared, his voice unwavering despite the palpable hostility in the air. “I just need you to understand—if you’re hiding something, I’ll uncover it.”
He left it there, already planning out in his head that next time, he would speak to Lily’s mother when she was alone. So off he went, not feeling discouraged by the lack of information. He knew if he pissed off the right people, he would be getting answers soon. That’s just the way he worked. He drills, twists the knife, and then he wins.
He headed straight to the closest bar, where he laid down two rules for the bartender: double whiskey served continuously until 9:30, and absolutely no conversation.
His night went exactly as planned.
The townspeople settled, and it seemed as if the town itself had fallen asleep—except for the silent bartender. He had been doing some investigating of his own, and he had taken particular interest in Detective Hopper. William, James Hopper.
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