Kirk Derek, a man in his mid-twenties with black, untidy hair and a handsome face, read his case file in his office while he sipped on some coffee. What kind of people would stretch to the lengths of killing a child, he pondered. Kirk read the case profile in his mind:
Name: Ian Grisham
Age: 10 years 2 months
Residence: 114 Grisham House, High Street Residential area, West Surrey.
Cause of Death: Single knife stab in the heart, bruise around the neck but no signs of strangulation.
Kirk recollected what had happened yesterday. He had spoken to Ian’s parents; his mother had looked gravely ill and his father seemed to choke his words, tears swimming in his eyes. They said that Ian didn’t have any enemies whatsoever and was a healthy boy with neat blonde hair and a small, round face with a dimple on his left cheek bone exactly like his father, except Ian inherited his mother’s bright blue eyes. Ian also wore on a bright resounding smile in a photo, which now faded away. Kirk had put on his grave tone and told the Grisham’s that Ian’s body was found in a secluded alleyway but no evidence of the murder weapon was found. Mr Grisham swore that he wanted revenge on the maniac who killed their son.
After a cup of tea, he took their leave and set out on the crunchy gravel pathway and found a very old woman standing feebly on the pavement, a large rag covered her body. Her face looked like scrunched up paper thrown askew by passers-by, a crooked nose, bright blue eyes and shrivelled blonde hair that dropped down reluctantly a little bit after her shoulder. He looked taken aback by her features and suddenly, in a raspy voice she said, “I know what happened to the boy the night he was murdered.” He didn’t know whether to believe her, but she took her to his office and she told him the details.
There were four boys who looked around the age of 16 but she couldn’t see their faces. They were dragging the boy from the back of his tee shirt. One of them was brandishing a knife as though intimidating the small boy and another big boy had pushed the person with the knife in front and the knife had penetrated through his chest. Kirk’s co-workers peered through the office window and gaped at him but Kirk urged her to continue; everyone was in a hurry and ran away, leaving the poor boy on the cold hard ground. He had written everything down and now, after reminiscing, he woke up startled by the sound of knocking.
“The Ian Grisham funeral is about to start. Mrs Grisham has requested you to keep watch of their house,” said the short man with a black tuft, he wore a worried look on his face and avoided eye contact with Kirk.
“Thanks Pete, tell Mrs Grisham that I’ll be on my way,” said Kirk as he nodded curtly.
He walked briskly to their house, thinking about the strange behaviour of his co-workers, when he heard a small explosion emanating from the Grisham house. He ran like an Olympic sprinter towards the disturbance and he broke through their door with a swift kick, he then found himself covered in dust; papers flying everywhere and in the middle of the room, a torn box with explosives, a knife and a boy who looked sixteen, on the floor, blood streaming from his head. Kirk examined the boy and saw that he suffered from a severe gash at the back of his head. He called medics, the police department and the Grisham’s to the house. Within minutes the scene was occupied with a cluster of people, the Grisham’s looking confused as anyone else. Kirk could not make head or tail of what had just happened. Kirk stepped out of the house, looking absolutely flustered, and then, he saw the old woman once again. Kirk approached her.
“Did you see anything that went on inside the house?” Kirk asked. She seemed as though she knew every answer to his questions.
“Yes, a boy had broken inside the house with the help of his friends. He was clutched a small box with him. He placed the box on the floor and then, the box was opened and an explosion erupted in the middle of the living room,” the old woman replied. Kirk glanced back at the house again and saw a few of his co-workers staring at him as though they had just seen a ghost.
“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH YOU LOT?” Kirk yelled, and glanced back to the place where the old woman stood. She wasn’t there anymore.
Pete rounded up the courage to go up to Kirk, and wore a frightened and sad expression on his face.
“Mate, you have been talking to yourself lately, in your office and now, we all thought you were going mental.” Pete changed the topic quickly before Kirk could say anything, “We found that there were explosives that didn’t go off and the knife that could’ve been used to kill Ian Grisham. We’ve yet to talk to the other kid who’s unconscious. The curious part is that the explosives and the knife weren’t damaged at all!”
All of a sudden, a cold tickling sensation spread through his body. Kirk strutted towards Mrs Grisham.
“By any chance, is Ian’s grandmother still alive?”
“No, she passed away two years ago.”
Kirk’s mind was racing fast. I am not going loopy! But that’s the only explanation there is, that’s why Pete and everyone else were acting strange, she must’ve made it happen! Kirk thought. From out of thin air, the old woman, with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, grinned at Kirk and disappeared once more.