• Prologue: Evidence
    "Hey."
    "Hello," someone responsed as I walked into the room. I was also greeted with some horrid smell finding a way in my nose. "So, what's the report, Captain?" He turned to me and tossed me a file. "Everything you need to know is already in the file report." I opened the file and peered through it as he was saying, "The victim is a twenty-three-year-old male, Drake Wrightnik. He has no family and is currently living alone. I don't know what to say, but it looks like a simple accident: Took the wrong medicine at the wrong time."
    "A simple mistake can be deadly though. Anyways, where's the body?"
    He lead me to the bathroom to see the deceased body being covered. I almost threw up. The Captain chuckled and faced me. "I don't know how you do it. You hate to see blood, not to mention a dead body, and you became one of the best detectives so far. At the age of seventeen--a few months ago!"
    "Yeah, yeah." I took a look around the bathroom and found that his shoes were covered in mud. "Uhh, why are his shoes covered in mud?"
    "Oh yeah, he was out in the garden when it was time for his medication. When the timer goes off-- see that timer in the corner? It's pretty loud--he rushed into the house, and grabbed the wrong medicine." He pointed to the ground in the hallway. "And that's why the shoes prints are smeared." I stopped in my tracks. "What's wrong detective?"
    "The shoe prints," I said pointing, "they have a circle within the circle. But the one the victim was wearing," I paused, "has a circle on the edge of another. It's different." He compared the prints, and his eyes lit up with recognition and urgent. I whispered. "It's always in the facts."
    "Everyone stop! This is a homicide so don't touch anything until--"
    BEEP!
    "Ahhh!" I looked at my watch. "I completely forgot! I have to run down to the school. I need to pick up my nephew and niece. Don't start without me."
    "Twins, right?"
    "Yeah, but don't worry, I'll be back in time." I rushed out the door. "Don't worry!" he called. "The forensics and photographers won't be here for awhile!" I slammed the driver's door shut and turned on the engine. I backed out of the drive way and headed for the school. "Huh? Why is there glitter on my hand? Is it from the crime scene? Well, glitter wasn't near, or in the body, or near the medicine, or anywhere near here; I guess it wasn't the reason of death. So what?" Back then, I really thought so, and was right. The glitter isn't the cause of it, but it lead to who was the mastermind behind this. And a troublesome position I will find myself in.