Cold Case

Bill grabbed the shotgun from its cradle and got out of the car. The air was crisp and dry. The windows were dark and evil.

“James!” Bill called out, his voice echoing, scaring crows from the tops of skeletal trees. “James Raymond! It’s Sheriff Bill Wilkins! Come on out...if you can!”

A gust of icy wind swept down from the hills.

Nothing moved.

Bill leaned back into the car, called for backup.

He doubted anyone was still here...if they were here at all. Better safe than sorry, though.





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