As soon as the sun came up following the premature death of Kyle Garza, Petra walks into the police station holding a bouquet of wild flowers, wearing a royal blue dress and an unfinished jet necklace, calm and collected as she always is.
The first person she meets is Officer Shaw, whom she greets with sensible graveness.
"Good morning, officer." She says, with a toothless smile. "Would you mind telling me where Imogen Wescott is?"
"Good morning, Petra." The man frowns in confusion. "May I ask why do you want to speak with Ms Wescott?"
"Oh, we met yesterday, before the party… I heard her friend had suffered an accident on the radio, I thought it would be appreciated if I came and show my sympathy." She motions for the flowers she carried. "I suppose a little comfort food would be nicer, but I have no access to an oven."
"I'm sure she'll appreciate the gesture anyways." He smiles, kindly. "Ms Wescott is just finishing her deposition. You're welcome to wait."
She smiles widely at him, plucks a small branch of lavender out of her bouquet and leaves at his desk. "Thanks, Parker."
Then, Petra walks over to the bench by the chief's door and waits. Not for long, though, as Imogen soon emerges from the room, a blanket covering her shoulders and ruined party dress.
Her hair was ragged, and her eyes were so bloodshot, it seemed she cried the entire night.
Petra stands up and says, "Oh, Imogen!" Followed by a tight hug. The brunette girl hides her face on her shoulders and sobs softly. "I'm sorry."
A long moment later she pulls away, smiling a little through her tears. "Thank you, Petra. I really needed that."
"It's alright, Imogen. Here, I brought you some flowers." The blonde handed the bouquet. "How are you faring?"
Imogen looks down at the floor, hands knotted on the hem of her dress. "I just… I don't understand how this could have happened. They are saying it was suicide! Or that he fell down because he was drunk! Kyle was the brightest person I know, and he drunk two, three beers tops!"
"You never know what really inhabits the hearts of people, I suppose." Petra says and leads Imogen to a seat, placing the girl's hands on her lap. "I don't know in what you believe in, but I believe there is something grander than ourselves, that there is a realm beyond our own. I believe Kyle found peace."
The girl's lips quiver and hugs her friend once again. "Thank you, Petra."
Before any of them could talk any longer, they hear an angry voice coming from the desk at the entrance of the station.
"What do you mean the chief will not see me?!" An angry, bearded man shouts at Parker.
The police officer tried to calm him by saying, "Easy, Ned. The chief is not trying to avoid you. He's just busy with the inquiry. How 'bout I make you an appointment for after lunch?"
Ned scoffs. "Right, so he can reschedule it five times and then cancel on me again? I'm sick of being jerked around! It's all happening again and not one of you idiots is doing anything!"
"Hey!" Petra shouts back. "A little respect, please. These people just lost someone dear to them."
Suddenly, a cool voice of a woman ripples through the small station. "I think that is quite enough. I'll thank you if you stop upsetting my daughter. She's been through enough for one day."
Petra glances at Imogen, who seems to curl in on herself, staring down at the toes of her shoes. She stays on that position until the woman beckons her daughter, who meekly nods and follows.
Before she leaves, however, Imogen turns back and says, "Thanks, Petra. I… Good-bye."
After the Wescotts leave, Ned soon follows, and Parker walks closer to the out-of-towner.
"I'm sorry if you got caught on the middle of that." The policeman said. "You alright?"
"I'm okay, I'll just need more incense than I expected." She said, looking dirty at the door. "It's not only the dead who need clarity and tranquillity in this town."
Parker chuckles, beside himself. "Ned is a good man, he just isn't taking the death of his wife very well. As for the Wescotts… Astrid is a realtor, and Vincent is some big-shot lawyer."
The blonde cartomancer seemed to want to say something, but a flash of emotion passes through her face and she reconsiders. "Parker," She decides to say, "Do you know what lavender blooms stand for?"
"No." He responds, confounded by the direction she took their conversation.
"The name literally means 'to cleanse' in Latin. Both on a bodily sense and on a more spiritual meaning. Curiously enough, some people also believe it indicates a sign to remain silent, to bury their knowledge deep inside their souls." She comments, off-handedly. "Yet, those two things often seem so at odds with each other, don't you think? Can you truly be pure if you know something that could save someone, and yet you keep silent? That you can do something, and yet you do nothing?
"In any case," She continues after a moment of silence. "Perhaps I should go back to my camping site. I'm setting up shop today."
Finding it to be a much more palatable subject for him, he asks, "Oh, and what do you sell?"
She smiles and shows him the gem she wore on her neck. "All sorts of things, creams, ointments, herbs, mementos from faraway lands and my artisanship. I polish the stones on my jewellery myself."
"May I see it?" He asks, and she nods, unfastening the necklace. "It is very beautiful."
"Thanks." She grins, bashful, and puts the necklace back. "Well, I should be going. Thank you, Parker."
She starts to leave, but the man places a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, wait. I'm getting off soon, would you like a ride?"
"Oh, no." She dismissed the idea. "I drove here. I wouldn't mind if you stopped by my stand later today."
"I would like that." He smiles back.
"Then I'll see you later." She waves and leaves the station.
Late that night, Ned was eating day-old pizza, drinking from a can of beer and staring at his crime board.
It was what he did every night ever since his wife dead body washed ashore years ago.
What was unusual in that particular night, however, was the sound of a knocking on his front door. No one, aside from the pizza deliveryman, came to his house in months, much less nearing midnight.
Rightfully frightened, he picked up his shotgun and shouts: "Go away!"
The knock persisted, in spite of Ned's demand.
"I said to go away!" He shouts once more, and the knocking seemed to stop, the silence reigned supreme once more at the house.
He, then, lowers his guard, but still did not let go of his weapon.
Then, suddenly, a bang was heard and the door was knocked off its hinges. On the step, only a dark figure stood.
"Good evening, Edward Mallory." They said, emotionlessly. "You have something that belongs to me."
"You!" He shouts. "Leave! Leave now, or else I'll shoot!"
They chuckle in derision. A glint shines on their eye and Ned is thrown across the room by a bodiless force.
"I said, you have something of mine." They say, their rage barely contained, seeping into their voice. "Where is it?"
His voice was constrained by the energy. "I… I… don't know what you're looking for."
"I…!" They seemed angry, but then they look on his wrist. "Oh, there it is. My charm bracelet."
They take the magical object away.
"If only you did not get on the way…" They lamented, coldly. "Perhaps then you would not have to die."
They take a dagger from their bag and impale him with it. His eyes widen, feeling the coldness of death taking over his body.
When Ned passes, the force keeping him stuck to the wall fades, and his corpse slides to the floor. The intruder takes off the dagger from his insides, clean it with the hem of their clothes and places it back on the bag.
With that, they leave, no one ever even noticing their presence on the run-down house.