I was about 25 when it all happened. God, was I stupid back then. Although, the only person around me who had any idea how dumb I was, was myself. For a while, no one suspected that stuck up Amy Grey might have been involved with the biggest homicide case the Northeast had ever had. I know what you're thinking, no, I didn't kill anyone. But I might as well have, because when I was discovered let me tell you I was in deep shit, both legal and relationship wise, considering the fact that I was working for the local police department at that time.
What did I do, you ask? I think the better question is what didn't I do? Now, I don't want to give away the story so soon, but let's just say that throughout this story, you'll probably question my judgment as much as I had.
Let me give you some background information on my life so you'll better understand my situation at the time. Like I said, I worked at my local police department. We were a small facility located in the small town of Dowton, New York. It was a quaint little suburb in the parts of New York that people forget existed. However, Dowton was most popular in the summertime when out-of-staters came to camp out in the woods that surrounded the town. I was one of the town's only detectives. Trust me it was less thrilling than it sounds. With small towns comes a small amount of crimes. The biggest crimes you'd hear about were shopliftings and meth lab busts. Sure these things kept my job secure, but nothing exciting ever happened in Dowton. Truth was. my job at that point was deadend and, frankly, I was bored of it. It became agonizingly monotonous to walk into work every day at the asscrack of dawn and sit behind a desk for hours on end and write reports all day. I never got to go out into the world and investigate and, you know, actually do the job I spent five years in college studying.
Every day I would count the seconds on my clock until four o'clock appeared and I could escape that hellhole. However, no matter how horrible work was, my home life was no better. I basically lived alone in a regular suburban home, in a regular neighborhood, with regular neighbors. I had a fiance, Brad was his name, the first character I'll introduce. Brad was your everyday, run-of-the-mill jock, whose was in way over his head. He was muscular, with a movie star smile. Short dusty blonde hair and dull hazel eyes graced Brad oh so lovely. We had met in college during one of his football games during halftime. He bought me a soft pretzel from the concession stand and I fell in love instantly. I loved how adventurous he was. During summers, I'd go with his, very wealthy, family on all kinds of exotic vacations. Australia, Hawaii, Paris, you name it I was there. I was so happy that I found someone who didn't bore me. Brad was exciting. He made my life exciting. On our trip to Paris, he finally proposed in front of the famous Lock Bridge. I, obviously, said yes. We kissed and added our lock to the bridge. I wonder if it's still there…
Anyways, flash forward three years and here I was, alone in a dingy suburban home, while he lived his dreams of being a professional football player. I was depressed, unmarried, and once again, bored. The thrill of my life was taken away when Brad told me he'd only be living with me "part time," whatever the hell that meant. I had minimal friends and my family was not a big help in the boredom department. Brad started coming home less and less as years went on. I was beginning to lose hope. I craved for how I felt during college. I felt free, hopeful, and alive. However, one fatal night changed everything for me. And no, from that night on, I was not bored anymore.