Episode 01:  

 I have always been a sucker for the small town atmosphere. Lemonade stands and kids learning how to ride their bikes is not a familiar sight in New York City. Don’t get me wrong, I love the city, but it was never my intention to move there. Still, I had to make a lot of changes when I got accepted into the FBI Academy. Regardless of loving the city, experiencing June’s fresh cut grass aroma and pool days in my hometown of Armonk, New York is the highlight of my summer. 

       I look down at the screen on my dashboard and see that my boyfriend, Charles, is calling.

“Hey Charlie, what’s up?” I hear some shuffling and background voices, “Charlie?” I call out again for his name.

    He finally responds right before I was about to end the call, “Hey Madison, sorry I barely have any reception in the plane, I am about to take off but just wanted to call to make sure you are driving safely.” 

    “Oh I thought you might of butt-dialed me but where are you heading this time?” 

    “Coincidentally, I am heading to you,” he pauses for a moment. “We have a new case with two reported deaths already.” I was about to question Charlie, but he continues, “I want you to be careful, I know you are heading home right now, and I would recommend not to go outside late at night, the bodies were found only 3 and 5 miles from your house and were both discovered sometime in the morning over the span of the last three days” 

    My mood shifted drastically, and I bombard him with questions. “How did I not hear about this? Do the M.O.s seem similar?”

    “Slow down Madison, and you probably didn’t hear about it because you’ve been working in training, and we don’t know yet but it is the same style of killing.”  He has been working in the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI and living Quantico, Virginia for the past three years, and I have been in FBI training in New York City, so we don’t see each other often, but we make it work.

    “Alright, well I am pulling into my driveway right now, call me when you land, we can talk about it then.” I put my finger over the red phone symbol.

    “Will do, love you.” 

    “Love you too.” I press the button and sit back in my seat to look at the home that I have missed so dearly. 

    Walking up to the door the smell of freshly cut grass I was talking about before finds a way to my nose and I am brought back to my childhood. Just as I am about to put my key into the lock the door swings open and I am greeted by my 16-year-old sister, Brooke, along with our 130 pound Bernese Mountain Dog, Bentley. 

“I heard a car pull in and saw you through the window; I came down as fast as I could” She was slightly out of breath but still managed to put a giant smile on her face. 

I stepped inside and hugged her and then felt paws claw at my back with desperation for some attention too.

“Don’t worry I wouldn’t forget about you, Bentley.” I bent down and received a big welcome home kiss. 

“Where’s Mom and Dad?” I asked still petting Bentley.

Brooke remains quiet; I gaze up at her in confusion, she lifts her finger, still saying nothing, and points towards the dining room. Standing up with caution and confusing, I follow the direction of her finger and approach my mother, sitting alone, at the table.

“Hey, Mom.” I flash her a wide grin, but I don’t get the same in return. 

“Hey sweetie, welcome home,” she perks herself up a little, but I see right through it. “Want anything to eat? We have leftovers from tonight.”

“I’m alright,” I pull out a chair and take a seat next to her, “are you alright though?” 

She fiddles with her nails and keeps her head down for the most part, “Yes Brooke I am fine, don’t go all FBI on me.” She and I share a small laugh together, and I look behind her and see a picture of my family on the wall which reminds me that I have yet to see my father. 

“Where’s Dad?” When I ask this her smile fades, and she finally looks up at me directly.

“Your father has been in and out of this house for the past week. I couldn’t tell you where that man is anymore.” She gets up out of her seat and kisses me on the forehead, “I have to take your sister to a friend’s house, welcome home Madison.” 

I take a heavy breath in and look back at the photo of my family; there is something my mother isn’t telling me.

Episode 02: 

As I am unpacking my belongings from my trunk a car pulls up next to me in my driveway and revs its engine, I place the bag I am holding down and try to see who the visitor is. The car shuts off, and I see a familiar face peek over the roof, it’s Charlie.

 “Hey stranger!” he runs over to help me with my bags but first greets me with a kiss.

 “When were you going to tell me about this new car?” I ask asserting my eyes to the blue BMW in my driveway.

 “I wanted it to be a surprise; you like it?” 

      “I mean yeah, it sure is,” I pause for a second, searching for the right word. “ Expensive?” 

      “Don’t remind me.” He says with a minimal amount of sarcasm. 

As we walk inside I can’t help but think about the case he told me about before; soon enough my thoughts become a game of 21 Questions. 

        “So the case, what happened? How were the bodies found? What was the weapon of choice? Do you guys think he is a local?” Charlie walks a little bit in front of me to hold the door and laughs at my curiosity. 

       “Hey there Bently!” He blatantly ignores my questions and instead occupies himself with Bentley.

       I grunt and set my bags down. “Tell me about the case, Charles.” 

  “Alright well, the weapon is most likely blunt and steel, so like a wrench or metal bat.” When he says this I try to think back on my training. 

        A person who uses a blunt object usually feels entitled and empowered and enjoys that feeling, but a narcissistic unsub is typically an arsonist, regardless, I take a stab at it. 

        “Narcissistic?” I linger on the word for a while showing that I am not very confident in my assumption. 

       “That’s what the team thinks, but I mean look at this town,” he looks outside the window at the several mansions, “it’s filled to the brim with entitled men.” 

        “Tell me about it.” His statement could not be more factual; the one thing I definitely do not miss from this town is the egotistical men and women. 

My curiosity continues, "So what about victimology? What kind of people is this guy after.” 

“So far, all women, brunette, around the age of 20.” He looks at me with a scrunched face and a flat, sunken smile. The description sends chills down my spine. 

        “Welp, I’m dead.” I say with a deep exhale in attempt to lift the mood.

        “Hey don’t say that we can always dye your hair.” Charlie jokes back; I nudge him a little for his comment. 

 Charlie’s phone begins to ring, “Dower here.” He hangs up and looks at me with his I’m-sorry-I-have-to-go-back-to-work-face that is all too familiar to me.

     “Go,” I roll my eyes, “call me as soon as you know more.” 

 “I’ll try, tell your parents and Brooke I say hello, and I’ll be back later. Oh, and be safe.” He kisses my forehead, and he heads back to the station.

     I think about telling Charlie that my father has been ‘in and out’ of the house, according to my mother. But I decided to bite my tongue. Charlie’s absence took my mind off the case, but I couldn’t rest for long; soon enough I started thinking about how suspicious my dad has been. How his absence feels more than just a ‘work thing.’ How my mom is barely engaging in conversation. How Brooke leaves this house any chance, she gets. I start at the root of my inklings; my father. 

His office looks unused and untouched and vacant yet still manages to hold a hidden and silent secret deep within the ebony shelves that I used to think only held my father’s collection of decorative novels. My suspicion allows for me to brood over my father’s absence.  I run my fingers along the spine of the books, collecting dust on my finger pads and watch it float up into the light of the sunset that peaks into the room through the windows. I sit in his chair and,with some hesitation, attempt to open his drawer; only to find out it has been locked shut. 

I move to the next drawer; locked.

And the next; locked.

And the next; locked. 

“What are you hiding?” I question out loud thinking the drawer would enlighten me of my dad’s secret that could be resting just on the other side of the drawer’s surface. 

       I look around his desk for something to open the drawers with, but nothing can be useful. Placing my hands underneath the most extended drawer, I attempt to pull myself back into the desk, but my fingers slip off with ease. I look under the desk and see a tool--a wrench-- taped to the bottom of the drawer. 

        Assuming the worst, I observe my hand. My finger pads that once were collecting dust are now covered in the ruby solution that once coursed through a person's veins. I swallow the lump in my throat and can almost taste the metallic flavor in my mouth. I take a deep breath through my nose, almost smelling the now pungent copper scent.  

Episode 03: 

        It is the eighth day after witnessing my father’s wrath resting on my fingers. I take my third shower of the morning, hoping the image would spiral down the drain with the water. The feeling of the soap in between my finger beds brings back the metallic taste and coppery smell. 

I know in my heart I should answer Charlie’s calls and tell him, but at this point, it isn’t that I want to protect my father, as selfish as it sounds, I want to protect my dignity. Reporting my father would mean I am accepting defeat; I would be admitting to not knowing that a murderer was sleeping in the room next to me my entire life. 

My phone rings again, the name ‘Charlie’ flashes on the screen and my heart sinks. I answer and shut my eyes thinking it could barricade me from the truth.

“Madison?, Madison are you okay?” Charlie’s voice echoes through my head and clashes with memory of the blood spread across my hands. 

“Yes, I’m okay.” I lie.

“You don’t sound okay. I had to call your mom to make sure you were still alive for god sake.” He raises his voice a little, but it is still enough to startle me. The word ‘alive’ riddles through my brain and contrasts with the thought of the human being that blood once belonged to. 

“Charlie,” I open my eyes, “I need to tell you something.” 

“What is it, Madison? Is everything alright?” His voice is sincere. 

“In person; can you come pick me up?” My voice trembles a noticeable amount.  

“Yeah, I’m already on my way.” 

…

I watch Charlie’s car pull into my driveway as I sit perched on the steps leading up to the front door. As he gets out of the car, I feel the iron flavored lump reassemble in the back of my throat. As soon as my eyes meet his, the tears that I have been trying to forbear from flowing start to downpour and the words come out just as quickly. 

My love for the small town atmosphere has run dry. The copper smell of human blood has discontinued my ability to enjoy the scent of freshly cut grass that once drew me home. Close-knit communities were once comforting but now live on as suffocating to those who have knowledge of the dirty truth of my tainted bloodline.