It was nearly midnight and the police station was almost empty, bar the officer at the reception desk. The few officers that did make there way in and out nodded to Riley as they passed.
Riley Giles sat in one of the corner chairs, fiddling with her hair as she waited. She hated waiting. She always has. She much prefers facing everything straight away, getting into the action. But she couldn’t now. She had to wait.

Riley looked up hopefully each time the door opens, but this time, like all the others, it was just another officer making her way through the station. She sent a polite smile to Riley, which Riley returned. When the officer left through another door, Riley looked back down at her hands on her lap.
What’s happening in there? A small voice in her head wondered. She looked up at the door, and sighed. She stood up and began to pace in the lobby. I should be in there. The voice said again, a little louder this time.
The sliding doors to the lobby opened and two cops entered, a large African man in cuffs between them, a hand on each arm.
She watched him as he passed, not able to look away. He noticed her abruptly and stood there with a grin on his lips. His teeth gleamed white against his dark skin, his eyes even darker than that. They dripped with a malice and hunger that said the only thing he wanted in the world was rip her limb from limb.


The officers walked the man, Franklin through the same door the last officer went through and then there was silence.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she checked it. 12 missed calls from Mum. She put her phone away and continued to pace.

At least 10 minutes later, a door opened and he officer she knew stepped out and beckoned to her, “You can come in now.”
With her heart in her throat, she followed the officer into a small office, taken up mostly by the metal desk. Multiple photos were strewn across the desk; the images Riley didn’t want to look at. “Please, take a seat.” She was British, although her accent had been dulled down by her exposure to the Australian accent.
Riley sat down in the thin-cushioned chair on one side of the desk, while the officer sat on the other side. They sat in silence for a moment. Riley took this time to examine the officer. Blonde hair, up in a bun. Pale green eyes that seemed to smile even when she wasn’t. Her lips, a natural pink, were pursed in a straight line. A slight frown creased her forehead. Her slight hands were clenched in front of her.
It took Riley a matter of seconds to take this in.
“So,” the officer said, picking up one of the photos. “I know you’ve been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours, but I’m going to need you to help me now. Can you do that Riley?”
Riley nods, licking her lips, “In anyway I can.”
The officer nods and hands her the photo in her hand, “Do you recognize the girl in this photo?”
Riley took the photo and, with a lot of hesitation, looked down at it. She made a noise, half choking, half sobbing when she saw the photo. The brown-haired girl in the image looked almost peaceful, laying on the morgue table.
She nods and hands back the photo, holding back tears.
“That… that’s my best friend.”





















48 hours earlier…


“You’re gonna be late!” she could hear her mother shout from the downstairs kitchen. Ignoring her, Riley did her hair up in a bun and looked into the mirror, nodding to herself.