Prologue: Routine Patrol.Didn't really have anywhere else to put this. Please bare with me, this is my first attempt at a first person POV story. Things might be off, and that's okay, 'cause this is just a story. Just a test.
The prologue is in third person, however. As with every time we see the character introduced in the Prologue.
Sheriff Michael Howard sighed as he turned on the windshield wipers on his police cruiser, the torrent of rain pattering his window. The tiny droplets exploding off of the glass like tiny fireworks. Glancing down at his console, the time read 11:30. Two more grueling hours patrolling the Scenic Route 12 on the way to the Mystic Falls, and then he was home free.
He could go home, eat a little bit of food, make love to his wife *oh how he was looking forward to that*, and call it a day. Sighing, he turned off of the exit to Interstate 82 and onto Route 12. The road became bumpy, as the man lowered his headlights, so as not to blind any oncoming traffic while he merged.
Reaching to his right, he grabbed his last resort, a lukewarm cup of joe to keep his lazy ass awake in the dead of the night. Taking a brave sip, he recoiled instantly, black, his absolute most hated form of coffee. He had specifically ordered two shots of half and half, and a spoonful of sugar. Clearly the teenager behind the counter, who looked suspiciously like a repeat offender of drug abuse, wanted to make a point that she could treat the Police however she pleased, and without consequence.
Huffing in disgust, he pulled over to the side of the road to reach into his glove compartment, where thankfully he had stored two tiny dispensers of half and half, and a packet of Splenda replacement sugar. Pouring the contents of the tiny plastic/paper containers into his cup, he disposed of the garbage, stirred it around, and took another swig. Unlike most people, coffee had an immediate effect, and he felt his droopy eyes snap awake.
Shaking his head with the new found energy surging through his veins, he continued to drive down the Scenic dirt road. He had seen this road many a times, and the beautiful view of Mystic Falls had finally alluded him. To him, they were just 'The Falls'. They had lost all mystery with every subsequent visit he made down this road, and every time he glanced at them, the more he had become familiar with them. Eventually, they became nothing special, nothing mysterious.
Or so he thought...
"Uh, this is Unit 3-4, do we have anyone patrolling Scenic Route 12?" Jason Greene, one of Michael's best pals from the Academy asked in the radio.
"Go ahead 3-4, this is 2-5 responding."
"Yeah, uh. We have uh, a woman down at the Mystic Falls Camp Grounds in distress. Claims she saw a stiff by the falls while enjoying a nice ol' dip in the surf. Could you check it out?"
"Yeah, I'll take the call. I'll tell Dispatch to have someone else finish my patrol in the meantime, thanks 3-4."
"Roger. I'll let Dispatch know for you, just stay safe out there 2-5."
Growling with frustration, Michael's plans for the evening was dwindling further and further away. First he'd have to clear out the immediate area, keep all unauthorized personnel out of the crime scene. Then he'd have to contact a Crime Scene Investigation unit, tell them everything he noticed, smelled, when he left, when he took a piss last, did he just fart?
"That was one time!" Michael growled to himself, but the CSI unit just never dropped it.
Ahead, the foliage dwindled into a massive driveway, which could accomodate two RVs, side by side, pulling in or out of the park. Turning in, the sign of the Camp Grounds stared back at him in an eerie fashion. A chipmunk, with his cheeks bulging out a good inch from where it should, stared at him with some bizarre, Japanese anime like eyes. Something meant for the little kids, but that meant little to Michael.
Camp grounds like this gave his the willies, but it was his duty to protect and serve. Pulling up to the main office, he opened the door to his cruiser, stepped outside, and entered the building.
"I s'ppose yer here because of the call?" A short, squat woman with dirty blonde hair approached him from behind the counter.
"Yes ma'am. Where exactly is the anonymous caller, I need to gather some more information."
"She hasn't called us back. I'm just a tad bit worried there. Poor dear was all in a sort. Didn't specify which lot she chose, but I'd imagine it'd have to be close to the falls."
"Thanks, I'll go check it out. If you can, warn your patrons to stay inside their lots, and to not come out until the coast is clear."
The woman nodded, as Michael walked out the door. Things weren't adding up, and he was wondering if this woman too had become victimized, as did the supposed corpse she 'saw'. Cruising back down the road, he looked around, as people fled into the safety of their RVs or tents, never to be bothered.
"This is 2-5, I'm going to have to request back-up at the Mystic Falls Camping Grounds. Our mysterious benefactor has allegedly gone missing, and I feel we might need a few extra pairs of hands to keep folks feel safe around here."
"Acknowledged 2-5. Making the request now, back-up should be arriving soon." the woman behind Dispatch cooed.
Parking on the grass by the embankment, Michael took one last swig from his coffee, before pulling out his flashlight, shining it along the water front. Walking along the edge of the water, he could clearly make out the footprints of a woman walking along the edge of the water, clearly that bit of information had been correct.
Following the trail, they stopped abruptly at the rock wall of the falls, the sound of the water thrashing into Mystic Lake was deafening, and he only wished the torment of the night would end, as the rain continued to pelt every inch of him. Clipping the light to his shoulder, Michael scaled the rocks expertly. When he reached the top, he closed his eyes, holding his hands on his knees while taking in a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes, it took nearly all of his strength not to fall back down the way he came, as the lightning flashed in the sky and revealed two corpses. One was a woman, stripped completely bare, no clothing to be found. Bruises and cuts adorned her otherwise flawless complexion, and Michael felt huge remorse. Cut in her prime, her blue eyes appeared to stare at the sky, as if asking 'why?'
The other corpse was an older male, the hair on his face was going slightly grey, and something about the look in his eyes showed that this gentleman was in the middle of some kind of meditation before being brutally murdered. The only things on the two corpses were a pair of index cards. Lifting them cautiously, Michael glanced at the one from the man's body.
Confused as to what the first note meant, other than a direct exerpt from one of Robert Frost's most notorious poems, Michael decided to glance at the other one.Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by...
Beneath there, the message adorned an arrow, and Michael flipped it over, reading what was written. His breathing becoming labored, and a chill working it's way down his spine, as the lightning flashed.In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.
Did I ever tell you the definition... of insanity?
