The morning started off like so many others before it - the sun harassing me through dirty half-open venetian blinds, an empty bottle of cheap hooch on the nightstand; the kinda morning that makes you wish you could just skip to the next night.
I was just about to roll out of bed to face the day when I spotted it on the carpet in front of the doorway - cut up like the roof of your mouth after eating Captain Crunch cereal. I didn’t know how long it had been there. All I knew was, the toilet paper roll was dead and anyone could’ve done it:
Who did this? And why? Would they be back? Every question only made three more. It was time to start looking for clues.
A day’s worth of investigating led to an important break. Apparently, it started with a kidnapping:
After two more sleepless nights, I finally found the scene of the murder - in the hallway right around the corner. It was more grizzly than the steak sandwich I ordered at Appleby’s for dinner that night:
But I was still no closer to finding my killer, and I was getting desperate. I wanted answers and I wanted them now. I shook down the plant in the hallway, but the only dirt he spilled was potting soil:
Two days of grueling field-work, a few more empty bottles of booze, a mutilated roll of Sharman toilet paper and a traumatized houseplant. I had no killer and I had lost hope of ever finding him. It was enough to make a grown man cry.
Maybe I’m out of my mind, but sometimes I could swear he was watching me, waiting for me to make my next move. Like I said, maybe I’m out of mind.
But at the end of the day, at least I had my trustworthy cat by my side.