Once again, Alna was heading off to “interview” a potential suspect for what was proving to be one of the most annoying projects she had ever taken on. Bailey Quinton was turning out to be quite the shady figure, and difficult to track down. Even with her fairly generous computer skills, it had taken Alna nearly a week to find the man, and a couple more days to locate a place he might enjoy visiting. Never mind trying to get his contact information. She’d given up on that, for the moment.

To Alna, it seemed obvious that Quinton was trying to drop off the radar. Not that she blamed him. Being dubbed a serial killer after taking part in the murder of at least fourteen people, sentenced to twenty-five years in prison, and released into society would likely turn anyone into a recluse.

However, if Alna had been part of the Brigate Police Department, she would have already tracked down the criminal and hauled him in for questioning. His methods of killing in the past were fairly crafty; he’d poisoned one man over the course of two months until he’d eventually died of a heart attack. The only reason the police figured out what he had done was because he had gotten a bit too confident, and visited one of his victims in her hospital bed to gloat. She’d heard the entire thing, living only long enough to inform the police of what Quinton said to her before passing away.

Without warning, Alna was suddenly brought harshly back to her present when someone slammed hard into her, causing her to stumble backward a couple of steps. She blinked a few times in surprise.

“Oh, God,” a woman exclaimed, looking contrite. She reached out a hand to steady Alna, which she reluctantly allowed. “Here, let me get that.” The woman crouched down and grabbed Alna’s––or, rather, Ilene’s––purse and handed it to her, looking abashed.

“Thank you,” Alna said.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked, twisting her hands nervously. “I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”

Attempting to make her voice light and friendly, Alna replied, “No, I’m fine. In truth, I should be the one apologizing. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” That part, at least, wasn’t a lie; this wasn’t the first time Alna’s inability to remain in the present caused her to bump into someone, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Instinctively, Alna’s eyes swept up and down the woman’s form, reading the story that her clothing displayed. There was some fur on her left sleeve, indicating she had been around a cat or dog recently. She wore a necklace with a large blue pendant hanging from the chain, and her rings––some genuine, others fake––seemed to indicate a well-off financial status. Her vivid red hair was twisted into an elegant bun, and, aside from the fur, the woman’s overall appearance was pressed and professional. Even her nails seemed to be in near perfect condition and her eyeliner seemed to match almost to a tee for each of her eyes. A perfectionist, then.

“Well, all right. If you’re sure,” the woman continued, sounding hesitant.

Now Alna was beginning to get annoyed. It was one thing to apologize for bumping into someone, but was dragging it out necessary? Honestly, sometimes Alna didn’t understand people.

“I’m sure,” Alna confirmed, keeping her expression polite. “Have a good day.”

Without giving the woman a chance to hold her up again, Alna skirted around the redhead and quickened her pace ever so slightly, effectively ending their interaction.

A few minutes later, Alna arrived in St. Gloria Park, which was named after the wife of the man who founded Starla. It was a rather peaceful place, on a good day. There were paths and sidewalks for people to meander along, a water park and playground for the kids, and a small man-made pond for catch-and-release fishing. Alna had spent little time here, considering how far it was from her house, but spending time here waiting for Quinton to show up at some point was no real hardship. As long as she didn’t get too cold and could keep herself entertained.

It was also close to Marianna’s house. Alna briefly entertained stopping by her girlfriend’s house if today turned out to be a failure, but dismissed the thought. That would lead to too many complications, and Alna wasn’t ready to tell Marianna what she did in her spare time. Not to mention her parents wouldn’t appreciate Alna’s presence.

“Afternoon,” a man greeted as Alna walked past him, giving her a slight nod.

Alna nodded back and returned the greeting, soon returning to scanning the park for any sign of Quinton. There was a small cluster of trees next to the pond, which Alna knew for a fact hid a bench from prying eyes. Perhaps she should head back that way and check if the bench was occupied. A man like Quinton would likely go to the spot that afforded more privacy.

A few minutes later found Alna sitting on a bench near the pond, monitoring the more remote spots available, one with a bench. To avoid looking like a stalker, she glanced around the park every once in a while. During warmer weather, the bench was well hidden, what with the many leaves offering sufficient cover. In fall, however, with the trees’ leaves scattering across the ground, Alna could see the bench without trouble. All she had to do was angle her head so she could peer through the branches.

The bench was as empty as it had been nine minutes ago. Alna looked back at the pond, watching as it rippled in the gentle wind.

It was only a few minutes later, as Alna was getting up to make a lap around the park, that her eyes landed on a passing figure who resembled the pictures of Quinton she’d found: same height and stocky build, same sandy hair colour. Was it him, though?

Alna slipped off of the bench, some orange and yellow leaves dancing about her feet as she stepped onto a sidewalk and followed the man from a safe distance. He was walking away from her, toward one of the four exits of the park, giving her a frustrating view of his back. Much as Alna prided herself on her observational skills, even she was having difficulty distinguishing if it was Quinton or not.

Quickening her pace, Alna sought to catch up with the man, scenarios for what she’d say (whether or not it turned out to be Quinton) popping into her head. When she had gained a good five feet on him, a woman called out to the man, causing him to turn and give Alna a glimpse of his features. It wasn’t Quinton. Oh, well, Alna thought with a mental sigh, it had been stupid chasing after him like that anyway.

Pulling her phone out of her purse, Alna pretended to be busy texting someone as she headed back to the bench, attempting to stave off possible suspicion or curiosity her chase might have garnered.

And it was then that a flash of blonde hair appeared in her peripheral vision. Her stomach clenched as a familiar voice said, “Alna?”

For a moment, Alna froze, the metaphor of “her heart leaping to her throat” coming to mind. Heart pounding against her ribcage, Alna, under the guise of Ilene Dyson, turned to face her girlfriend, pasting a confused smile on her face.

“Pardon?” she asked, glancing around as if searching for the person in question. Bringing her gaze back to Marianna, she continued, “You must have me confused for someone else.” Alna’s chest tightened a bit. She didn’t want to deceive Marianna, but this hadn’t been how she’d pictured revealing the truth of her extracurricular activities.

Any hope of escaping their impending confrontation, however, vanished when Marianna’s eyes hardened, anger replacing the bewildered confusion.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Alna,” Marianna said in a voice filled with uncharacteristic anger. She took a step forward. “I know it’s you. Stop playing games.” With that, her hand shot up and reached for the wig, before Alna grasped her wrist.

“Not here,” she said. And then, her voice taking on a pleading edge, she added, “Please.”

Shock flashed in Marianna’s sky-blue eyes. The shock quickly turned to a frown, and Marianna gave a curt nod. “Come on.” She pulled out of Alna’s grip, only to catch Alna’s wrist in her hand as if to prevent her from making an escape attempt.

As if Alna would try something so stupid. She was in enough hot water as it was.

The walk was short and soon Alna was being pulled into a public restroom near the water park. It was the type that was designed for only one person to use at a time. Alna was half tempted to point out that they would get interrupted before long. She didn’t. Instead, she studied Marianna’s tense posture with apprehension that, for once, she didn’t even bother to hide.

There were some subtle bags under Marianna’s eyes; the tensions were still high in her family. But Alna already knew that. Judging by her flushed state––not from embarrassment, but anger––Alna guessed that she had recently gotten into a fight with her parents. Or it could have to do with the fact that her girlfriend tried to lie to her. But she had seemed a bit flushed, even before.

This was not boding well for her. Not at all.

Sighing, her arms crossed, Marianna tore her eyes from Alna’s, eyeing the ground as her feet shifted.

Alna remained still, waiting for her to speak.

Marianna looked up after a moment, as if sensing that Alna’s nervous attention. She reached up, snatching the wig from Alna’s head, causing her loose ponytail to fall out. Marianna eyed the wig with a frown, the confusion still present.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re at a park, dressed in some disguise?” And Alna could hear the words she wasn’t saying, the true reason for her angert: Why did you try to deceive me?

“It’s––” Alna started to say, only to stop when her voice came out choked, the nervous lump in her throat returning. Swallowing, she tried again. “It’s for…” What was she supposed to say? That it was for her case? That was hardly accurate. “My project,” she settled on.

Realizing her shoulders were curling inward defensively, Alna straightened her posture.

Once again, the bewilderment returned, and Marianna dropped her gaze, studying the wig with creased eyebrows. “Your project? What proj…” She trailed off and Alna fancied she could almost see her brain working, going over conversations she and Alna had over the past weeks, putting the pieces together. “You were very vague about it,” she muttered, more to herself than Alna, it seemed. She looked back up. “About a week ago, you mentioned that you passed by a crash site on the way to the café for our first date.”

Even though it had been more of a statement than a question, Alna nodded her head, confirming this. She hadn’t meant to tell Marianna that but decided to anyway, seeing no harm in it. The continued “accidents” had come up, and Alna mentioned it in passing, not knowing that little tidbit of information would come back to bite her.

Marianna stared at some point past her shoulder. After fifteen seconds, her eyes met Alna’s, and she could see the hesitant realization in them.

“Alna?” Marianna asked in a slow voice. “The accidents that have been happening. Are you…investigating them?” She sounded bewildered.

Swallowing, Alna could feel her mask fall back into place as she schooled her features, hiding her nervousness and dread. She nodded.

Marianna blinked once. “Huh,” she said and, once again, broke eye contact with Alna. For a moment, she was still, staring at the dirty floor of the restroom. And then, becoming restless, she started to pace, twisting a lock of golden hair around her finger. A minute of this passed by before someone knocked at the door, asking to use the restroom. Without preamble, Marianna grabbed Alna’s hand and led her back outside, ignoring the looks they received.

Alna followed meekly along as Marianna dragged to the bench Alna had been keeping track of earlier, her back tense. This part of the park was more or less deserted, barring some birds that had not yet departed for the upcoming winter. These birds hopped around, pecking for bugs and chittering to each other.

Marianna led Alna over to the bench. Once there, she whipped around, glaring at Alna with fiery blue eyes until Alna sat down.

It felt as though there was a rock lodged in her throat. Alna was not at all used to feeling this nervous.

After tossing the wig onto the bench, Marianna leveled Alna with one more steely look. Alna to instinctively straightened. There were words on the tip of her tongue (explanations, apologies, deductions), but she forced herself to hold them back. Now was not the time.

Marianna resumed pacing, remaining silent as she did so. Alna watched her warily, various scenarios flashing through her mind.

She wouldn’t blame Marianna if she broke up with her. Alna had lied to her, after all. Marianna had every right to be angry.

If only she’d told her sooner, Alna thought, watching Marianna continue to pace. That way, she wouldn’t have been caught like an utter idiot, and risked ruining the first true relationship she had ever been in.

After a few minutes, Marianna stilled and turned to face Alna, arms crossed. Alna had to tilt her head back to look at her.

“So,” Marianna said, her voice flat. “You’ve been, what, trying to play detective? Looking into those accidents?”

If it had been under different circumstances, if it had been someone else, Alna might have been offended at the “playing detective” bit. As it happened, however, she nodded once, unwilling to say anything yet should she only accomplish to dig herself a deeper hole.

Marianna’s gaze sharpened and Alna realized she was scared; scared that Marianna would break up with her, or tell someone about what Alna was up to. Having Marianna break off their relationship seemed to be the most daunting prospect, as of right now. She was becoming sentimental.

She pushed that thought away. Now was not the time to dwell on it.

“How long has this been going on?” Marianna demanded, her jaw clenching.

Alna had to resist the urge to lean away from Marianna’s ire, unable to pull on her impassive mask, no matter how much she wanted to. “I started working on this particular case”––Marianna’s glare sharpened––”soon after our first date.”

“And why did you lie to me?”

“It’s not exactly something you reveal on a first date,” Alna said with a hint of sarcasm. She faltered when Marianna continued to glower. Ducking her head a bit, Alna peered up at her and said, “I have my reasons, although I doubt you would find any of them sufficient.”

Marianna gave her an insincere smile. “Well, that’s true, I guess.”

Alna shifted uncomfortably.

With a sigh, Marianna sat on the bench next to Alna, her head dropping back so she was looking at the sky. As a white butterfly flew in front of them, Marianna let out a bitter, pained chuckle.

“This is unbelievable. First, my parents find out I’m bisexual, and now they don’t trust me at all. And then it turns out the girl I’ve been going against my parents for doesn’t trust me, either.”

Alna always thought the idea that someone’s words could hurt the heart was superstitious nonsense, only found in books and movies. But at that moment, she could have sworn her chest felt tighter. For the entirety of their relationship so far, Alna had seen how the Whitlocks’ prejudice had affected Marianna, and now here she was, adding on to that pain.

“Marianna––” She was cut off by a glare. Alna gritted her teeth, forcing herself to be silent.

She watched as Marianna dropped her head into her hands, all the while resisting the urge to reach out. Instead, she surveyed their surroundings without interest. A robin pecked at the ground, its feathers glossy and unruffled.

Minutes went by.

Marianna lifted her head with a sigh, giving Alna a tired look. Almost as soon as her eyes met Alna’s, Marianna glanced away, seeming unable to look at her. Alna pressed her hands together, berating herself for not telling Marianna sooner.

“I need to go,” Marianna said, staring at the robin. “I…I can’t deal with this right now.”

Alna swallowed. “Of course.”

Marianna looked over at her with a frown. She stood up, turning to face Alna with crossed arms.

“I’m still mad,” she told her, eyeing the ground. “But I’ll, um, call you or something. When I’m ready.”

With a careful nod, Alna said, “Take as much time as you need.”

That earned her a brief glance before Marianna once again focused on the ground.

“See you,” she mumbled, turning to leave.

As much as she wanted to, Alna didn’t chase after her.