The cold winter air bit at Eileen’s face as she stood outside the hospital the morning after Mark Calloway’s murder. Snow flurries danced in the wind, blanketing the ground in a soft white layer that belied the chaos inside. The sterile atmosphere of the hospital was now tinged with tension and urgency, the hum of activity replaced by whispers of fear. A chilling realization loomed: someone had silenced Mark before he could speak.

Detective Caleb Whitaker’s steely expression betrayed his frustration. He stood at the edge of the crime scene inside Mark’s room, observing the methodical movements of forensic investigators. Beside him was Eileen, clutching her notepad. Her journalistic instincts told her this story was only beginning, but she also knew she was walking a dangerous line.

“Eileen, you need to stay out of this,” Caleb said sharply, his breath visible in the cold air. “This isn’t just a story anymore. This is a serial killer who’s willing to cross any line.”

“But isn’t that exactly why the truth needs to be uncovered?” Eileen countered, her voice steady. “Someone’s doing this right under our noses, Caleb. If we don’t find out who, they’ll keep going.”

Before Caleb could respond, a young nurse approached, her pale face a mix of worry and determination. Her name tag read Amelia Dawson, and her short auburn hair framed sharp green eyes.

“Detective Whitaker?” Amelia’s voice wavered. “There’s someone you should talk to. Miles Harper. He… he’s a regular here. My shift overlapped with his mother’s last night, and he was in the corridor near the room when it happened.”

Caleb furrowed his brow. “Miles Harper? The autistic boy?”

Amelia nodded. “Yes, but there’s more. He has an incredible memory. If he saw anything…” She hesitated. “He’s also scared. Whatever he saw last night has shaken him.”

“Where is he now?” Caleb asked.

“In the waiting area,” Amelia replied. “I thought it best to keep him close, just in case.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Eileen, sensing the gravity of the moment, spoke up. “Can I come? Maybe I can help him feel at ease. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone who’s not the police.”

Caleb hesitated but eventually nodded. “Fine. But let me lead.”

----------------------------------------

Miles Harper sat cross-legged on a worn hospital bench, his headphones snug over his ears. His eyes darted from one corner of the room to another, tracking patterns invisible to anyone else. Snowflakes clung to his dark curls, remnants of his earlier walk outside to clear his head.

“Miles?” Caleb’s voice was calm but authoritative as he crouched to meet the boy’s gaze. “I’m Detective Whitaker. This is my friend Eileen. We were hoping you could help us with something.”

Miles didn’t respond. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his jacket, and he averted his gaze. Caleb pressed on.

“You were near the hallway last night, weren’t you? Did you see anyone coming or going from Mark Calloway’s room?”

Miles remained silent, his head lowering further. Caleb’s patience began to waver. “Miles, this is important. Someone was hurt. We need your help.”

Still, no response. Caleb exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. “Why won’t you answer? You were there!”

The raised tone startled Miles. His hands flew to his ears, and he let out a sudden, piercing scream. Tears streamed down his face as he began crying hysterically, his body trembling.

Eileen quickly knelt beside him, her voice soothing. “Miles, it’s okay. You’re safe. Nobody’s angry with you. Take deep breaths.”

The commotion drew the attention of a nurse—Miles’s mother, Nadia Harper, a striking woman with dark hair tied into a neat bun and a thick Eastern European accent. She hurried over, her expression a mix of concern and anger.

“What is happening here?” Nadia demanded, pulling Miles into a protective embrace. “Why is my son crying?”

Caleb straightened, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I… I didn’t mean to upset him. I was just trying to get answers.”

“You’re scaring him!” Nadia snapped, her tone sharp as she comforted her son. “He’s not your witness to interrogate. He’s a boy. A boy who already struggles to feel safe in this world!”

Eileen placed a hand on Caleb’s arm, urging him to step back. “Detective, let’s give them some space.”

Caleb hesitated but eventually nodded, retreating a few steps. Nadia whispered softly to Miles in a language Eileen didn’t understand, her tone gentle and calming. Gradually, Miles’s sobs subsided, though he clung tightly to his mother.

“I think that’s enough questions for now,” Nadia said firmly, her eyes narrowing at Caleb. “If you want to talk to him, you will do it on my terms. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Caleb muttered, his voice subdued. He glanced at Eileen, who gave him a pointed look, silently urging him to exercise more tact in the future.