Revisiting Old Wound

Ethan Blackwell sat in his apartment, the soft hum of the ceiling fan slicing through a silence so thick a knife would barely cut through it. The letter lay on the table in front of him, the words etched into his mind like the scares on a battlefield. He hadn't touched it since he'd tossed it there hours before, and yet it loomed large, like a phantom haunting every breath.

The words were few but of colossal weight: *"You missed something. Dig deeper, Detective. The truth wasn't buried with her."*

He first thought it to be some kind of sick joke, the work of somebody with a sadistic sense of understanding. But put into context with the strange phone call earlier that day-a voice steeped in static whispering his name before ringing off .it became something more than mere coincidence. Whoever sent the letter knew about Rachel Meyer and the case that had not only brought his career to a close but had destroyed his life.

He rubbed his temples, willing himself to push away the rush of emotions threatening to surface. He had buried the case for a reason. It felt like tearing open an old wound that had never quite healed. Yet, his gut told him he couldn't ignore this.

Determined to find answers, Ethan made the decision he had been putting off for all these years. He would return to the very place it all came apart: the police station.

The station hadn't changed that much in the years since he'd walked out for the last time, the brick facade, the metal badge emblem above the entrance…all painfully familiar. He hesitated for a moment, standing just outside the door, ghosts of his past swirling around him. 

He took another deep breath and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

Thick air hung heavy with stale coffee and worn leather. Officers moved around, some talking, others working on paperwork. The air did not miss Ethan's presence. Conversations stopped in their tracks, heads turned his direction, and whispers followed him like the trail of smoke from a cigarette.

He walked up to the front work station, where a young woman in uniform sat typing on a computer. She glanced up as he approached, her expression going from neutral to icy the instant she recalled who he was.

"You are certainly fearless showing up here, Blackwell," she said, voice clipped.

"Haven't come to cause no trouble," Ethan replied evenly, but the iciness in her tone cut. "I need to look at some back records."

She lifted an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "You're not a police officer anymore. You don't access our records."

"That's what I know," he replied, putting everything he had into gaining mastery over his frustration. "I just want information on one case… Rachel Meyer. I can't interpret it, but at the same time it's important."

The name seemed to hang in the air with tangible weight like a storm cloud and for an instant, the secretary weighed his words. Again, then her expression turned to stone.

That case is ancient history," she said. "As are you. If you want information, go read a newspaper.

Her words struck like a slap, but Ethan didn't flinch. He merely nodded, muttered a soft "thank you," and turned to leave. With every step away, he could sense the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes upon his back, a steady reminder of the disgrace from which he'd never be cleared.

Ethan stepped into his condo, his fists clenched into his sides, his heart heavy. He had hoped…foolishly, that someone at the station might be able to help him. Instead, he'd been reminded of the deep chasm that now lay between him and the life he once knew.

Not one to quit easily, he retreated to his bedroom and yanked out an old box from under the bed. The remnants of his career lay inside: commendations, photos, and-most relevantly-his personal files on the Rachel Meyer case. He hadn't laid eyes on it in years, but he had never managed to make himself throw it away, either.

Seated at his desk, Ethan opened the main binder. The first page was a picture of Rachel, smiling brilliantly, her reddish-brown hair capturing the sunlight. She had been 24 when she was murdered, her life extinguished in an act of inexpressible cruelty.

The memories came back, as he filtered through the records. The family of Rachel was tracked down in a tree-rich region on the edges of the town and had been desolated to an impossible level. The brutality of the crime had shocked the community and put immense pressure on the police department to find the killer.

Ethan had been lead investigator into it, and he had been confident of his own work at the time. All the same, all along, this investigation had been cursed with a kind of unreliability: witnesses that did not seem to be credible, evidence that was seldom discovered, pressure from above to conclude with something-anything.

Under tension, Ethan had zeroed in on a suspect… a vagabond with a background marked by negligible violations. The man had appeared to be an obvious objective, and Ethan, frantic to close the case, had persuaded himself he was liable. The capture stood out as truly newsworthy, and Ethan was hailed as a legend… until reality emerged.

Exonerated by limited vindication, the man was finally cleared by DNA proof of the crime. The actual killer was seldom found, and Ethan took the full force of the disappointment for the division. He resigned in disgrace, his reputation in tatters.

As Ethan went through the records, he grasped a lot of things that had eluded his attention then, at the time. Eyewitness descriptions that didn't precisely add up, pieces of evidence that were found somewhat awry in case the tension was too strong, and now he saw them as glinting red flags.

There was one announcement, at least, that welcomed his benefit more than others. A business partner had come forward claiming to have witnessed Rachel fighting with a man in a dark-colored car a few days before her death. The tip had been ruled out at the time because no such vehicle was ever found. Ethan, however couldn't resist feeling it was something important.

He jotted down noted, his mind racing. The letter's cryptic message echoed in his ears: * "Dig deeper, Detective.

As the hours passed, Ethan's workspace became a mess of papers and pictures. He tacked crucial details onto a wardrobe on the wall, laying out a timeline of Rachel's latest movements. The clearer it all became, the more he felt he was getting closer to something… something he had overlooked such a very long time ago.

Be that as it may, with every disclosure came a developing feeling of disquiet. Whoever had sent the letter and settled on the telephone decision knew things about the case that had never been disclosed. That implied they were either profoundly associated with the examination or to the actual wrongdoing.

By the time the clock struck at 12 PM, Ethan was exhausted but unable to sleep. He leaned back on his chair, staring at Rachel's photo. Her eyes, filled with life and promise, seemed to plead with him.

"I won't fail you this time," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

For the first time in years, Ethan had a sense of purpose. The road ahead was dicey, with dangers all too real. But one thing he was sure of-he couldn't turn his back and run. Not this time.

Smothered by ghosts of h

is past, Ethan knew he was after the truth, no matter the price.