The Witness

I forced my breath to slow down; minutes seemed like hours, so being calm was best. I began to write what I remembered. The officer, who had to drive me here, watched as I detailed the crime.

The sliver of a tear rolled down my cheek recounting the hours at the murder scene. A phone rang, sounding eerily like the wind chime I had heard before the shooting. It sent a shiver down my spine and shone a light on the truth.

Plans started to form in my brain, but was I smart enough to match those of the killer?

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