Your car, your blood, your absence

One of my old friends in the agency called me today.

They found your car with some dried blood on the seatbelt. I had it sent to a lab. It was yours.

Still, I remain hopeful.

You’re the most resilient son of a bitch I had ever known. That’s what I loved about you. Forget what I said in a previous post. I loved your unhealthy obsession. It’s what made me fall in love with you.

Be alive, so we can continue the obsession together, and we can finally get that motherfucker behind bars.

Or if you’re dead, I will bring him down myself.

P.S. I found your keys in your desk drawer–secret compartment.

I opened the door.

I’m still in shock.

I poured some coffee.

Until next time.