Mystery in the Highlands

The sun shone brightly through Mike’s window. Rolling out of bed, Mike proceeded to swear to never drink again. As he was preparing his morning coffee, the phone rang. “Damn phone’s too loud.” One look at the Caller ID explained his interupption. He answered the phone. “What?” “Mike you might want to get down here. 12th and Hanover. He’s back.” The phone went dead. “Shit.” Mike said aloud. He didn’t want to check out a crime scene at 8 in the morning, but he had to. No, he was obligated to. He lost his brother to this man’s terror. He still remembered that day: the shell shock, his mother crying on his shoulder, the killer disappearing right before his eyes. All Mike had of the crime was a black spade that pierced his brother’s coratid artery. The man vanished after that, and now he is back. Mike had to go to the scene of the crime, he had to stop this man. He vowed for vengance.

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