It was difficult enough to sleep on a normal day.
Tonight, it was just plain impossible.
The kitchen tap was left loose again, dripping a slow, deliberate rhythm.
Like a countdown clock to something inevitable.
At first, Hunter didn't notice. His thoughts were too loud. He tossed and turned, an ugly cocktail of doubts and memories swirling inside him.
He couldn't stop thinking about his mom. Her face surfaced behind his eyes like a ghost pressed against glass. Pale and silent.
And her final words… a promise of French toast. They had carved themselves into his brain like a permanent scar.
The only thing that prevented Hunter from steeping deeper into pain and regret, was his decision to ask Kat to move in with him a year before her death.
He had almost forgotten what it was like to live alone.
Until he was violently forced back into it.
Her health hadn't been doing too well. The arthritis in her knees had worsened, and she said she had felt lonely, too. It was an easy decision for Hunter. He loved his mother and would do anything he could for her.
They had spent a lot of time together in the previous year. They cooked and ate dinner together almost every night. They even had some movie nights.
She'd occasionally talk him into tagging along on her shopping trips. He'd roll his eyes but follow anyway, hiding a smile.
It was on one of these occasions Hunter had been with his mom when she had bought that purple purse.
David's words slammed into his mind again, echoing like a taunt.
"That homeless guy pawing through her purple purse."
It had to have been a coincidence.
There's no way.
He had been telling himself that all day. He tried to rationalize it again and again.
He told himself it was probably just dumb luck. That David had guessed or somehow known. But that single detail clung to his thoughts like a thorn buried too deep to pull free. Every time he tried to dismiss it, it stabbed at him again.
Hunter abruptly sat up in his bed, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor. There was no way he was going to get any sleep like this. He had to do this.
His apartment was almost pitch black, the only light leaking in from the dimmed streetlamp outside.
Grabbing his phone, he cranked the brightness to full.
My life's already screwed.
What's a little blindness to match the rest of it?
Hunter reads every article he can find.
And then he reads them again. Through tired, dry eyes. Through the building headache.
Dozens of results come up.
"Suspect Apprehended in North Pine Murder Case"
"Woman Found Dead on Park Bench: Investigation Closed Within Days"
"Local Man Found with Victim's Belongings, Charged with Murder"
Then, he types every search term he could think of. Every variation, every iteration. Each one with the words 'purple' and 'purse'.
Nothing.
Each article stared back at him with the same hollow certainty: the case was solved. The homeless man and his haunting eyes, staring back at him.
But that one detail, that damn purse, was missing. It felt deliberate. Like a line erased from a story no one wanted him to read.
He wasn't going to stop here. Hunter was obsessed with finding some answers, some kind of closure. Anything to help him sleep better.
That detail should be there. It had to be there. How else would David have known?
A woman is murdered, and the man arrested had her belongings. That's what every article said.
So where the hell was the purple purse?
He checks the public court documents next. He reads them meticulously, ignoring the throbbing in his temples.
He opened one PDF after another, scrolling through poor-quality scans with highlighted sections and redacted lines.
'Items found at the scene...'
He leaned closer. No purse. No color. Not even a hint. Just 'miscellaneous belongings'.
He clicked back, rubbed his eyes, and clicked forward again.
No mention of a purple purse. No witness statements about that detail. No forensic details about any personal items.
His eyes felt like sandpaper. The text on his phone screen blurred together.
He stood, paced once, then dropped back into the chair with a sigh sharp enough to cut glass.
How did David know my mom's purse was purple?
That one question kept plaguing his thoughts. It was driving him mad.
Come on, snap out of it and think!
There MUST be something I'm missing!
His reasoning and logical thinking had proven successful on countless occasions before. What was different this time?
Is it because of mom, that I'm having trouble rationalizing clearly?
Shouldn't that make it easier for me?
He stood up again, making his way to the coffee machine.
Sitting at the small table he and Kat used to share their meals at, he grabbed a pencil and notepad, taking a deep breath.
The last time he did this, he was still in the force. Enjoying his life, feeling on top of the world. Feeling like his existence meant something.
Now it was just him, the paper, and the pounding in his head.
When things got messy in the field, when emotions clouded instinct, this ritual had always cleared the fog. It gave him direction.
But now? The fog wasn't outside. It was inside him.
Taking a deep breath, Hunter begins writing the immediate thoughts trying to break free from his mind.
He pressed hard, the pencil scratching deep into the paper, each word written like a wound.
There was something that clung to his mind. Even now, months after her death. It was something the police cast aside, confident in the result of their investigation.
Kat left the house late that night. He had been asleep, so he never learned the reason why. If she had any prior plans, she would definitely have informed him.
Which means, it had to have been some kind of emergency, or something compelling enough to get her to leave the apartment at such a late hour.
Did someone call her? Someone she trusted?
They never found mom's phone. It's still missing.
Why was this information disregarded by the authorities?
Leaning back in his chair, Hunter ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Too many questions. Not enough answers.
Mom bought that purse just a few weeks before she was killed.
David said he had seen her months before. He also said that was the last time he talked to her.
Maybe they texted each other?
But why would mom mention her purse in a text?
It was unlikely at best, but he was still willing to give the benefit of the doubt.
There was something else David had mentioned.
He said he had taken her to the opening of that new café. Something about that statement felt... off. Too specific. Too deliberate.
Wait a sec.
Didn't that open closer to the time of mom's death too?
He remembered that day. Kat always told him where she was going, and with who. When she'd be back.
He takes out his phone again, searching for details of the café's grand opening. As he suspected, it opened in early November – a month before Kat's death. The timeline clearly wasn't matching with what David had claimed.
The alarm bells weren't just ringing in his head… they were screaming. Pieces were clicking into place, jagged and unwelcome. The fog that had clouded his mind was finally lifting, and beneath it, something rotten waited to be uncovered.
There were only two possibilities now. Either David was lying, or someone had fed him the detail about the purse.
Either way, it meant one thing: this wasn't over.