The deafening sound of the gunshot  still rings inside my ear, I try to trace its origin, but its no use, the sound has withered away, leaving me with only my thoughts and worries.

I desperately try to think, my brain burning, as I force myself to remember who Clive Forsham was and where he could possibly be hiding now.

I knew he loved to walk amongst nature, listening to the birds chirp, the leaves swaying in the wind. He simply loved walking with himself, with only nature and his thoughts by his side. He loved the air, it gave him a sense of release and freedom.

In no way, was he a religious man, but when his wife passed he needed something to comfort him, a small slither of  hope.

He decided to create his own belief, something that he and his daughters could call their own. Since, him and his wife were both athletic and outdoor fanatics, he chose to believe that everything she had ever touched, now had a part of her soul rubbed onto it. So, whenever he listened to the waves, or the trees or the rev of their truck, he wasn't just listening to the sounds they made, he was listening to his wife, rembering all the great times they had together.

Suddenly, it dawns on me, everything made sense, when I thought about it. He wouldn't have wanted to go outside, their were way to many people. He would have wanted somewhere quiet, somewhere he could collect his thoughts. He wouldn't have gone home, not without taking his darling girls and I knew they were still, as I had just saw them moments ago singing and dancing along to my very song. Then, where could he possibly be, well I mean if I was in his shoes, I would have gone to one or two places, the toilets or a classroom.

Ruling, out the toilet on a hunch, I concluded it had to be a classroom. The next part of course was figuring out which one.

Luckily, it wasn't that  hard to figure out, their was only one room that had a dim, pulsating light. A light, so small, but, the impact on my mind and heart, huge and everlasting. Moments ago, I had been running down the corridor aimlessly, searching for any sign of Clive. This light was the sign, I walked towards the door, like the wise men, following the star to baby jesus.

I try the door, locked. I call out to Clive, nothing. My hearts pounding, my head sweating and my mind whirring with the worst case scenarios. My emotions take a toll on me, causing me to back against the adjacent wall, before then charging at the door.

I hear the wood splinter, the hinges cracking under my pressure and weight. I try the door again, but still it wouldn't  budge. I do it again, this time ramming myself at the door with sheer determination. This time it works the bolt unlatches itself from the lock, causing the door to swing open and me to stumble inwards.

Now, in the room, I rush over to Clive, who lay on the desk lifeless and still. I place my fingers under his neck, checking for any sign of life. Their was nothing, his body ice cold, face a ghostly white and his eyes a bloodshot red. I try to hold back tears, but I can't, they explode from me like lava from a volcano. My world shattered and my mind in this now constant agony. I think about, how the girls would take the news, these thoughts only causing my heart to shrivel further into the darkness of sorrow.

But, before any of these thoughts dampened my spirits, I focus on the crumpled paper in Clives hand. I open up his fist, retrieving the paper, knowing all to well I was tampering with evidence. I just couldn't help myself, I had to know what happened here, for my friends sake. I had to find the truth and ensure that the full extent of justice was received.

Their were five words on this paper, that meant nothing on their own, but together they tore apart my heart, causing me to enter mass hysteria. Those fatefulll words were none other than "I can't do this anymore."

As, I lay their in the darkness, searching for the light and joy within it all, I can't help, but shake this feeling that this was no accident.