"I love rumors! Facts can be so misleading, where rumors, true or false, are often revealing." Col. Hans Landa, Inglourious Basterds 

Natalie Cutkosky was murdered October sixth, two-thousand-and-five.

What I managed to gather from online articles wasn't anything that I didn't already know from news reports of that night - she had been stabbed to death in her own home, and her family woke up to the gruesome scene. There weren't any screams during the attack which might have been the most chilling part of the story.

It almost felt wrong, sitting in my apartment and reading articles about the murder, but I couldn't help it. I was slowly getting pulled into everything happening with Griffin, and I felt like I needed to understand more. I knew Griffin wouldn't tell me anything, so I decided to do my own research.

None of the family members made any statements, but I was slightly surprised to see an article briefly mention that Mr. Cutkosky was thought to be a murder suspect. Nothing else had been reported along with his potential involvement, and when I Googled it, nothing more came up.

The case had gone cold quickly. The murder weapon wasn't found, and all DNA samples in the house had been the family. The blood was all Mrs. Cutkosky's - no evidence. The murder weapon wasn't found (up until recently, from what Griffin told me, but that wasn't online), leaving absolutely no way to catch the killers. 

There was something suspicious - something that made me look around my apartment slowly and hold my laptop a little tighter.

According to one of the first articles I clicked on, there had been a sign of forced entry. The hinges on the door were broken. But after further investigation, the police reported that the hinges seemed to be broken from inside the house.

Just like what happened to Griffin's door.

I slammed my laptop shut and put it on my living room table, taking a deep breath and standing up, shaking out my limbs. I knew it was probably a coincidence - hell, for all I knew, Griffin could've slammed his door too hard and broken the hinges. Still - even though I knew it was a coincidence - I couldn't help but feel uneasy. 

The whole situation was just too damn strange. The murder weapon for Mrs. Cutkosky's murder shows up, and yet the police still can't find the murderer. And shortly after that, Grant gets in a car accident and Griffin's apartment almost goes up in flames twice? It was all just too strange and I couldn't help but think about it.

I sighed and laid my head against the wall and closed my eyes, clenching my hands into fists by my sides. A few months ago, none of this would have mattered to me. I wouldn't be sitting in my apartment, alone, reading about a cold case. Now though, it was the only thing on my mind. God, how things had changed so quickly.

Frankly, it explained Griffin's paranoia. I couldn't imagine what it was like to live your life knowing the person who murdered your mom was out there, free. I couldn't imagine what it was like for the murder weapon to be handed in by an anonymous person and still have the police turn up with nothing. I couldn't imagine what was going through Griffin's mind.

I jumped back from the wall when I heard a crash. I frowned and took a step forward, just in time to hear another bang on the wall. It was coming from Griffin's side - another bang. It sounded like he was trying to punch his way through the wall.

I quickly walked over to the door and stepped out, pushing it closed behind me and walking over to Griffin's. Banging my fists on the door a few times, I took a step back and waited. I always heard weird things from Griffin's apartment - him talking loudly to himself, the occasional sound of something being knocked over, and, sometimes, even cries. But I never heard Griffin sound like he was smashing on his wall.

"One second!" Griffin called, voice barely audible over the banging sounds. They stopped quickly and then the door was swung open in front of me to reveal a disheveled looking Griffin, "Oh. Hey."

I looked over Griffin quickly; his hair was a mess as usual, but his eyes were wide and he actually looked like he wasn't about to fall asleep where he stood. This was a different Griffin - one who actually looked capable of doing something.

"Are you okay?" I asked, running my fingers through my hair, pushing it back from my face, "I heard bangs."

Griffin stepped back from the door and walked into his apartment, beckoning me forward with his hand. I reluctantly followed him in, gently pushing the door shut behind me. The first thing I noticed were the screws and hammer laying haphazardly on the living room table. The next thing I noticed was Griffin's TV and entertainment center were pushed over to the other side of the room to make space for the giant cork-board he had hanging on the wall.

"Oh," I said slowly, eyeing the board he had attached to his wall. There were a few push-pins on it, holding down what looked like a couple of newspaper articles, "You were renovating."

Griffin held a picture in his hand - one of his mom, I saw. Walking over to the cork-board, Griffin stuck the picture in the middle of it and frowned, "Something like that."

We stood in silence for a few minutes. There was a cardboard box on the couch, so heavily stuffed with papers that they were practically spilling over the top. Most of them seemed to be articles and newspaper clippings - the same things that Griffin was sticking to the cork-board. I wanted to ask what the hell he was doing, but the words died in my throat.

"You actually came at a good time," Griffin said, ruffling up his hair and brushing it back from his face. Quickly cracking his knuckles, Griffin grabbed a jacket and pulled it over his head, "I'm going out to run an errand and I don't really want to go alone. Do you want to come, Emmy?"

Griffin had a pull about him - the kind that made me want to come with him, despite the fact that I had no idea where he was going or what he was doing. Griffin was such an enigma, with so many unanswered questions floating around him that I needed to go. I needed to get some information; to understand something about his situation or what was floating around inside his head. 

And because I had always been too curious for my own good, I nodded, "Sure."

-

For once, Griffin was driving.

We hit the highway during the beginning of our drive and had been following it ever since. Griffin said we were just visiting someone - he lived right outside of Philly, apparently - and he kept promising that we were almost there. A half-hour into the drive, I stopped trying to figure out where we were even going.

"Thank you," Griffin said, flicking on his turn signal and taking the ramp off the highway, "For everything, you know? You've been there for me, Emmy, and I'm extremely grateful for that."

I didn't know how to answer Griffin. I had been there for him, but I also had my own selfish reasons for it, too. I wanted to know what happened to his mom, and why these strange things were happening his apartment. While I wanted to make sure that Griffin was okay, I also just really, really wanted to know. 

So, instead, I asked the question that had been at the back of my mind, "How's Grant doing? Is he okay from the accident?"

Griffin turned onto a side street filled with small, cozy looking homes, "He's doing better, yeah, thanks. I think all of this is just really getting to him, which is sad. Grant just doesn't know how to handle things."

I couldn't help but wonder how Grant was handling everything. Compared to his brother, Grant seemed to be doing okay, but he also had just gotten into a car accident. It was hard to tell how either Cutkosky brother was doing until something happened - an accident, a breakdown - that showed how they were truly feeling.

Before I could answer, Griffin pulled up in front of one of the smaller houses at the edge of the street. Griffin killed the engine and I turned, looking out my window at the house. There was an American flag sitting in the front lawn and a wicker chair out there, too. I didn't recognize the house and Griffin wasn't offering any information to explain why we were there.

"There are so many rumors about my mom's death," Griffin said, jaw locking tightly. Taking a few deep breaths through clenched teeth, Griffin twirled his keys on his finger and swallowed, "The facts are so few and far between. Yes, she was stabbed. No, there weren't any screams. I've followed that my whole life, but I've never looked at the rumors. I've never given what people thought a second glance. I think that was a mistake. Maybe the whispered words between the sturdy voices of the news reporters were what I should have been listening to."

Griffin got out of the car quickly, slamming the door shut behind him as he went. My heart was racing as I tried to process his words, but none of it made any sense. I had seen rumors online - peoples guesses who killed Griffin's mom - but I couldn't think of anything that would lead us to a random house. 

And then I remembered who Griffin had been talking to me about the other day; the person who he was getting suspicious of.

I got out of the car quickly, pushing the door shut behind me, "Griffin!" I called, making my way up the driveway, but he was already standing at the front door, "Come on, Griffin, don't be ridiculous!"

Griffin knocked on the door - two sturdy, hard knocks. I stopped behind him, having absolutely no idea what to do. This - showing up at someone's house because of suspicion - was crazy, and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to drag Griffin back to the car, to talk some sense into him, but he seemed too far past that. Griffin, for some reason or another, was working purely on suspicion and fear.

The door swung open a second later, revealing a tall, confused-looking guy. The guy was older than us - probably in his early thirties - and was staring at us through narrowed green eyes. He scratched the stubble on his jaw and kept one hand on the screen door, not unlocking it. He stood up straighter and blinked a few times, eyeing the two of us up.

"Can I help you?" he asked, one hand still holding firmly to the screen door, the other hanging limp by his side.

"Hello, Officer Ruslan Gudkova?" Griffin asked, cocking his head to the side, "You don't know me, but I'm Griffin Cutkosky. You were the first arriving officer to my mom's murder. If you don't mind, I have a few questions I would like to ask you."

</ I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. since I first started drafting this story, I had it planned that Griffin was going to show up at Officer Gudkova's house, so I'm glad it finally happened! as you can tell, things are... happening :-)

remember to let me know what you think! thank you so much for the feedback, btw! also: dedicated to IB_2311