Murphy's Law: Murphy's law is an adage or epigram that is typically stated as: "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong." In some formulations, it is extended to "Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time."

AUGUST 18TH 9:30 PM

He pulls the rental truck onto the street, two houses down from Wes' house- she said his name was Wes, but he isn't exactly sure if that is his real name. He shuts down the car and sits in silence for what feels like a century.

Earlier, he was enjoying his day off with his fiancé without a care in the world. And now he is about to dispose of a body and clean up a crime scene. This isn't who he is. He is a cop for god's sake, his job is to catch the people who commit crimes and not cover up for them. But what else was he supposed to do when she'd asked him so desperately? Was he supposed to leave his family to fend for themselves? No, this is the right thing to do. He is sure of it. So what is he to do about the pit in his stomach? With an exasperated sigh- he steps out of the truck-- slamming the door hard.

He walks past the house he'd parked in front of. Its doors are closed, curtains are shut, and none of the front door lights are on. He hasn't been in Flint since his days as a patrol cop. That was years ago, then Flint was rougher, you couldn't park your car around here for a moment without losing your tyres and or rims. He smirks at the thought. The Caper police force has worked tirelessly to keep Flint's residents in check and in their place. But occasionally, their shit tends to bleed into the nicer parts of town. Parts where they don't belong- granted there hasn't been any trouble from them since the incident five years ago, he pushes back the unpleasant thought, it's still a part of town he dreads being in.

It's eerily quiet now. On the surface, it might look like nothing is happening- but there's someone lurking. There always is. Should've brought my gun, he thinks regrettably. He quickens his walking pace so lost in thought, that he almost doesn't notice the car parked right in front of the house he is supposed to be in, Almost.

It's a Honda Civic. Daisy had said Wesley drove a pick-up. He looks over to the driveway and spots the pick-up. So whose car is that? He jogs over to the car, being careful not to be spotted in the side mirrors. Once he is right behind it, he crouches momentarily before peeking in. It's dark, but the moon is bright enough for him to see there's no one inside. He goes over to the side and looks inside, making sure no one is lying on the floor in a way he could not have seen through the back. Still nothing. How long has this been here?
He thinks slightly panicked. He analyses the state of the vehicle. It has all its tyres and rims. The windows aren't shattered, either. Yeah, not long. Whoever car this is, they are around here somewhere.

But where?- just as he asks himself the internal question, he notices movement through what he assumes is the kitchen window. The curtains are thin, and the moon is bright, making it easy for him to make out the silhouette of a woman. She's seen the body! He panics. Daisy said it was in the kitchen.

Still crouched next to the car, he contemplates jogging back to his rental and grabbing his gun. No, that's a bad idea, what if they run out and drive away? Besides, a gun going off would draw attention. He can't afford that.

Quickly he jogs over to the back of the house. The door is wide open, and he steps inside quietly, careful not to make a sound. He makes his way through the small living room so he is right at the doorway of the kitchen and almost right behind her when she turns and faces him.

She turns to face him. She is dazed, it's too dark to see her face, but he can certainly tell she is distressed, whoever she is, she must've been close to Wes. Overcome with emotion, she stumbles towards him, instinctively he stretches out his arms in an attempt to catch her before she falls but draws them back almost immediately. The action is too swift for her to have noticed.

Like a child taking their first steps, she continues her groggy walk towards him. He wonders if she can see him. He figures if he'd step out of the way even slightly, she'd walk right past him, not noticing a thing. Is that what grief does, dull the senses? He has never lost anyone himself, he does not know the feeling. But he isn't without empathy. "You shouldn't be here?" He says, in a low voice.

The words jolt her awake, and she gasps loudly. Without missing a beat, she runs in the opposite direction, he catches up to her in three steps and instinctively wraps a forearm around her neck. And she begins to struggle. Thrashing around trying to get him off her. What am I doing? This isn't me. He feels an elbow to the ribs and grunts in pain. Dammit, instinct takes over, and he tightens his grip on her. She shouldn't have come.

He feels a strong kick in the shins which almost unsteady him. And as if he wasn't squeezing hard enough already, he further tightens his grip, attempting to end things quickly. His grip is so tight he can feel her throat straining underneath his forearm.

**

Haggard breaths left her mouth "Alice" she choked out, and he immediately loosened his grip.

"What?" He whispered as his grip slackened, making fall to the floor. The name pierced through him like a dagger. A mix of guilt, remorse, and confusion surged through him. "Alice?" He repeated, hovering over her unconscious body.

10 PM

She's heavier than she looks, he thinks as he walks to his car with her lifeless body slumped over his shoulder. Who is she? More importantly, how does she know Alice? He shakes his head as if to drive the questions away. It couldn't be the same Alice. He unceremoniously tosses her at the back of the pickup truck.

Under the light of the moon, he can almost see her face clearly, and she does not look like anyone he's met. If he has met her, he cannot remember where or how, as she does not have a particularly memorable face, granted she is pretty, but in an average kind of way.

Surely, it cannot be the same Alice. Yes, it's purely coincidental. There's no use in trying to figure it out now anyway, she's dead. He takes his equipment from the back of his truck and heads back to the house, determined to do what he'd initially come here to do.

Once inside, he realises how much of a mess he has to clean up. "Why couldn't she have done this less messily? The blood's everywhere," he says, clenching his jaw. And how the hell does someone do something this gruesome and simply not remember? He supposes it could be a trauma response. Or a case of selective amnesia. Unfortunately this wouldn't be the first time Daisy has had blanks in her memory. This must be exactly why his aunt Eleanor has always asked him to keep an eye on her.

Christ. If her mother knew what he was doing.

He starts in the living room, mopping up the bloody footprints. He'd hastily researched how to thoroughly clean up a crime scene, being chief of police helps. He'll do it right. He has to; otherwise, they'll both be going to jail. There's no turning back now.

12 PM

He makes multiple trips to his pick-up from the house and back again, loading his equipment. Finally, he drags the dead man's decomposing body to his truck. The disposable hazmat suit he has on makes it difficult to get a proper grip on him. "Why couldn't you mind your business, Wes?" he says, frowning.

He mindlessly loads the body in this pickup and begins to take his suit off when his phone rings. It must be her. He walks to the driver's seat, takes his phone off the dashboard, and answers, "It's done." he says, "Toss the phone," he adds before hanging up and tossing his phone on the passenger seat.

He takes the suit off, walking to the back of his truck, he starts to pull a tarp over the bodies when he notices..... "What?" He says loudly, "Where's the girl?!"

"Fuck," he curses as he haphazardly pulls the tarp over the body of Wes and rushing over to the driver's seat. He practically throws himself into the rental and speeds away. He has to get out of there and fast. How long has she been gone? He grips the steering wheel so tight his knuckles ache.