murder mystery
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Only one person ever saw Lisa after 2:02 PM on November 27, 1991.

The party was mediocre at best. Lisa’s friends had started noticing oddities at 1:53 PM. They told Lisa she had been looking tired, and so Lisa had made some coffee. Still, she looked tired. They had said she looked cold and was shivering, and so she put on a sweater. Still, she was cold. They had told her she looked pale, and so she had touched up her makeup. Still, she looked pale. Lisa was a pale person. But that night she was paler than usual.

At 12:18 PM on November 27, 1991, Lisa’s boyfriend had dragged her to an antique store to “keep him company while his mother shopped”. She could have gouged her eyes out with a Spork and been more content. The level of disgust she felt practically forced her to sit in the corner, arms crossed and pouting. Practically forced her to catch a glimpse of that strange painting in the corner, leaning against a rack of tattered and dusty books, at 1:32 PM. Practically forced her to stroke its surface. It had felt…warm. Alive, almost.

She had spoken to it. No, it had spoken to her. It had known things about her, secrets she had never told anyone. How she had lost the class hamster in third grade, how she had stolen her best friend’s wallet to pay off her pot dealer, how she had destroyed her laptop on purpose to get a new one from her parents. Never had she felt so connected, so tied to another being in her life. At 1:38 PM, her boyfriend had made her leave it behind, despite their closeness. At 1:47 PM, she could feel them becoming closer.

She arrived at the party at 1:51 PM. At 1:54, she was paler than ever, more tired than she could imagine, and colder than ice. At 1:57, she left the party.

At 2:12 PM on November 27, 1991, her body was discovered. The police were called. Lisa was declared dead at 2:24 PM.


On November 30, 1991, Jeremy walked into an antique shop with his wife. I wonder if I can find a dining set, he thought, shuffling around the room. He looked at the tables; dust, books, a typewriter, more dust, some more dust, placemats, and dust. Nothing of interest. Jeremy sighed, disappointed, and turned towards the door. He reached for the knob and began to turn before a splash of color caught his eye. He turned, puzzled. And there, on November 30, 1991, Jeremy became the last person to ever see Lisa.

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