Dark Holme Inner Circle

Pancakes Anyone?

Blueberrys, check

Syrup, check

Chocolate chips, check

Pancake mix, oh crap where was the pancake mix. Crap crap crap.

Climbing on the floor of my cramped corner pantry I hunted every shelf high and low for some sort of flour substitute.

Bingo there it was, breakfast solved.

As we all sat down to try my attempt at pancakes my wife and son grabbed their throats and fell off their chairs. Dead.

I reached for my phone to call someone.

Waiting outside I noticed the clouds creeping in looks like rain, I’ll have to bring the towels in from the line.

Eventually, two bright-eyed young police officers arrived, trying to look serious and sombre. Their eyes told a different story—eagerness, excitement. Their first death case.

I led them inside, past the scrape of chaos, and stood staring.

“Did you call 911?” The tall one pulled my attention away from the lifeless bodies of my family.

“I was making pancakes. No flour. I found a bag. My son has been acting… off recently. What happened.”

“We think it was cocaine, not flour. Teenagers get involved in drugs through kids at school they hide them all sorts of places. You weren’t to know. We are deeply sorry for your loss.”

Nodding on autopilot I led them to the door, the excitement in their eyes gone.

It had been expensive to buy that much coke.

But that was 10 states crossed off my list.

Where next?