Scott Ward was of Scottish descent, but most of his ancestors had lived in the United States, where he had been born. As a child, he’d always enjoyed endeavoring in unsolved mysteries, attempting to unravel the unknown. Sometimes it was something as simple as “Who took my food?” Or “Why’d my shoe suddenly disappear?” Others the clichéd “What is our purpose in this life?” (To which, in fact, he still didn’t have an answer for. He was convinced that their was no purpose; it was mere coincidence that the human race had spontaneously appeared on this Earth. After all, he was strictly atheist). However insignificant, he had, as far as he could remember, always found joy in solving mysteries. He had grown up with one older brother, Matt, and his mother, Emily, who both had taught him, in the worst ways possible, the lessons in life.
His memories were merely quick captures of certain moments, most blurred to strange visions. He’d had a harsh childhood, moving from state to state every year or so. He had never found stability in his life, and happiness had been something he had been devoid of for most of the time. His mother had been a weak woman but had kept him in line relatively well, considering the circumstances in which they resided. He couldn’t remember any moments in which she hugged him, let alone flashed a smile at him. Those were very rare occurrences, times when he was able to indulge in the sweet caress of love and delight. He would often stare at the other children in the many schools he had attended hugging their parents every time they got picked up from school. There had always been a void in his heart that had grown over time. He knew of no happiness. He knew of no joy, no love, no care that he longed for more than anything else. A deep envy and hatred towards others had developed over time, and eventually he had turned into the cold, miserable man he now was.
To make matters even worse, he didn’t have a father. At least to his recollection. He had never met his real father, nor did he even know who he was. His oldest memories didn‘t include a father nor a happy family. In addition, his mother had always been very secretive, never sharing her thoughts, feelings, emotions. Perhaps this was the reason he so gleefully enjoyed deciphering unsolved mysteries.
His brother hadn’t been any more yielding than his mother, either. Matt had taught him, above all, that you could never trust anyone. Perhaps, Scott often pondered, it had been a good thing that his family had been this way as he grew up. Otherwise, he might never have discovered the solace he found in solving crimes and mysteries that he now incessantly scavenged for. Maybe it had all been for the best, he thought.
Even though he didn’t know where to start, Scott was excited that he had been assigned a new case. It would help him break the monotony of his daily life. It would make him think, get out on the field, and give him the satisfaction of having solved another case. That is, of course, if he actually solves it.
The thought that he could not name the victim irked him. He knew he’d seen him before. Was it in one of the schools he had attended? Possibly.
There wasn’t much to do until he got the results back from the coroner. In the meantime, he would rest. A good night’s sleep would do him good.
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