Prologue

A/N: There's a few bad reviews, I saw and I just want to say to those who actually gave my book a chance, thank you so so much. I appreciate you, construction criticisms are welcomed. You have no idea how much I benefit from your support and I'm grateful for you all❤️

To those who have bad to say, have you ever written a book before? Do you know how hard it is to write a book containing 100 plus chapters, when life is kicking your ass? Nope, then please keep your negative thoughts to yourselves.

Also this is the first book I have ever written and I made good improvements since then. See my other work.

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Prologue

Joeniya Allison

          An eerie silence enveloped the neighborhood of Granville, a stark contrast to its usual lively atmosphere. Known for its vibrant nightlife, Granville was anything but the finest or safest place to live; in fact, it boasted the highest crime rate in all of Bridgeport.

Normally, upon arriving at the bus stop, there would be other destitute individuals lingering on the street. Peppers, often referred to as the whorehouse of Granville, would typically resound with loud music blasting from the speakers, so intense that it rattled the very ground beneath.

Tonight felt peculiar; the club was closed, leaving me alone on the streets. Clutching my bag tightly to my side, I quickened my pace toward an abandoned building just five minutes away where I lived. After what happened a decade ago, I couldn't afford a decent apartment, and the money I earned from my job at Little Haven diner wasn't even enough to cover my nursing course.

I started a month ago at the Community College in Bullard, which was a ten-minute walk from the diner and just two minutes from the bus stop. After saving for several months to cover my first term, I was uncertain about my next steps. Juggling a six-to-five job with classes from five-thirty to ten left me with no time to search for another job.

The chilly breeze cut through my worn sweater, prompting me to run a little faster. The sooner I reached my destination, the sooner I could start a fire and warm up, as well as enjoy the burrito that a rude customer had shoved back at me earlier that morning.

I felt a small sense of relief that he hadn't ruined the meal, and I was especially grateful that Amber Patrick, my boss's spoiled daughter and the bane of my existence, had already left for school.

Amber had a knack for crafting elaborate tales, always ready to twist the truth in a way that would put me in hot water, and I couldn't help but think that if she claimed the sky was falling, her parents would undoubtedly take her word as gospel. Each day felt like a battle against her relentless scheming, and as I navigated this challenging workplace dynamic.

           A smile broke through my tension as the building came into view, but the moment I reached the entrance, two gunshots rang out, freezing me in place.

My heart raced as I saw a man standing over a lifeless body, casually pocketing his gun; the urge to flee screamed in my mind, yet my feet felt like lead, rooted to the concrete floor. Panic surged through me as clarity struck, but just as I turned to escape, I collided with the wall and crashed to the ground, vulnerability crashing over me like a tidal wave, leaving me exposed and paralyzed in fear.

I shut my eyes tightly, a groan of pain escaping my lips, but the eerie chuckle above me jolted me back to reality, sending waves of panic coursing through my body.

I opened my eyes to find the man, the murderer, looming over me, his expression a twisted mix of amusement and curiosity. As he extended a hand, inviting me to take it and rise, I felt a chilling mix of fear and disbelief; his voice dripped with an unsettling sweetness as he asked, "Are you alright?"

I scrambled backward, desperation coursing through me as my heart thudded like a war drum, tears streaming down my cheeks as the gruesome sight of the lifeless body, surrounded by a pool of blood, burned into my mind. Panic surged with each breath, and I realized I had to escape this nightmare; without daring to steal another glance at the killer, I clutched my bag tightly and made a frantic dash for the exit, each step fueled by sheer instinct, desperate to break free from the horror that had just unfolded.

I ran without a clear sense of time, each gasp for breath feeling like it might be my last. The relentless rhythm of my heart pounded in my ears, and with every blink, the haunting image of that man lying in a pool of his own blood invaded my thoughts, churning my stomach with a mix of horror and guilt. It felt like I was being pursued not just by the shadows of the night, but by the weight of what I had witnessed, turning each step into a desperate escape from the memories that clung to me like a shroud.

The thought of being chased and killed terrified me, so I decided the best course of action was to report what had happened. I glanced over my shoulder, my heart racing, but thankfully, there was no one in sight. Ahead, the police station loomed, its lights illuminating the darkness and the sounds of laughter from officers working the late shift reassuring me that safety was just a few steps away.

        As I stepped into the small station, a brusque officer bumped into my shoulder, sending a rush of pain through me once more. Wincing, I watched him stride out before I pulled my sweater tighter around myself for comfort and approached the front desk.

"Hello," I said, trying to steady my voice as I faced the officer on duty.

"Take a seat; my hands are full right now," he muttered without even glancing my way. I scanned the room, noting the unfamiliar faces of the officers surrounding me, as I usually came here during the day. It was clear that the only things occupying his hands were a donut and his phone, his feet kicked up on the table while he seemed engrossed in whatever was on the screen, completely indifferent to my presence.

I chose not to argue and simply took a seat, waiting in silence.

I couldn't help but overhear a female officer ask about me, "What's up with the homeless girl?"

The man at the front desk cast a brief look in my direction before returning to his phone, dismissively responding, "Who knows, she probably wants somewhere safe to sleep tonight and thought here would be the best place."

I frowned, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration as they spoke about me as though I were invisible, just a subject of their casual chatter rather than a person sitting just a few feet away. It stung to realize that my circumstances were a mere topic of conversation, stripped of any empathy or understanding.

"Right, not on my watch," the woman said firmly as she approached me, and I felt a rush of anxiety when she added, "You can't stay here."

I quickly responded, "I am not trying to sleep here; I just want to report a crime," hoping to make her understand my purpose.

But instead, she reached out and gripped my arm with a skeptical glare, replying, "Yeah right, I've heard that one before," making me feel dismissed and trapped.

She yanked me from the chair despite my protests, shoving me outside with a force that made me stumble. As I regained my balance, frustration bubbled inside me, reminding me just how disheartening it was that those who were supposed to serve and protect could be so dismissive and unjust. No wonder there was so much crime going on; when the system failed to listen, the cycle of despair tightened its grip on the very people it was meant to defend.

As I twisted and turned on the cold park bench, shivering from both the chill in the air and the terror clawing at my insides, hunger gnawed at me while pain throbbed through my body, all my senses heightened by fear. I glanced at my nurse watch, the hands stubbornly fixed at four thirteen a.m., and the weight of sleeplessness settled heavily upon my eyelids, but visions of that grey-eyed murderer and the grotesque, lifeless body haunted me, relentless and inescapable.

Anxiety spiraled within me as the dreadful realization sank in-I was a witness, and the likelihood of him finding me loomed like a shadow, the grim certainty settling in that he would not allow me the luxury of escaping unscathed.

Ten minutes later, I stood in a dingy public restroom, splashing water on my face in a desperate attempt to wash away the remnants of fear and despair. The girl staring back at me in the mirror appeared a shell of her former self; my chestnut hair was a tangled mess, and I absentmindedly picked a leaf out of it before gathering it into a makeshift low ponytail, hoping to reclaim some semblance of normalcy.

My T-shirt hung limply on my frame, crumpled and worn, while dark circles under my eyes betrayed countless sleepless nights, and as tears welled up again, I realized I was struggling not just with my appearance, but with the haunting weight of my circumstances that felt like an anchor pulling me deeper into darkness.

I clung desperately to the fragile thread of hope, yearning for a future where good things might finally find their way to me, but the weight of being a 'murder witness' stretched that hope to its breaking point, making everything seem utterly impossible.

My tears flowed more freely as memories of a decade past flooded my mind, the guilt suffocating me as I replayed the events that I believed twisted my life into this lonely existence-a solitary figure adrift in a world that had turned cold and hostile, all of it somehow tied to a decision I made long ago, one that had haunted me ever since and left me feeling utterly lost.