One knock on a door can change an entire life. One knock can save a life. One knock can also destroy a life.

Cassidy wiped her wet hands on an apron and hurried to the front door. The broth had ten more minutes to cook before she could finally eat lunch. She should have started to cook earlier but her new novel had her so engrossed, lunch had been the last thing on her mind. Thankfully, her belly had reminded her by grumbling so loud, it had scared her cat that was sitting next to her. An image of Meow's terrified face popped into her head as she walked to the door making her chuckle.

Cassidy opened the door and looked at the two men that were standing on her doorstep. She was sure she didn't know them. At least she thought she was sure; remembering people's faces wasn't something she was good at. Her smile left her face as confusion filled her mind.

One was clearly older, judging by the greying in his hair. His shirt was tight around his bulging midsection and there was a small stain at his breast pocket that looked liked he had left a pen open. His face was wrinkled but his eyes were sharp. They scanned the surroundings and bored into Cassidy making her feel a bit uncomfortable.

The other man was younger, probably mid-twenties. He was dressed in jeans and a blue shirt – a warm blue. One that reminded Cassidy of a summer sky. She really missed summer. Autumn was brutal with its cold winds. It looked as though it was brutal for the man as well. His nose was red, and his dark brown hair was blown in all directions. His eyes were a soft brown that looked like molten chocolate. His features were hard and there was a small scar above his left brow.

She didn't open the door fully and stood with a piece of her body behind the frame. It didn't hurt to be cautious.

"Can I help you?" she asked them.

"Are you Cassidy Monte?" the older man questioned.

How did they know her name?

"Who are you?" she asked, instead of answering.

They both reached into their jackets, making her tense immediately but they only pulled out their wallets.

"We're detectives at the Mayberry Police Station. I'm Detective Wyatt Long and this is Detective John Johnson," the younger of the two men answered.

They both showed her their badges. They held them up long enough so she could take a good look at it. Not like she could distinguish between real and fake. However, she could clearly see the words Mayberry Police and some ID numbers on them.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

Her mind was racing. Why were detectives at her house? Had she done something wrong recently? She didn't think so. She had paid her speeding tickets. And she hadn't robbed anywhere lately. Not that she had ever robbed somewhere.

"You are Cassidy Monte?" Detective Wyatt queried.

"I am," she answered. "But what is this about?"

Panic was beginning to settle in her stomach.

"Do you know someone named Rose Monte?" Detective Johnson asked.

Cassidy's heart dropped. She staggered back a step. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard someone mention that name.

Did these two men know Rose? Could they help her find Rose? After all these years.

"I do. She's my sister. Why do you ask?" she answered softly.

Her heart was galloping away while her hands turned clammy. She was still in a state of shock, but she didn't miss the look that was shared between the two men.

"Miss Monte, we would like to ask you to come down to the station," Detective Johnson stated, his tone not giving anything away.

"Why? Did something happen to my sister? Did you find her? Is she okay?"

Please don't let anything be wrong with Rose, Cassidy pleaded. She had waited so long to see her sister again.

"We prefer to talk about this situation at the station. Could you come with us?" Detective Johnson asked.

Cassidy nodded. "S-Sure, yeah I can," she stammered. "Let me just grab my coat and purse."

She walked back into the apartment looking for her purse, not sure where last she had left it. Had she carried it into her room? Usually it was on the table in the kitchen. Her head was spinning so much she almost forgot about the soup she was cooking. She rushed to the kitchen and took off the stove. Being homeless was not something she needed right now. The purse was sitting on the table just where it should be, and she grabbed it.

She stood in the kitchen for a moment to gather her thoughts. The detectives hadn't said something was wrong with Rose. If she had been hurt or – she didn't even want to think about it – dead, they would have told her immediately. That meant they were asking her to come down to the station to talk about something else.

Her sister was fine. She was going to keep that thought in her head. Her sister was fine.

Cassidy forced herself to take some deep breaths and braced herself before walking back out. She grabbed her phone from the counter as she passed.

The soft hum of the detectives' voices travelled through the open door to her in the corridor. She slowed her pace and tried being silent to hear what was being said between the two men.

"She seems awfully shocked. Are they not close?," Detective Johnson was saying.

"There wasn't anything in the file," Detective Wyatt answered.

Detective Wyatt looked up at that moment and noticed her. He immediately stopped speaking.

"Do you have everything?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Then let's go."

She locked the apartment door and followed them down to their car. They hadn't come in a patrol car. Now that she was thinking about it, they didn't have on uniforms either. Did detectives get to wear whatever they wanted? That's how it was on TV so maybe that's how it was in real life too.

The drive to the station was quiet. She opened her mouth countless times to ask about Rose, but she knew they wouldn't say anything until they were at the station.

"Can I ask why we can't have this discussion at my house?" she asked instead.

She was really curious as to why she had to go all the way to the station. The detectives had seemed adamant on it.

"The information we're going to be discussing is confidential. The station is the best place to have this conversation," Detective Wyatt answered.

What were they going to tell her that was so important? Had something really happened to Rose? Was she involved in something dangerous? Cassidy couldn't stand the curiosity. Countless scenarios were playing in her head and each was becoming worse than the previous.

"We're here," Detective Johnson announced.

Cassidy got out of the car and followed the two men to the entrance. There was a reception desk as soon as she walked in. The station was quite noisy and there were several people milling about at the reception area. This was actually the first time Cassidy was visiting the police station since living here.

The detectives led her to the left through a corridor. Cassidy walked past some of the officers and felt as though they were all watching her. Staring at her like they knew who she was. She was sure she was just being paranoid, but couldn't help but feel like their eyes were on her even after passing them.

Cassidy was led to a room that looked more like a conference room than an interrogation room. Her eyes swept through her new surroundings, taking it in. There was a big table at the center with chairs to seat at least ten. On either side of the room were more chairs and at the back was what looked like a coffee station. There was a projector overhead as well. This was most likely where they held meetings.

Detective Wyatt motioned for her to take a seat. She sat on the left side. Both men sat opposite her on the right side.

"We're going to record this conversation. I hope you don't mind," Detective Johnson stated.

"I don't have a problem with it," she answered, but couldn't help the suspicion that filled her mind.

Why would they need to record the conversation? What were they about to tell her? She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it anymore.

Detective Johnson got up and turned on the camera that she hadn't noticed. It stood behind the detectives and was pointed in her direction. The red light came on, indicating it was now recording.

"State your name for the record please," Detective Wyatt said.

"Cassidy Monte."

"And how do you know Rose Monte?"

"She's my sister. Why does it feel as though I'm making a testimony?"

"How do you know what making a testimony is like?" Detective Wyatt asked.

Cassidy froze for a moment. She didn't want to talk about that. She really didn't. Think of something, she told herself, think of something.

"I watch a lot of crime shows," she said easily with a fake smile.

Both detectives looked as though they believed her. She had become good at getting people to believe her.

"When was the last time you saw your sister?" Detective Johnson asked.

"I'm sorry?"

She was sure she had heard that question wrong.

"I asked when was the last time you saw your sister?"

"Didn't you do a background check on her? I mean that was the only way you could have found out we were related."

"We did," Detective Wyatt confirmed.

"I guess that background check didn't tell you that my sister and I got separated almost twelve years ago," she explained.

Both detectives looked as though this was news to them.

"You were separated?" Detective Johnson asked.

Cassidy nodded.

"There was a fire at our house and both our parents died. I have no idea how Rose and I got out, but we did. We were both sent to orphanages and we were both adopted by different families. We tried to keep in touch, but the distance was too much," Cassidy said, trying not to let the memories bury her. It had been awhile since she had talked about these things.

"Rose would have been thirteen and you eleven when this happened," Detective Wyatt said.

She nodded.

"That's quite young to lose your parents," Detective Johnson sympathized softly.

It was. She had been alone in the world. Rose was the only one who was there for her. And then she had lost Rose as well. She was eleven years old and had no more family. No one to turn to when she was sad or even happy. She had cried herself to sleep every night at the orphanage. Her sister was the person she had missed most in the world.

Her parents – she didn't mind that lost as much as she thought she would. She had always wanted to get away from them. But she always thought that when she did, Rose would be with her.

A knock on the conference door brought her out of her thoughts.

A young man stuck his head into the room.

"You wanted the files Detective."

"Yes, bring them Adam," Detective Wyatt said.

Adam nodded and walked into the room. He was dressed in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt. His hair was a mop of curls on his head. He looked younger than Cassidy, but she was sure he couldn't be. They didn't allow twenty-three-year olds to work in police stations, did they?

"Can I get you anything else?" Adam asked the detectives.

"No that'll be all. Did you finish the report for the Hernandez case?"

"Almost."

"Okay, I'll read that when I'm through here," Detective Johnson ordered.

Adam nodded. He glanced at Cassidy once and then walked out of the room. He had looked at her with curiosity. She was curious as well. Why were these detectives asking questions about her sister?

Detective Wyatt opened the files that were in front of him and flipped some pages.

"Your parents' death was ruled as an accident," he noted.

She nodded.

"That's what the police said. They said that the fire started because of the candles my mum had lit and it spread through the house. I don't remember much."

She remembered enough of the day. But she didn't remember anything about the fire. Or even how she had gotten out of the house. The police had questioned them after the fire but neither she nor Rose had known how they had gotten out.

"Do you really have no idea where your sister is?" Detective Wyatt asked.

He was looking at her earnestly as though she could help him somehow.

"I really don't," she said shaking her head. "I've been trying to find her for the past five years, but I haven't found her as yet."

"Did you find any clues?" Detective Johnson questioned.

"I found the family she had last stayed with. However, they said that she left when she was eighteen and they never heard from her again. She was an adult by then and so they didn't bother to look for her. They thought she had run away."

"Why would she run away though?" Detective Johnson asked quietly.

"It was probably because her foster parents abused her and the other kids," Cassidy said.

Both men looked at her curiously.

"How do you know that?"

"I found other children who had stayed at the house during her time there. I wanted to know if any of them knew where she had gone. Most of them however had left as soon as they reached eighteen. The foster parents were famous for abusing their foster kids and whenever someone reported them, they always found a way out of it."

Cassidy had been sick to her stomach when she heard some of the stories. She couldn't believe Rose had gone through the same thing.

"We'll look more into that," Detective Johnson said.

"But how did you know which children had stayed at that home? They usually don't give out that information to the public," Detective Wyatt pressed.

Cassidy smiled mischievously. She had been really happy when that planned had worked. Who knew flirting could help in so much other ways?

"Nothing I did was illegal," she answered.

"Why did you wait so long to find your sister? You said you only started five years ago right?" Detective Wyatt asked.

He was latching on to everything she said.

"I couldn't get much done when I was younger. When I was eighteen, I thought I saw someone looking like Rose. I told my adoptive parents about it and they said they'd help me find her. They contacted the orphanage for me and have been helping me as much as they could."

Her adoptive parents – Leon and Martha Freemont – had been her blessing in disguise. They had been so kind to her ever since they adopted her. They had loved her as their own and helped her become the woman she was today. She really wished Rose could have had the same experience.

Detective Wyatt flipped through his folder pages again. Why were there so many pages? What information had they dug up about her? About her sister? About her family? There was a lot to dig up if you knew where to dig, but she was sure they didn't know where to start.

"Why did you guys ask me to come in? And what's with all these questions about my sister? Did you find her? Is she in some kind of trouble?"

Cassidy noticed that they still hadn't mentioned why they had brought her here. She was so pre-occupied with all the questions they had asked her that she hadn't bothered to ask her own.

Detective Wyatt ran a hand though his hair and his face expression changing to somber. Detective Johnson was fiddling with his tie and looked rather uncomfortable. They had purposely been avoiding why they had brought her here. She was sure now that it was for something bad. Something had happened to her sister.

"She's not dead, is she?" she asked softly.

Cassidy was sure she would know if her sister was dead. She liked to imagine she would have felt it somehow.

"She isn't," Detective Johnson answered.

She breathed out in relief.

"Then why am I here? Why all the questions about Rose?"

She needed to know why they brought her here right now. She was done with all the small talk and questions.

"Have you watched the news lately?" Detective Wyatt asked.

She was momentarily thrown off. The news?

"I try to whenever I can," Cassidy answered, not understanding why the question was relevant.

"There's been murders taking place over the past couple of months. They occur once per month for the last six months."

Her eyebrows raised in shock. She knew about this. She had read an article about it just last night. News reporters were having a field day with it. A serial killer in Beacon. One that was murdering families.

"I've read a few articles. What's this have to do with my sister?" she asked confused.

"This murders have taken place for the last six months. In each case, it was a family of three. We were careful not to say it was a serial killer, but reporters have noticed the similarities just like us. They're calling the person the Family Killer. There have been numerous articles so I'm sure you know the basics of the case."

She nodded.

"It's always a family of three and they're killed at home. The child is always thirteen. The article said that the killer stalks the families for the whole month and then on the twenty-seventh, he murders them."

Cassidy had felt sick after she had read the article. She didn't know how one human being could kill another. And to kill a child. That sounded horrible. She wished the police could catch whoever was doing these heinous acts soon.

"After the second case, we hedged towards the idea of a serial killer. After the third case, it became apparent. We've been trying to analyze his patterns and try to figure out who he might strike next. We want to prevent another death. We've also been trying to figure out who's behind these crimes. The National Intelligence Unit came in to help us.

We found that these cases for the last six months aren't the first. There's been some over the past five years that we can tie back to our killer. The pattern is the same. The killer is careful with DNA so we've been analyzing CCTV footage. There were a couple of suspects and we've narrowed it down to two."

"I hope you're able to get the person soon. These crimes are horrible," she stated.

She was a bit confused as to why they were telling her all this. She wanted the killer to be caught as well but there was nothing she could do to help. And why all the questions about Rose? Did they think she could help them?

"I still don't understand why I'm here though, and all the questions about Rose," Cassidy said, voicing her thoughts.

Detective Wyatt ran his hand through his hair again.

"Of the two suspects," Detective Wyatt said softly, "one of them is Rose Monte."

Hi everyone

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