100 Ways to Solve a Murder-Chapter 172: The Wilson’s Double Murder Case III

20 years ago, Sam’s Dorm Room, CalTech

Thirteen-year-old Samantha Camille fiddled with her computer, typing away. Her fingers danced on the keyboard with ease; she always had an aptitude to understanding complicated computer codes, as her brother did.

It was easy, oddly, more manageable than making friends in an exclusive University--at just 13, she had finished her Engineering Course and was now taking ComSci and Chemistry.

And she knew that she was receiving a far more special treatment than her already special treatment as a child genius; her grandparents were allowed to visit often. And she lived alone in her dorm room, not really alone; she had her trusted dog with her Ludwig.

For most of his life, Ludwig was considered a service dog, keeping her calm, helping her sleep at night. Sam had always been afraid of the World for as long as she could remember, and she didn’t know why, but in mind, she believed it to be a Dangerous Place.

A Very Dangerous Place.

Why?

She didn’t know.

And for a girl with a photographic memory, she found it very frustrating not to remember why she was afraid in the first place.

To the point that it crippled her in many ways, continually holding her back.

So very afraid.

The very reason she was there, in her dorm room, typing away, ignoring the loud music playing from across the hall where the ’adults’ were partying days before their Midterms. Real responsible, she thought sarcastically.

After successfully breaking into her pSychiatrist’s Dr. Martin, aka the donut man’s records, Sam cheered.

"Eureka," she said, grinning down at her dog at the foot of her bed. She reckoned he would be extremely cross with her. So would her grandparents be? She imagined she wouldn’t be allowed near the Clinic during her semestral Break if they found out she broke the law.

That is IF they found out, she thought, grinning deviously to herself.

After all, good girls are just bad girls who didn’t get caught.

She navigated through her doctor’s server undetected, searching her name till she found it. She downloaded it immediately and logged off.

’Trust issues’

’Socially awkward secondary to Autism’

’Selective Mutism at 4.’

’Child Genius’

’IQ 206.’

’Eidetic Memory’

Sam skimmed through it, nothing unusual, all these things she already knew. And she continued to snoop around her records, reading further back, she saw something. It was sometime after she started talking again based on the date. Why she stopped talking in the first place she couldn’t recall; she was too young---just a toddler. But she still found it weird, anything after three years old, she didn’t have any memories. Would it be possible her photographic memory only started after that? Or did she forget everything before that? Which was most probable in her opinion.

Sam saw a file dating back to 6 years ago. It saw a video of her seven-year-old self, curious she played it.

"Sammy, so tell me about this drawing." Dr. Martin’s familiar voice echoed in the background, but the camera remained on her younger self. Her hair was in a ponytail, and her cheeks were chubbier than she remembered making her cringe inwardly. She was so uncool, and she looked like a red chipmunk, she thought, and the front tooth missing didn’t help either.

For a moment, she considered deleting it, it was embarrassing after all, but she continued to watch, knowing she’d get caught if she messed with any of the doctor’s records. After all, he wasn’t stupid, and she was more than confident she’d be the primary suspect.

She could faintly recall the setting, but what they talked about she can’t remember. All she could remember were the images. 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

7year old Sam showed the drawing in front of the camera, pouting slightly.

It was an okay drawing of her family, causing 13-year-old Sam to frown.

The image in her hand was a typical drawing of any child, hand in hand with their parents smiling happily. That family 13-year-old Sam thought was imaginary; she didn’t have parents anymore. They died, that’s what her grandparents always told her.

She was told they died from carbon monoxide poisoning in their sleep when the cabin fire erupted on the night of their Wedding Anniversary. That was what everybody said, and for some time, she didn’t believe them finding it suspicious. However, thanks to technology and the internet, she found the old published reports from different newspapers supporting the story during her search.

’Fredricksen heiress and husband die in Cabin Fire’ were the Headline. And she accepted it; she had always believed more in facts after all than people. Facts and science do not lie like people did. And so, she moved on.

Nevertheless, that didn’t explain why she was raised in America; she theorized she was a Bastard-child, but she sneakily had her DNA tested, and the result said she was as much of a Fredricksen as her brother was. So, why was she there? Away from her real family? Sam had always wondered.

Her eyes remained on the video, ’It’s my mum and dad.’ 7-year-old Sam said, frowning. ’Where are they?’ Dr. Martin asked, curious as to how the genius seven-year-old viewed death. She had just recently been accepted at MENSA.

’Dead?’ Sam answered, unsure of her answer.

’When?’ the doctor asked.

’A very long time ago, they died in a fire,’ the girl whispered, looking down at her own drawn picture, biting her lip.

13-year-old Sam scowled at this, and she replayed that part.

’A very long time ago, they died in a fire,’ she whispered, looking down at her own drawn picture, again, biting her lip.

Sam’s hand clicked on the mouse, repeating the part over and over again, confused.

’There it is again,’ the 13-year-old thought, looking at the video of herself biting her lip and looking away. It was one of her tells.

The young redhead paused the video, and she gasped to herself, noticing her own hands were shaking. ’Why am I shaking?’ she wondered. As if she was scared, no, she was petrified, she realized. Petrified enough that she noticed tears dripping down the desk. ’Im crying without even realizing it?’ She wondered, wiping the tears off her cheeks. Her body was telling her something; she was sure of it.

Most of all, her eyes narrowed at her seven-year-old self on the screen.

"Why are you lying?" Sam thought out loud.

I have to remember, she decided.

.....

Present-day.

Sam walked out of her brother’s office, shaking. She hopped in the car, waiting for her outside, and she shut the door behind her, "Guys, please." she said, clenching her teeth.

The car moved forward, and all her restraint broke into pieces, and she lost it. She punched the empty seat beside her till she was out of breath and panting. Bob, her trusted driver, simply looked at her from the rearview mirror. "Bad day, Doctor Gray?" He asked, knowing something was hugely amiss. First was the fact that she left early for work, and then for the first time, out of nowhere, she asked to be driven to the Company building. she had been in a couple of business meetings, but all of which were Lunch meetings that were held outside.

The redhead huffed, her eyes turning red," Very," she admitted, taking in deep breaths to calm herself. She needed to have a clear head; she has work to do after all.

She walked to her Lab, rubbing her aching sinuses. Her frustration was literally giving her a headache.

She still couldn’t believe this was happening. Just when she had moved on, she tried to forget about it. Now, it was haunting her, the death of her parents.

Sam paused halfway towards her lab and decided to turn to a corner after deciding to go to the mortuary instead. She hopped on the empty elevator, then entered the cold and dimly lit mortuary. She switched the lights on, noticing that it was empty.

After tying her hair, she put on a disposable apron, masks, and gloves. Then approached the familiar conveyor, pulling one of the conveyors open, and unzipped the black body bag, revealing one of the victims, Rebecca Wilson.

Sam transferred the body to the examination table with practiced ease.

She looked down at the face of the woman before her, and even though the dead woman could no longer talk. The marks and bruises on her body spoke volumes, causing Sam to clench her jaw in anger. The torture she went through hours before her death was something she wouldn’t wish for anyone; there were signs of her being tied down around her wrists and ankles.

She was beaten; her lips were busted, her eyes were swollen. She had bruising and swelling on the right cheek, and from her further examination, her nose and jaw were broken, and cheek fractured.

There were also patches of her hair missing; Sam could assume a result of someone grabbing her harshly. Also, Rebecca had hairline fractures on three of her ribs and left ulna.

She could tell that the woman tried to fight back; she struggled under the weight of her attacker. But he was stronger. She was powerless against him.

Sam continued to reexamine the body, hoping she missed something. Anything, as she looked at the severe lacerations in the victim’s labia minora. Her eyes swept on all the injuries the woman sustained; every hole in her body was used.

And even though it was highly unlikely for her to miss a thing, she prayed for it. Nevertheless, even if she didn’t find any, something she expected, reexamining the bodies would help her calm down.

He’s out there, Sam thought.

He’s still out there.

The Monster who murdered my Mum and Dad.