Cold Case

     A young police officer discovers evidence to a hundred year old cold case in a small village. When he says something he is ignored, ridiculed, shunned and outright mocked. Finally he finds two people he thinks may actually help him, sons of the sons of the original investigators.

     It is dark and cold in the small space where he wakes. Body propped upright, the young officer probes the dank brick of his standing tomb. He experiences a claustrophobia he wasn't aware he suffered from, nails braking against stone as he struggles. So tight is the space he cannot raise his arms high enough to remove the gag covering his mouth, muffling his screams. Water pours in over his vulnerable bare feet, rising higher with each panicked breath. Over the rush he can hear the voices, recognizes them as the men he trusted.

     "It's a shame really, if only he'd left well enough alone."

     "Some things are just meant to stay buried is all."

     Cold water swirls around his knees, his fingertips turned blue. Then his waist, his chest, his chin are engulfed by the inevitable tide. This is the way the first victim  died. The officer wonders if in a hundred years someone will search for him. As the water kisses his gagged lips, he thinks it more likely he will remained buried.