The first thing Anna notices when she gets home is the yellow plastic tape criss-crossing her front door. It stands ajar, swinging in the wind, as she clambers out of the driver’s seat. She remembers having locked it that morning before commuting to work, so why is it open now? Has there been a burglary? The local paper had mentioned a series of thefts, but her neighborhood was mostly made up of middle class families and retirees. The houses burglarized could barely be categorized as houses, maybe… “extravagant houses,” or (the better term would be) “mansions.”
The wind blows, and Anna’s brown hair whips about her face. The strands, along with the cold, sting her skin. She ignores it. Innumerable lengths of tape decorate her lawn, getting wrapped up around tree branches and littering the grass.
A police officer, previously overseeing the bustle of the law enforcement agents, walks up to her and introduces himself. He looks prepared to give bad news and calm her down—
But what exactly has happened at her home?
Wordlessly, he stares at her. (Incredulously or suspiciously? She can’t tell.)