Next morning
*Astrid*
I look at the rundown trailer, parked at the deserted beach. It looks more like a place a homeless person would hide than the home of a cop to be honest. Maybe I should help him find a decent place to live.
Walking up to the door there is no sound from the inside and I knock on the door. No response. I knock again, a little harder. “Zac !?”
He left my home rather late last night, after hours of talking, and about a dozen cups of coffee.
“Zac !” I yell, making two seagulls take flight.
When there is still no response I grab the handle, realising the door is open. “Hello !?”
When it swings open I am hit with a rather horrible stench. Had I not seen him last night I would have feared that he had been laying dead inside for days.
“Zac ?” I call out again, as I st
