By Wakefield Mahon
Special Agent Frank Dodge prepared to hang up his badge after thirty years of service with a degree of melancholy. He had spent his whole life with the bureau, but it would be great to spend time finally with his wife and two daughters. He wanted to talk to his boss, Jim, but he had left on some errand, so he packed up his desk can carted everything to his blue station wagon.
Frank pulled into the neighborhood where his modest suburban home nestled conspicuously between two far more ornate residences. The presence of his supervisor's SUV and his ex-partner's cars caught his attention immediately. Were they preparing a surprise for him? If they were, then they were doing a sloppy job. They could have at least parked down the block or behind the house.
It was quieter than he expected when he walked up to the door. For birthday parties and similar occasions, one of his kids would usually giggle and give the group away.
His initial response to his reception was to roll his eyes. His family and friends lay neatly side by side, each with a single gunshot through the head. "Are you serious guys? That is so cliché."
Closer inspection sent chills up his spine. It was no elaborate prank; they were all dead.
Even worse, the gun that he kept locked up lay accusingly on the dining room table.
Special Agent Frank Dodge had one more investigation and this time it was very personal.