Detective Max McClain (Not finished)

I was out for my walk on another fine, young evening . I didn't go out looking for a conflict, but somehow I found one. I was on my usual walk that leads down Central Lane and travels into the very public community park and out the other end. I turn right down Mulberry street and back to Central Lane, which leads also to my little house on top of the quiet, yet very friendly neighborhood. It was there while in the currently unpopulated park that I witnessed a very vulgar crime amongst the shadows of the trees. Someone had been killed. Someone innocent had their life taken with no sign of available defense. It troubled me in the manner that I wanted to have death take it's toll on the killer himself. However, I knew that it was not my place nor was it right for me to desire such a thing. I was the person who discovered reasons of such acts of revenge. The person who people call when they need help in solving crimes or mysteries. My name is Max McClain.

I quickly made my way to the scene and found a young man, about the age of thirty, slummed over the tree trunk. I heard a gasping sound and soon realized that it was coming from him. He had been shot, but was still breathing. I took the man and swung his arm over my shoulder and quickly helped him to the nearest hospital. The nurses thankfully helped him only minutes before he actually passed away.

I made my way out of the hospital, only to be greeted by the latest reporters.
" Detective Max, can you tell us anything on what has just happened?"
" Detective, you have saved the day again. How does that make you feel?"
" Oh hush. I was doing my job. I am honored to be helping you fine people as yourself in your daily troubles. Anything that calls for a detectives skills, I am the one who you call. Detective Max McClain." I replied.

I walked down the steps with the reporters following me. The officers that were standing nearby stopped them to let me go in peace. I had the officers block off the crime site and refrain from further inspections. I as to address the scene tomorrow morning and search for any clues. With the victim in a hospital, there would be no room for him to run when I would question him on the situation and try to find out who the gunman was and why he had shot him. There was a lot of work to do and I needed sleep. I finally made it home and got inside. I went to the living room and pulled out an old picture of my parents.
" I have another crime father. you would be proud of me. I love you."
I set the picture back down in the place where it lay and dozed off into a dream about my childhood.

I was born in the quaint land of Scotland. I grew up here as a fine young girl who, every day, was snuggled up inside a book. Reading the old classic books of the Nancy Drew and Sherlock Holmes, it was not long after this that I soon discovered my calling. I was to be a detective. It was all I really knew in my life and I was determined as anyone else would be when they found something new that they liked. My dream was to become the world's most famous detective that anyone could ever have. When I was at the age of ten, my father forced our little family to move to the United States. I secretly refused deep down inside to move there only because I did not want to upset my father. He was a noble man of wisdom, courage, and demanded respect, thus the reason why I couldn't tell him I didn't want to move.

About four months later we finally reached our destination, currently the place where I still live. My father quickly passed away after a tragic loss of his job that he loved so much. Working as the top businessman of the world's largest corporation, working from Scotland called for drastic measures. However to Americans, his first impression on him was not at all what they were expecting. I think that they were expecting someone a bit more... sophisticated, and elaborate. In addition, the only thing he was talented at was his job. Working to please average community, as well as business people. They fired him, despite his overall talent. I loved my father dearly. We were closer to each other more than anyone else I had ever met, including my mother. He did indeed still love my mother very much, but that bond that him and I had together was not the same with him and my mother. To see him go, though, was a tremendous encumbrance upon my shoulders. I never expected to have him leave so soon in my life. He was my hero. My inspiration in everything. He was the one to support me in whatever I wanted to do. So, to see him die was truly something that I could never get over or handle.

My mother held on for a few years after my father croaked, but it soon grew too hard on her, with people calling her constantly asking if my father was there, due to the fact that he was a very helpful man to all the people in Scotland. Everyone knew who he was. He was a very respected person, who was also known to be the most humble of men. However, that was not the only thing that greatly distressed my mother.Every yearly anniversary that her and my father always celebrated brought back all the memories that she cherished so much. Not long after that, she too passed away, leaving me, now thirteen, by myself, with no job, family, or support. Quickly,I grew a hatred grew towards America, but little did I know, that this was the time that I would soon fulfill my dream to become a famous detective.


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