Got 'em

Bang!

Erik dropped the old, tattered baseball he had been fumbling with on the treehouse floor. The loud noise silenced the neighborhood crickets and sent jolts of adrenaline through both teenage boys. The baseball eventually rolled to a stop underneath a shelf stocked mostly with Batman and a few other DC comic books.

Max, who had been spying on his neighbor, Mr. Miller, pushed aside the binoculars he had borrowed from his dad. He peered sharply at Erik, raising his index finger to his lips. “Shhhhhhh.”

“Sorry, I’m bored,” Erik whispered. “Do you just sit up here for hours recording this dude? It’s super weird, Max.”

Max brushed off Erik’s criticisms, double-checking the operation of his video recorder before resuming his watch. “Bro, I’m telling you… Mr. Miller is the Atlanta Butcher, and I’m going to prove it.”

Atlanta had been ravaged by ten savage murders over the past two years. The police had zero leads.

Max was confident in his theory; he just needed concrete evidence. Last summer, he had seen Mr. Miller carrying an old carpet from his trunk into his garage shortly after a teenage girl went missing. Then, on multiple occasions, he had watched Mr. Miller transfer other large items from his trunk to his garage, all coinciding with the dates of the murders. What had ultimately convinced Max was when he sneaked over to Mr. Miller’s fence for a closer look at his suspicious activities and found him chopping something up in his shed.

Despite sharing his theory with his parents, it took days of pleading to convince them to call the police. Finally, they met with the lead investigator, Detective Mahoney.

Max told Mahoney everything, but he sensed the detective wasn’t taking him seriously, watching as he jotted down scribbles of happy faces with a cynical grin plastered on his face. After they left, Max was furious—he knew he needed solid evidence for anyone to believe him. Since then, Max’s investigation had consumed him—he wanted to prove everyone wrong, especially that asshole, Detective Mahoney.

Erik whispered, eyes wide, “What if he catches you up here gawking at him?”

“That’s why I need you to stay quiet,” Max replied, his eyes glued to the binoculars. “Just a little longer, and I’ll have all the proof I need. Then I can go to the police.”

Erik sighed, picking up the baseball again. He wanted to believe Max, but it seemed too far-fetched. Still, if it were true, they’d become legends, which made Erik stick around.

That night, they continued investigating from their treehouse, which provided a clear view of Mr. Miller’s backyard and shed. Every creak of the wood and distant sound made Erik’s heart race. Max remained focused, his binoculars fixed on his suspect, waiting for the moment his suspicions would turn into reality—it was his theory versus the detective’s.

Max tensed up. “Look!” he whispered loudly, barely containing his excitement.

Erik leaned in, peering through the gaps in the treehouse’s wooden planks. Mr. Miller opened his back patio door, glancing cautiously before heading toward his shed, dragging a body.

“Oh my God… you were right!” Erik muttered as he glanced at Max.

Max’s binoculars couldn’t hide his lottery-winning smile. “Got ‘em!” He reached over to press record.