Here is the scene written as a narrative, followed by the voice sheet: The aroma of strong coffee and freshly baked apple turnovers hung heavy in the air of "The Cozy Cuppa," Alborn's only true cafe. Sunlight streamed through the large front window, illuminating dust motes dancing around Isabella as she meticulously cleaned the lens of her Canon camera. The camera, an extension of her very being, was her shield and her solace in this quiet, unfamiliar corner of Minnesota. She was lost in the fine details of the aperture blades when a shadow fell over her table. A man stood there, his presence solid and unyielding, like the old oaks that lined the town square. He wore a worn leather jacket and his gaze was sharp, assessing. Isabella looked up, her dark eyes wide with a flicker of unease. "Excuse me," he began, his voice a low rumble, "I'm Detective Hunter. I understand you might have seen something… unusual last night, near the old covered bridge?" Isabella blinked, her brow furrowing. The words meant nothing to her. She fumbled for a response, her mind a jumble of concern and confusion. She knew of the bridge, had even considered photographing it herself, but 'unusual'? The word was foreign, a jangle of sounds she couldn't grasp. "Lei… non capisco," she began, her voice trembling slightly, the Italian flowing out like a dam bursting. "C'era… c'era un suono. Strano. Come un lamento nel vento, ma più profondo. E poi… il buio. Tutto si è spento. Ho avuto tanta paura." Her hands instinctively tightened around her camera. She shook her head, her gaze flicking towards the window as if seeking an escape. "Ho pensato fosse un animale ferito, ma era… diverso. E la nebbia si alzava così in fretta, come un lenzuolo gelido. Non ho visto nulla, solo sentito." Hunter stared, his expression unchanging, but a definite cloud of perplexity settling on his features. He understood the tone, the distress, but the actual words were a complete enigma. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, a gesture of mild frustration. "Right," he said, forcing a sigh. "You don't speak English, do you?" Isabella shook her head again, her eyes pleading for understanding. "Okay," Hunter continued, speaking slowly and enunciating each word. "I'm asking… questions. About last night. Near the bridge." He pointed vaguely out the window, then mimed something falling. Isabella watched his gestures, trying valiantly to decipher his meaning. A vague understanding began to dawn, a sense that he was asking about the unsettling event she had witnessed. "Il ponte? Quello vecchio?" she asked, her Italian still laced with apprehension. He nodded, a flicker of hope. "Ho sentito… rumori. Non ho visto nulla. Era buio, e poi la nebbia. Tanta nebbia. E un odore strano, come di terra bagnata e… qualcosa di dolce, ma nauseabondo." She shivered, hugging herself. "Sono corsa via. Non volevo restare." Hunter listened intently, catching a few recurring sounds that might correspond to "bridge," "fog," and "bad smell," but the rest was a frustrating, silent film. He wished he had a translator, or at least a phrasebook. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, trying to maintain a reassuring presence despite the communication barrier. "Did you… see anyone? A person?" he asked, making a shape of a person with his hands. Isabella considered, shaking her head. "Niente. Solo ombre. E quella sensazione… che non ero sola. Ma non ho visto nessuno. Solo… il suono. E il freddo improvviso." Just as Hunter was about to try another approach, to sketch something perhaps, his phone buzzed with a sharp, insistent ring. He pulled it out, his expression immediately hardening as he glanced at the caller ID. "Hold on a second," he said to Isabella, his gaze already distant. He answered the phone, his voice low and urgent. "Hunter. What is it? Another one? Damn it." He listened for a moment, his jaw tightening. "I'm on my way. Don't let anyone touch anything." He ended the call abruptly and stood, his earlier concern for Isabella momentarily overshadowed by the unfolding crisis. He looked back at her, a flicker of apology in his eyes. "I have to go," he said, the words clear even if the meaning was lost. He gave a curt nod. "Can you stay here? Maybe someone else can… help." He gestured vaguely towards the counter, where a friendly-looking woman was wiping down tables. Without waiting for a visible response, Hunter turned and strode out of the cafe, leaving Isabella alone with her unsettling memories and her camera. *** **Voice Sheet:** **Isabella:** "Lei… non capisco. C'era… c'era un suono. Strano. Come un lamento nel vento, ma più profondo. E poi… il buio. Tutto si è spento. Ho avuto tanta paura. Ho pensato fosse un animale ferito, ma era… diverso. E la nebbia si alzava così in fretta, come un lenzuolo gelido. Non ho visto nulla, solo sentito." **Hunter:** "Excuse me, I understand you might have seen something… unusual last night, near the old covered bridge?" **Isabella:** "Il ponte? Quello vecchio? Ho sentito… rumori. Non ho visto nulla. Era buio, e poi la nebbia. Tanta nebbia. E un odore strano, come di terra bagnata e… qualcosa di dolce, ma nauseabondo. Sono corsa via. Non volevo restare." **Hunter:** "Right. You don't speak English, do you?" **Hunter:** "Okay. I'm asking… questions. About last night. Near the bridge." **Hunter:** "Did you… see anyone? A person?" **Isabella:** "Niente. Solo ombre. E quella sensazione… che non ero sola. Ma non ho visto nessuno. Solo… il suono. E il freddo improvviso." **Hunter:** "Hold on a second. I have to go."