It's been almost a day since that kid Peter went missing, and we're still clueless about what the fuck happened to him.
"So, you idiots better tell me where you got my car, or I'll put three fucking bullets in your head and one in your ass," I said, pressing the gun against the man's forehead while kneeling in front of him.
He cried, "We don't know who Peter is, and we didn't steal this car from anyone! It was abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and the key was in it, so we took it."
I stood up. "Where did you find this car?"
He breathed heavily before answering, "We found it on the road between the woods... the one right after the tobacco factory."
I dragged them to the road near the forest. Pulling one of them out of the car by his collar, I demanded, "Where exactly did you find my car?"
The other man, still in the car, stepped out nervously. "Right under the lamp post, sir."
I lit a cigar, standing under the lamp post. By the time it burned out, I was still there, completely clueless about what was happening in this darn town. I took out my phone from my jacket and called my deputy, but it went straight to voicemail.
"Hey, you've reached Mikkelson. Drop a message; I'll call you back soon."
I growled into the phone, "I told you to go to the kid's house! You haven't responded to me yet. Call me back right now, or I'm gonna put a fucking bullet in your head."
I got back in my car and drove to the station, leaving the thieves behind on the road. Once there, I locked myself in the evidence room and started going through all the files we had on the old man and the missing kids—both from 30 years ago and the ones who'd disappeared recently.
I opened the recent missing kid's report:
KEVIN SHANG, FATHER: Henry Winden
MOTHER: Karen Shang
As I read through it, I noticed a name at the bottom of the report labeled CALL IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. The name was Shelly Cardigan. It struck me as familiar, but I couldn't immediately place it.
I grabbed the old man's file:
JONATHAN WILLIAMS
At the end of his report, under the same label, was the name Shelly Cardigan.
"What the fuck?" I muttered under my breath. I told one of the constables to go to Kevin's house and bring his mother to the station. Then, I took my car and went straight to Peter's apartment.
When I arrived, his friend Victor opened the door. "Where's Peter?" he asked.
I wasn't in the mood for explanations. "Bring me every single document of Peter's. Now."
"Sir, but wh–"
I grabbed him by the collar. "I said now, cunt!"
He brought out a suitcase. I rummaged through it, looking for his birth certificate. When I found it, I noticed something strange: at the bottom, it had the label CALL IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, but this time, the name was Vanessa Cardigan.
"Cardigan…" I muttered. "That's the only common factor?"
I turned to Victor. "Has Peter ever mentioned anyone named Shelly Cardigan or Vanessa Cardigan?"
Victor thought for a moment. "Cardigan... Yes. Yeah, I've heard him mention that name. Uh... Cardigan—they're his family. I mean, his mom's elder sister. She married this guy, Victor Cardigan, but after a few years, Peter's family stopped seeing them and cut all ties."
"Why?" I asked.
Victor went inside and came back with a lighter. "He used to say this was the last thing he had as a memory of his Aunt Vanessa." The lighter had the word Cardigan engraved on one side.
"Do you know why they separated?" I asked again.
Victor stepped up close to me, almost in my face. "You tell me what the fuck happened to Peter right now!"
I don't like anyone's breath too close to my nose, so I grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and pinned him to the dining table.
"Talk, you son of a bitch!" I yelled.
He breathed heavily. "Okay, okay! He said his aunt's family was involved in some black mass or something."
"Black mass?" I let him go.
Victor continued, "Yeah... Something about praying to the Antichrist or something. I don't know much else."
I grabbed all the documents and got back in my car, heading to the station. On the way, all I could think about was the name Cardigan and how the fuck it connected these three people—who had absolutely nothing in common. One was a half-Asian kid, another an American, and Peter was Australian. And now there's this black magic shit…
"fuck!" I screamed, banging the steering wheel. "fuck, fuck, fuck!"
My phone started ringing. It was the constable I had sent to Kevin's house.
"I told you to bring her to the station!" I barked.
"No, sir. She's not here," he said, his voice trembling.
I stopped the car. "What's wrong? Where is she?"
"Sir... She's not here, but I found Peter."
"What?" My heart raced. "Peter? He's there? Give him the phone."
The constable breathed heavily. "No, sir… He's here, but he's dead. Peter's dead, sir. He's dead."
To be continued