Sunday, October 13, 2024
Solara, Solstice, Bog Bay City
BBPD
Midnight
The precinct was quiet as Vince pushed open the heavy glass doors, the faint echo of his footsteps swallowed by the stillness of the night. He stepped inside, greeted by the dim fluorescent lights and the faint hum of a copy machine somewhere in the distance. The scent of stale coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of the station's overused heating vents.
It was late—too late for most of the day shift, and even the night shift officers were sparse, their voices barely audible from somewhere deep in the bullpen. Vince sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way toward his desk.
Now, standing in the precinct, Vince felt the weight of the day settle on his shoulders. He reached his desk, pulling open the bottom drawer with the ease of familiarity. His hand groped inside until his fingers brushed the crinkled pack of cigarettes he'd been craving. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he pulled it out, tapping the pack lightly against his palm.
"Finally," he muttered. He slipped the pack into his coat pocket, preparing to head home.
But as he turned toward the exit, something caught his eye. A faint glow spilled into the hallway from the corner office down the corridor—Simon's office. Vince stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing.
The door was slightly ajar, the light from a computer monitor casting long shadows against the walls. Vince hesitated for a moment, his instincts flaring. Simon was meticulous, almost obsessively so. He always shut down his equipment before leaving for the night.
He moved slowly toward the office, his footsteps barely making a sound on the polished tiles. The air seemed heavier here, as though the room itself carried the tension he now felt in his chest.
Reaching the door, he glanced down the hallway to ensure no one was watching before nudging it open further. The hinges creaked softly, and Vince slipped inside, closing the door gently behind him. The room smelled faintly of paper and coffee, with a hint of Simon's aftershave lingering in the air.
The monitor on Simon's desk glowed faintly, displaying an open email inbox. Vince's lips pressed into a thin line as he approached, his eyes scanning the screen. At first, nothing seemed out of place—just a series of mundane emails.
Request for additional patrols in Zone 4. A briefing rescheduled to next week. A department-wide memo about some new protocols. Vince's eyes skimmed over the text, his frown deepening as his impatience grew. He was about to move away when one email caught his attention.
The sender was listed as Anonymous.
The subject line read: Tonight. 9 PM.
Vince clicked on it carefully, his breath slowing as he read. The message was brief—so brief it seemed almost dismissive:
"Meet me at your house. It's important."
No name. No signature. Just those cryptic words, sent late the previous night. Vince leaned back slightly, his mind racing. Who sent this? Why meet at Simon's house? And what did they talk about?
He stared at the screen, his gut twisting. This wasn't standard. Whatever this was, it had nothing to do with Simon's usual meticulous routine.
A faint noise from the hallway snapped Vince out of his thoughts.
The sound of footsteps—steady, deliberate, and heading in his direction.
Vince reacted on instinct, his hand darting to the monitor to switch it off. The glow vanished, plunging the room into near-darkness. He crouched down behind the desk, his heart pounding as he pressed himself into the shadows.
The door creaked open.
A flashlight beam cut through the room, sweeping slowly across the desk and bookshelves. Vince held his breath. His pulse hammered in his ears as the footsteps moved further into the room.
Vince closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose to steady himself. Night patrol, he thought. Of course.
The beam of the flashlight lingered on the desk for a moment, then shifted to the cabinets along the wall. The officer—a younger guy Vince vaguely recognized—didn't seem particularly thorough, more bored than suspicious.
"Man, I need coffee," the officer mumbled to himself before turning toward the door.
Vince stayed still, his muscles coiled as the footsteps faded. He listened intently until the door clicked shut, and the officer's steps grew distant down the hallway.
Only then did he rise slowly, his movements quiet and deliberate. He adjusted the chair, making sure everything was exactly as he'd found it before slipping out of the office.
His mind swirled as he made his way to the exit. Whoever had sent that email to Simon, it wasn't someone ordinary. Vince didn't believe in coincidences, and this didn't feel like one. Whatever was happening, it wasn't just police work.
And he intended to find out exactly what Simon was hiding.
Kensington's Manor
Hannah Kensington sat cross-legged on her plush bed, flipping through the glossy pages of a brightly colored idol magazine.
Her room was no longer the cold, sterile space it had once been. Before the kidnapping, it had been a reflection of her rigid, structured life—walls painted a muted, impersonal gray, shelves lined with textbooks, and a desk perpetually cluttered with study materials and schedules. The room had felt more like an extension of her schooling than a place where a teenage girl could truly live.
But now, everything was different.
The walls were repainted a soft, inviting lavender, accented with twinkling fairy lights strung across the headboard of her bed. The shelves, once dominated by encyclopedias and reference books, now displayed framed photos, small potted plants, and stacks of novels with colorful covers. A plush rug lay across the hardwood floor, its pastel hues matching the cozy throw pillows scattered across her bed. Even the desk, though still neatly organized, no longer bore the intimidating weight of endless study materials. Instead, it held art supplies, a half-finished sketch, and a scattering of glossy idol magazines.
The glow of her bedside lamp cast a warm light across her face, softening her features as her eyes lingered on a full-page photo of Rika, a confident and charismatic idol performing on stage.
"Rika is so cool," Hannah murmured, a wistful tone in her voice. She traced the edge of the page with her finger, her expression filled with quiet admiration. "She's so confident up there, and look at her—she can do everything she wants."
A faint sigh escaped her lips as she closed the magazine and let it slide onto the bed beside her. Her gaze drifted toward her desk, where a pile of notebooks and binders sat, neatly stacked but untouched.
She tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of contemplation. "It's so strange," she said softly, leaning back against the headboard. "My whole life was all about learning this, studying that, going to this class at this time, practicing that at that time. Every second was planned, every day had a goal."
The words hung in the air as she flopped down onto her back, draping her arm dramatically over her forehead and covering her eyes. The soft blankets rustled beneath her as she muttered, "Now I have all the time in the world, and I don't know what to do with it… This is so weird. So… empty."
For a long moment, Hannah lay still, staring at the ceiling through the faint glow of the fairy lights. The quiet of her room seemed to echo her thoughts, the stillness wrapping around her like a tangible thing.
Finally, she sat up, brushing her hair away from her face. Her bare feet padded softly against the rug as she moved to the window, resting her hands on the sill and gazing outside.
Hannah's sleeping wear was simple yet alluring—a silky camisole in a soft blush pink that clung gently to her frame, its delicate lace trim adding an elegant touch. The straps rested lightly on her shoulders, leaving her collarbones subtly exposed, and the fabric shimmered faintly in the glow of her bedside lamp. Paired with it were matching satin shorts that ended mid-thigh, their loose fit swaying slightly as she moved, offering a glimpse of her long, toned legs.
The night was quiet, the sprawling grounds of Kensington Manor stretching out in shadowed elegance beneath her. The manicured hedges lining the driveway were barely visible under the faint glow of the crescent moon. Beyond the gates, the dark outlines of the forest loomed like silent guardians, their branches swaying gently in the cool breeze.
Hannah's gaze settled on the taser resting on the protruding ledge just beneath the window, its sleek and compact design catching the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the glass. The metal casing was smooth, with a matte finish that gave it a threatening look, and the small, ridged grip fit snugly in a hand. Its sharp, angular prongs jutted slightly from the top, a subtle but unmistakable reminder of its purpose. The device seemed almost out of place amidst the softness of the room—the pastel hues, the lace curtains, the gentle glow of fairy lights.
Her lips curled into a slow grin, and her fingers tapped lightly on the windowsill. Her reflection in the glass caught her attention, and she tilted her head, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes.
"I think I know what to do," she murmured, her voice low and resolute.
She lingered by the window for a moment longer, her grin growing, before turning back toward her room, her steps light with determination.