Xerxes sat back at his desk, eyeing the folders sprawled across the surface. He actually had no idea where to start or how to begin. For the main case, they had an inefficient amount of information to work with. He decided to collect more data on that case during the day.
For now, let's work on the other ten cases...
An hour passed. Xerxes held a folder in one hand and his own ink-black hair in the other.
The reason? Simple.
The Case Name: The Vanishing Choirboy
Case Summary: A teenage choirboy named Timothy Hathaway was reported missing after not returning home from choir practice at Street Gabriel's Cathedral. Initial interviews suggested he'd run away due to family pressures. The police, led by Sergeant Xerxes, investigated thoroughly, and a confession from a vagrant claiming to have "done away with the boy" seemed to close the case. Timothy was presumed dead, and the vagrant was charged with manslaughter.
The Investigation:
Witnesses last saw Timothy walking toward the cathedral's crypt entrance, a part of the church under renovation. His choir robe was found snagged on a fence near the crypt, torn and muddy, with traces of blood. The vagrant, a mentally unstable man named Ezekiel Beeks, was found nearby, rambling incoherently about "banishing spirits" and "claiming offerings."
Evidence Supporting Ezekiel's Confession:
Blood found on Ezekiel's hands on the same day Timothy disappeared.
His possession included a gold choir pin later confirmed as Timothy's.
Ezekiel claimed he "cast the boy into the underworld," a statement dismissed as delusional but taken as evidence he disposed of the body in the crypt.
The Closure:
The vagrant's confession, physical evidence, and lack of further leads led the police to close the case. However, Timothy's body was never recovered.
Simple. Right?
But that wasn't all. One month after the case was closed, a janitor cleaning out the cathedral crypt found something chilling: a crude drawing of a boy in a choir robe scrawled on the stone wall.
Below it was a single word scratched deep into the surface: "Help."
What do you mean, 'help'?! Help me—actually, I'm also in danger here.
Xerxes sighed with some difficulty. The boy might be alive somewhere. He'd have to pay the cathedral a visit and see these renovations himself in the morning. He set the case aside for now.
It's always the church in these stories, somehow...
Xerxes moved on to the other cases, reviewing them one by one. Thankfully, they didn't require much—just a few clarifications from him.
He worked on the cases, and without his knowledge, the darkness outside the small window had been embraced by soft light. The rain had stopped somewhere in between, and it was a beautiful, sunny day outside.
Inside, Xerxes was in agony. His brain was purely overworked and needed to recharge before processing anything else. He shut his tired eyes and leaned back in the chair to rest for a minute, but his mind was still thinking about what he had to do next when a dull, heavy sound rang in the office.
Knock.
Knock.
A young man, in stark contrast to Xerxes, was standing at the open door of the office, a polished tray in his hands. Steam curled from the edges of delicate porcelain cups arranged neatly on the tray, carrying the faint aroma of black tea, rich and slightly floral. His lean frame was wrapped in a simple but well-kept shirt, the sleeves rolled just past his elbows, exposing wheat-colored arms that hinted at a life accustomed to physical work.
"Sergeant, I noticed you didn't leave for home last night, so I brought some tea to energize you," the man spoke with a refined tone.
He had a naturally smiling face, which made him seem approachable. Xerxes felt comfortable with him and called him inside the office. He placed the tray on the table and turned to leave, hesitating, unsure of what he should do next.
"Wait," Xerxes stopped him mid-step. "Have I seen you here before? What's your name?"
The young man's movements carried a sense of purpose, but also a subtle nervous energy. When he turned back to face Xerxes, he had a bright expression on his face.
"I've recently been promoted from clerical duties to a junior detective. The name's Sam Miller, Sergeant," Sam happily introduced himself after finally being noticed.
Xerxes had vaguely guessed that Sam was a new face in the station. To think he was right shocked him a little, but he remained poker-faced, like nothing was the matter. He made Sam sit opposite him and tell him more about himself.
Sam was from a working-class family. He grew up in a small, cramped home in the industrial part of the city. His father was a factory worker, and his mother did sewing to make ends meet. As a boy, he devoured penny dreadfuls and crime serials, fascinated by tales of detectives solving impossible cases. His academic aptitude caught the attention of a local schoolmaster, who helped him secure a position as a clerk in the precinct.
He willingly took on any extra tasks to prove himself and got promoted. He had always looked up to Xerxes and was very proud to be working under him, but 'Xerxes' Sergeant had always ignored him and given him absolute zero work. He decided to do chores around the station to pass his time, so when Xerxes had asked him his name, he felt like everything until now had been worth it.
Xerxes wasn't expecting Sam to tell him his whole life story from birth, but after seeing how genuine he looked, Xerxes didn't say anything and listened to everything he had to say. Apparently, Sam was also 22 years old—the same age as Xerxes. But the sergeant of this station was definitely older than Xerxes, so he didn't mention it to Sam.
"Sergeant, do you have work for me?" Sam finished. He thought that maybe Xerxes was asking about him because he had finally decided to assign him work related to a case. He was looking forward to it, his face visibly lighting up brighter by the second.
Xerxes was under a lot of pressure from that radiant light coming into his dark, empty eyes. He didn't trust Sam fully. He was a character of the dungeon, after all. Could he trust him? He didn't know the answer himself, so he decided to test it.
Let's go and see if I'll only receive tea from those hands—or die by them.