By the time Mr. Valen was walking through the reception, the mark was half gone, and by the time he walked on the streets, the mark was completely gone.
He then felt a gaze upon him and looked above, his expression unchanging as he thought. 'You felt that, huh? What do I do with you?'
He could see Carla peering at him through the window of her office on the fifth floor, but what surprised him was what she did after.
"Valen! Come back here!" She yelled, her voice audible from his location.
"Who is that noisy woman!"
"What's she rambling about!"
"Is she crazy!"
"Must be one of the patients!"
He heard the passersby's remark, but he paid them no mind and kept moving.
"Watch it, kid!"
"Hey!" a few more pedestrians exclaimed as Mr. Valen bumped into them, but once they noticed his pale face and unfocused eyes, they gave way, mistaking him for some kind of dangerous hooligan.
As usual, he ignored them, slipping into an alleyway to catch his breath.
"I'm losing a notable amount of blood," Mr. Valen muttered as he sat down on the concrete, damp from the earlier shower, his back against the wall of an old building.
In the next instant, he removed his hand from his pocket and retrieved two phones, the ones he had successfully pickpocketed from the people he bumped into.
With that, he dialed the emergency police number on one of the phones and waited as it rang.
"419, What is your emergency?"
"My God! It's a massacre, send everyone, she's killing everyone!" Mr. Valen exclaimed into the device, his voice wrought with panic, his face calm.
"Sir! Sir! I'm going to need you to calm down and explain," the operator said, trying to reassure him, but he just kept going.
"I'm at Binland's psychiatric hospital, the one on 5th avenue. I heard a noise coming from Dr. Carla's office on the fifth floor, and when I opened the door, there were bodies, oh god, I ran, and I'm pretty sure they're looking for me! Oh god, they're here I've got to go-"
"Sir! Sir-" the operator tried to inquire further but Mr. Valen had already ended the call, breaking the device which he had used to make the phone call.
With that, he took a breath and looked above, his eyes narrowed slightly. 'I see no outcome where keeping Carla alive would play out well for me, she is too powerful, and too well connected, it is better I finish it while I have the advantage, but can I even finish it in this state?'
The sky was black as always, with faint rays of dull light managing to break through, painting the world in a sick, grayish light.
"Badump!" Mr. Valen felt his heart thump against his ribs with his continuous loss of blood, his hunger was growing at an alarming rate, but it was not for food; he had eaten earlier today.
No, this was different; it was the same hunger that had plagued him around Carla, around Albright, around the trafficker on the bus, and most importantly, around Amethyst.
But at this moment it was unbearable, gnawing at him unlike anything he'd ever felt.
The shadowy humanoid stood in front of him, crouched, its head tilted as it observed.
By now even Mr. Valen could only admit that to continuously ignore this strange being was to ignore a fundamentally important part of his abilities.
'If not for this thing, I would have ended up a slave,' Mr. Valen pondered, a feeling of weakness overcoming him.
His face had grown pale, not just because of the wounds on his form but because of his ravenous hunger.
And in that hunger, he looked upon the shadowy humanoid and asked, "What do I do?"
There was a strange pause between them, but after a short moment, as though comprehending what Mr. Valen was after, the shadowy humanoid offered a hand to him (the man sitting in the alleyway).
And Mr. Valen took the hand, touching the shadowy humanoid for the second time.
---------
Meanwhile, back at Mr. Valen's home, one could see his father loading his essentials into his black truck, as though preparing for a long trip.
As he did this, a vintage, well-kept car (a Lin Baroga) pulled up besides him, its tires screeching slightly.
'I haven't seen that car before,' King thought as he paused, watching as the driver killed the engine and got out, slamming the door shut.
If Mr. Valen were here, he would recognize this man as the grey-haired detective, Hunter, who, at the moment, seemed to be wearing a suit, his grey hair neatly combed to the side.
'Oh, he's walking towards me,' King thought as he straightened his form, his brows furrowed at the approaching man.
"Hello, Mr. King, I'm Detective James," Hunter greeted once he arrived, his face expressionless as he stretched out a hand, never showing his badge. "A pleasure to meet you."
"Hi," King responded as he finished packing, walking up to Hunter to receive his handshake. "How can I help you?"
"I'm just here to ask a few questions," Hunter smiled slightly, his eyes locked on King as he expanded. "It's about your son, Valen."
King, at the mention of Mr. Valen, froze slightly, "Is he in trouble?"
"Not necessarily," Hunter said, shaking his head before asking. "Your daughter, Mina, was one of the Artist's victims correct?"
"I've already told this story before," King said, frowning heavily at Hunter's words, before walking away, preparing to get into his car.
"I have reason to believe that the Artist is after your son this time," Hunter interjected, speaking heavily, his voice grim as he said. "They could even be working together, I'm unsure-"
"Evidently!" King growled, his fist balled. "If you weren't a police officer, I'd have smacked the living daylights out of you."
"I don't want any trouble," Hunter raised his arms before saying. "I did not intend to open old wounds; all I want is information, and I'll leave."
"Hmph!" King scoffed, once again getting into his car, before shutting the door.
"Knock!"
"Knock!"
The sound of a knock on the window caught his attention. Turning, he saw Hunter rapping the glass with a fat envelope in his hand.
Raising a brow, he rolled down the window, allowing Hunter's voice to break through. "There's a hundred thousand Val in here, and a letter of recommendation, I heard you were trying to get into the army."
King paused at those words, staring long and hard at Hunter, who had a strained smile on his face. "Get in," he ultimately said, opening the door as he snatched the envelope from Hunter.
Peeking at its contents, he looked back towards Hunter, who had let himself into the passenger seat of his truck.
"What do you want to know?" King asked, watching the grey-haired man intently.
Breathing in the musty yet oddly pleasant air of the truck, Hunter spoke. "Everything."
"This isn't a movie, James," King scoffed, his arms trembling slightly.
"Let's talk about Mina, your daughter, this whole thing started with her, she was the fifth victim of the Artist, right?" Hunter asked, his tone deliberate.
"Yes," King answered, smiling bitterly, his fingers, tapping on his steering wheel. "She was killed in a church, stuffed in a violin case."
"Then a year after, Valen gets abducted by the Shadow Stalker," Hunter pressed on, his tone grim.
"Yes," King answered, freezing slightly at the mention, of his son, his fingers continually tapping at the Polyurethane rim of his steering wheel.
Noting the slight shift in body language, Hunter narrowed his eyes. "Then two years later, the Shadow Stalker kills your wife. You know what? To hell with this. I have a question: why did you decide to join the Army?" he pressed on.
"What do you mean?" King sat up, his back pressed against his seat. "Of course it's to support my son."
"But there are other ways," Hunter said, tilting his head. "My people looked through your businesses, and it turns out that almost all of them failed because you let your staff embezzle from you. Now, you'd think that after the first, second, and third business, you'd have experience in dealing with this. But no. It's almost like you let it happen. Like-"
"Enough!" King suddenly yelled, his voice strained but controlled. "I don't know what you're talking about, Detective King, you're-"
"Let's rephrase," Detective Hunter said, smiling as he retrieved his badge from his shirt. "My name is Detective Hunter. You may not know this, but I am the detective who caught the Shadow Stalker and freed your son, and I wasn't even present then. Only now, looking through the finer details of the case, am I beginning to notice a concerning pattern of deception. Are you going to keep lying to me, Mr. King?"
"How do you expect me to be-"
"I think my son killed my wife," Hunter interrupted, his voice calm. "You said this when your wife was found dead only three days after she had gone missing, but this statement was scrapped from the original report. By my orders, I didn't want you sounding crazy to the press. Is that proof enough for you?"
King remained silent, his fingers now furiously tapping again his steering wheel, and then he spoke, straining every syllable, shaking his head, his eyes widened unnaturally. "I'm going to tell you one thing, and one thing only: I love my son, Valen. Everything you have mentioned is a thing of the past. And I must join the Army. Please, I beg you, s-stop asking me."
As King spoke, Hunter could not help but notice his body language: rigid. Even the way he picked his words, and the fear palpable in every syllable, it reminded him of hostages.
'And there's that tapping,' Hunter mused, his eyes narrowed. 'What's with that tapping?'
"Alright, thank you for your time, Mr. King," Hunter said, nodding his head. He got out of the truck and watched as King drove away as though scared of his own house.
And as he watched this, his instincts could not help but scream at him: "Something is terribly wrong with this family," he muttered.
"Ring!"
"Ring!"
His phone suddenly began to ring, and as he picked it up, a serious female voice spoke from it. "You should see this, Hunter! I sent you a link!"
"Alright, Doris!" Hunter affirmed as he ended the call, clicking on the link that was just sent to him.
The link opened to a live stream of what seemed to be a news report which swiftly transitioned to a live shot of a crime scene with police tape, cop cars, and a gathering crowd.
The reporter, a black woman dressed in a blue suit, began. [Thanks, Brian. I'm standing just outside the police perimeter at Binland's psychiatric hospital, where a profound sense of shock is settling in. Behind me on the fifth floor is the office of Dr. Carla Harrison, a name known to many in this community for her work in human psychology-]
"Isn't that Valen's therapist?" Hunter muttered, his eyes narrowing as he thought. 'What is happening with this kid?'