Night.
On the outskirts of City N, near one of the many unremarkable farms scattered across the area, a police car came to a stop. Two people stepped out — a man and a woman.
— Damn it, why can't these lunatics ever pick somewhere closer to the station?! No, it always has to be in the middle of nowhere, — the man muttered irritably.
He looked to be around forty. Tall — nearly one meter ninety — with short blond hair and a well-built, athletic frame that even the police uniform couldn't conceal.
— Victor, focus! — the woman said sharply, pointing toward the farm. — We've been chasing any lead we could find for two months, and this is the first — and maybe the only one.
She appeared to be about twenty-five to thirty years old. Wearing the same uniform as her partner, she stood nearly one meter eighty. Her black hair was neatly cut into a bob.
— I know, Delia, I know, — Victor sighed, then added more firmly, — Don't worry. We'll find your nephew and the other kids. We'll bring them back.
— Yes, we will, — Delia nodded. Her voice carried both determination and gratitude. — And thank you for helping me, Victor.
When the case first reached the eastern police precinct of City N, it was assigned to the two best detectives — Delia Hatfield and Victor Taylor, who had just wrapped up their previous investigation. However, when Delia's nephew was abducted a month later, she was removed from the case — as protocol demanded.
Unwilling to accept that, Delia turned to her partner for help. Victor didn't need convincing — not one bit. He believed that even if emotions clouded her judgment, Delia would still handle the case better than most detectives. After all, ever since she'd become his partner a few years back, the Buckingham Butcher case — along with a dozen other complex investigations — had been solved. That was when his career truly took off.
— I don't care if they fire me or not, — he said. — What matters is finding the kidnapper and saving the children. But are you sure this is the place we're looking for? — He glanced toward the farmhouse about five hundred meters away.
— I'm sure, — Delia replied curtly.
Victor wanted to ask, as he had dozens of times before, "And where does that certainty come from?" — but he knew he wouldn't get an answer.
Delia.
I understand your doubts, Victor, but what am I supposed to say? That, like in some cheap detective novel, I have a gift of foresight and saw this place in a vision? A "gift," ha! It's not just visions — they're not random. They show me things I've already, in a sense, gathered enough clues to see. Let's call it that. And it's not limited to visions — I have extremely sharp intuition. How to explain it? For instance, if someone picks a number between one and a hundred, I can name it exactly. No, I don't read minds or predict numbers. I just say the first thing that comes to me — say, 'seventeen' — and it turns out to be right.
Anyway, back to the case. Gathering the 'clues' was incredibly difficult. The kidnapper left absolutely no trace pointing to him — except for the characteristics of his victims. But abducting my nephew James was his fatal mistake. The knowledge I'd gathered from previous cases, combined with James's disappearance, triggered my gift. The vision showed me this farm, and after a week of searching, I'm certain — this is the place. Unfortunately, I still don't know what he does to the abducted, whether they're alive, whether he's working alone, or how he manages to stay completely unseen. With the level of technology we have now — cameras everywhere, a city that never sleeps — it's at least suspicious. Could it be that he also has a 'gift'? And if so — what kind?
That thought has haunted me for two months now. Which leads to the next question: isn't it too dangerous for us to come here alone? Maybe we should've called the captain and brought a SWAT team? Yes, I considered that. But since I've been suspended, convincing the chief without solid proof would've been nearly impossible. And having too many people isn't always an advantage. If the culprit really has some kind of ability, it would just increase the body count. You might wonder — what about Victor? Isn't he at risk? Before we came here, I told him about every danger, and after weighing all pros and cons, he agreed to come with me. Just in case, I left a video message — it'll automatically be sent to the captain about an hour after we step onto the property. It explains everything. And here we are.
***
According to the available data, the farm once belonged to the Wayne family. The property included a two-story house, a large barn, and several fields for livestock and crops. No one lived here anymore — after the death of their only son, the Waynes left town, and the place had been abandoned ever since.
Their police gear included: a uniform reinforced with ballistic plates, a full-face protective mask with night-vision lenses, a Vex-13 automatic pistol with four forty-round magazines, and a body camera to record all field activity.
Turning on their cameras and keeping their weapons ready, Delia and Victor carefully advanced toward the buildings. The night's darkness revealed no signs of light — neither from the house nor the barn. Exchanging a few silent hand signals, they began inspecting the house.
Entering through the main door, they swept every room on the first floor — but apart from dust, empty tables, shelves, and cupboards, there was nothing. Approaching the staircase to the second floor, they exchanged nods and slowly ascended.
Upstairs lay a large, seemingly empty room — but not entirely. On the floor was a strange glowing pattern. The faint light might have come from a special kind of paint… or something else entirely.
— Well, any ideas? — Victor broke the silence, pointing at the symbol. — I, for one, don't recognize it.
Delia examined it closely.— It looks like a loop composed of unfamiliar hieroglyphs. Judging by the pale green glow, it's made with white phosphorus… possibly.
— Reminds me of the satanic dens I used to raid back when I first joined the force, — Victor mused.
— It could be the work of another cult — one we don't know yet. But that's not important right now. I think the answers we didn't find here, we'll find in the barn, — Delia said thoughtfully.
— All right, let's check the barn, — he replied shortly.
They approached the structure — a typical two-story red barn with a large window on the upper floor. Peering through the half-open door, they saw…
Hanging from a rope tied to a central beam was a man dressed in a priest's robe, his face painted in strange black-and-white makeup resembling a skull mask.
After carefully searching the area, the detectives found a trapdoor behind the hanging body — a way down to the cellar. Exchanging glances, Victor untied the rope and gently lowered the corpse while Delia knelt beside it to examine it.
— Even with the makeup, he looks familiar… that face. Yes, that's Father Tobias — from the main church in town. We had no reports of him going missing. Though, with this case, nothing seems surprising anymore. All right… I don't see any visible injuries, and I'm not sure he actually died from hanging. Let's move on, — she said quietly but loud enough for her partner to hear.
She stood and walked toward the trapdoor.
— Right, the creepy, ominous basement where some monster is probably waiting, — Victor muttered, following her.
Opening the wooden hatch, they found a stone staircase descending into the depths. At the far end, two tunnels stretched in opposite directions. Strangely enough, both were brightly lit.
— What was that saying again… "Go right and you'll…" — Victor mumbled, switching off night vision.
— I don't know what it said, but there are inscriptions on the wall by the fork, — Delia noted, stepping closer. She read aloud: — "Left is life, right is death." Short and to the point, huh?
— So, which do we choose? — Victor asked.
At that moment, Delia felt an undeniable pull toward the right passage — and Victor, toward the left. They couldn't go together; something told them that if they did, something irreversible and terrible would happen.
— Vic, you take the left tunnel, I'll go right. And before you start arguing, listen — we have to go this way. Trust me, — she said firmly.
He looked into her cold blue eyes through the lenses of his mask for a long moment before replying, already turning toward the left corridor:— All right. Stay safe.
— You too, — she said softly and stepped into the right tunnel.