The headquarters of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation had a particular air about it. One would probably call the erratic movements from desk to desk and the clickety clack of the typewriters frantic, while others would call it efficient. One might call the piles of police reports and evidence strewn about chaotic, while others would call it orderly. whether frantic or efficient, chaotic or orderly, one thing most people agree upon is that the Bureau is a stately place, however, that hardly mattered to the investigator, Daniel Howdford, who had only been appointed three months prior. In the three months he had been an investigator, However, 24 year old Daniel had an excellent record of catching a total of 13 notorious criminals (three of which had been murderers and others which had required a lengthy pursuits). Some might acclaim these catchings to his excellent deduction skills, while others conspire that he has hidden contacts in the underground.
If you were to ask what caused him to be so successful he would not say it it was because of his excellent deduction skills (for they were only above average in his opinion) nor would he say it was because of any contacts in the underground (for he barely had any friends to begin with) but he would say it comes down to one thing, instinct. It was instinct which made him think to go to the National Berling Bank at 3:00 in the morning and catch the notorious Sterling brothers despite having no other leads, it was instinct which caused him to think of check the fingerprints of a family's long time neighbor "Aunt Croaky" and match them to a frying pan in the family's cupboard solving the notorious Ferling street murder, but right now at the headquarters of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation Daniel Howdford thought instinct was causing him to be nervous.
Who wouldn't be nervous, Daniel, a greenhorn, had been asked to meet with the chief of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation on quote on quote "official business" and had been given no other information.
Daniel stood in front of a secretary at the entrance to the Bureau of Criminal Investigation."name" said the secretary as she typed something up on a typewriter. "Daniel Howdford Ms." "are you here to meet with the chief." "yes ma'am." "second floor, door at the end of the hall, I'll tell him you're coming up." she said not looking away from the typewriter as she picked up the phone to call the chief. Daniel went forward as he dodged people who were either frantically or efficiently moving about the room.
Daniel finally reached the chiefs office only to hear the voice of the chief himself as a thin looking man with large round glasses, parted hair and a crooked bowtie opened the door "and Harold," said the chief from inside his office "organise some of those case files from three years ago down in cabinet B." "yes, Sir" squeaked the sickly, nervous-looking, man as he quickly rushed past Daniel to complete some menial task.
"Come in" said the chief who Daniel now knew was named Bradford Pines due to a wooden plaque on his large intricate desk "and sorry about my useless intern, he's new at the Bureau." Daniel gulped as he nervously walked into the relatively large room and finally worked up the courage to talk "Sorry Sir, but I have been meaning to ask something" Daniel paused for a moment to look at Mr Pines before continuing "why exactly have you called me here today?" "In due time, greenhorn" said Bradford with his stern glare, greying hair and hands clenched together with elbows on the desk "but please, take a seat."
Daniel sat down quickly partly out of curiosity but also partly out of nervousness."Have you ever heard of a quaint little town called Millford" said Mr Pines getting straight to the point. "I can't say I have Sir" "About a week ago I sent an experienced Inspector out to investigate a possible string of disappearances happening in that quaint town." "Im sorry but what do you mean by possible disappearances, Sir?" Daniel answered as his instincts kicked in. "according to Inspector Morgan, the Inspector I sent, after two months of investigation he has been able to deduce that people have been going missing on and off for the past few years, and that there is no noticeable connection between those who disappear." Bradford stated "And?" asked Daniel earnestly "And thats all he has been able to find after a whole two months of investigation, Inspector Morgan is starting to believe that these disappearances are mere coincidences"
"That would be the most logical conclusion based on the evidence given" Daniel said, not believing that was the case for a moment. "I don't want a 'by the book' answer greenhorn" bradford retorted "no matter how you look at it this whole matter smells fishy, and I want to get to the bottom of it, that's where you come in, Inspector Morgan has years of experience investigating and is one of the best in the business when it comes to catching criminals, but he's too formulaic, this case is going to be closed in a month whether I like it or not and it needs something more to get it off its feet, and you've got a good gut Daniel Howdford" "Gut, Sir?" Daniel questioned quizzically, Mr Pines promptly gave a snort "Are you saying all your success these past few months was a fluke greenhorn? You follow where your gut takes you, you never solve two crimes the same way. You're a wild card Daniel, something new and unpredictable, whether for better or for worse, and right now, a wild card is what this case needs"
"Don't let what I'm saying get to your head, you've got your flaws, greenhorn, and I still believe some of your successes were flukes, but right now the ordinary ain't gonna cut it for this case and you're a last minute gamble, your assignment is to assist Inspector Morgan in the investigation of the missing persons in the town of Millford. Anything else you need to know is in this folder" and with this Bradford Pines pushed a particularly thin folder towards Daniel "any questions?" "Just one, Sir" Daniel answered "how is it that people have been going missing for two years and yet the Bureau noticed this only just a few months ago" Bradford paused for a moment before answering "The disappearances have been inconsistent, some far apart and others bunched together, its hard to notice any sort of pattern with erratic inconsistencies. Those who go missing also have no relation to one another and sometimes live on completely opposite sides of town, their bios have nothing in common either, young, old, occupations, nothing. When they disappear they don't even leave a trace or any sign of struggle, it's almost like they decided to leave one night and never came back. Half these disappearances never even made it into a column in the local newspaper, though there have been rumors. It's easy for something like this to slip by unnoticed. Other than that, remember to pack your bags, you're leaving tomorrow, you'll be staying with Inspector Morgan during the duration of the investigation, though I don't know how much help he'll be considering the recent reports he's given. You are dismissed Daniel Howdford." Mr Pines then began to get some files from a cabinet behind him while Daniel took the folder and began to leave the room albeit slightly annoyed with having to leave on such short notice. Then Mr Pines interrupted him "Oh, and could you keep hush hush about this, the dignity of the Bureau is at stake." On that note, Daniel left to begin preparing for his journey to the small, quaint town of Millford.
Alexander Sterling Grue was mourning in a forest not far from his current place of residence causing him to be in a state of almost calm unrest. As he meandered through the birch forest, light glistening through the leaves, he gave off a particular look with his dark attire, pale visage and his stare off into space which made him look as if though he were in complex state of deep thought. Alex's despondent thoughts were not that deep however and actually seemed to never be just quite in his head, more like a swirling miasma, never quite here or there but ever present, or more so like the slow but powerful crashing of waves in an unrelenting, infinite ocean. Mourning was not something Alex did often.
Mourning was an act most would call out of character for Alex's personality, he wasn't the particular type of person to loom in woods having such thoughts, being detached from his surroundings, he always took reality for what it was, nothing more, nothing less. He wasn't a pessimist, but he also wasn't quite an optimist either. If life were a play, he wouldn't think himself the protagonist, plot moving around him like a well oiled machine, but rather an extra, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. That's how he took reality because, that's how it really was, and the life of an extra usually remains unnoticed in the spectators eyes even if the events unfolding were sudden, unforgiving and cruel. Alex still remembered when it happened about a month ago.
Alexander Grue heard the chirping of birds in the distance almost unwittingly mocking him and his bleak circumstances. If Alex was actually present during it, he would most likely be storming through the forest, cold, bitter. but now he felt more like a spectator, things happen on a stage never affecting him directly. It still hurt to think about though. Alex could remember it vividly through memories blurred together like colors on a canvas.
Alex finally reached his destination, a ledge with a large tree growing on top with its roots burrowed deep along the edge. He sat down at the base of the ledge and remembered a good friend he had made named Christopher who had curly brown hair and a grin that was wider and brighter than a cheshire cat's. Alex would have been with him on this forest outing (among others they had) if Chris hadn't been preoccupied today although he had to thank him some for leaving him to his own devices, it is always important to get some thinking time (no matter the darkness of the thoughts). Alex looked on the ground for a good stick to use as he recalled what happened a month ago, when it occurred.
Someone came to his house on a sunny afternoon, he couldn't remember the face but that didn't matter. The man looked grim as he told him the news, he didn't believe him at first, he only smiled nervously wondering why someone would joke about something so serious. realization hit him like a train, but he still kept up a nervous smile almost disbelievingly, like if he didn't think it was true then it didn't happen. He eventually caved in to the unforgiving truth of reality, almost causing him to die on the inside. The funeral was held a few days later, the last time he ever saw them was the moment before they were lowered into their graves. Engraved into his mind that day were the pale faces of those he held most dearly, the haunting visages of his deceased parents. He took reality on that day the same way he did every day, as it was, it was probably the only thing keeping him from breaking.
Alex sat down on a large rock at the base of the small cliff and pulled out a large metal knife sheathed in thick leather, it used to be his fathers. Alex inherited very little because his parents will was written before he was born and only received items unaccounted for in the will, such as his fathers old hunting knife. The knife was the only thing he had taken (besides a dark leather belt too large for him to wear) everything else he inherited were mundane personal items which he didn't keep (useless, and mementos would only remind him of his parents even more) but Alex wasn't thinking about that as he unsheathed the his fathers large knife and began to whittle the end of a stick he picked up earlier.
After it happened, he was sent away to live with a relative he never met named Merdle Jebbett or Aunt Jebbey who took away his knife after finding out about it. He had been able to snatch it back, however, aside from that he had been living with her for about a month. she was strict on some things but lenient on others and life with her had been generally peaceful as the days wasted away either mourning or spending time with Christopher in the forest. Christopher could tell that he had been through some hard times and he suspected Chris had been through a few hard times himself despite his cheerful demeanor.
Alex appraised the stick he was whittling and after he was satisfied he put the stick with the sharpened end in a hole in between the rock he was sitting on and the ledge along with many others he had sharpened over the days. He supposed this was the closest thing he had to a hobby, sharpening sticks, he had a knife and didn't have anything else to do with it. He put the rock back covering the hole after deciding it was getting late with a new thought in his head pondering what he should do with so many sticks or maybe whether or not he should get a new, more enlightening, hobby. He went back along the twisting path he used to get here, mourning a bit less with the orange sun glinting through the trees, heading torwards his most recent home located in a quaint little town, a quaint little town called Millford.