Prologue:
Dr. Lambert slowly made her way past the dingy rows of identical cells, inmates whooping and whistling obscenely in her direction as her heels clacked rhythmically against the polished concrete. She hated this job, but it was the only one that she could get. She liked to think that the job market was hard on everyone, but that didn't make things any less bearable. Entering the next room, she tossed her clipboard down on the table as the officer on watch blew a bubble with his gum and popped it obnoxiously.
"Hey, Sherrill," a voice echoed from down the hall, "no rest for the wicked, eh?"
"Oh, shut up, Bill," she snipped, "the only reason I stick around this dump is to watch you behave like a child on a daily basis. Tell me, do you have to work at it or does it just come natural to you?" Sherrill rolled her eyes in amusement as Bill haughtily puffed up his chest threw his arms akimbo.
"You're crusin' for a brusin', Lambturd!" He sassed, a broad grin stretching over his face. Sherrill stifled her laughter, taking a moment to regain her composure.
"Oh Lord, Bill, I should have studied harder in college. I could've been a celebrity psychiatrist." Sherrill sighed, cupping her face into her hands.
"You just need a good stiff drink."
"Believe me, the last thing I need to do is go drinking with you." She responded, chuckling, "Never mind, so how many more crackpots have you rounded up for me today?"
"Just one. Our handsome guest here was found on West side of Grosse Point Shores as naked as the day he was born. He apparently stumbled out from behind a bush and started screaming something about monsters and the apocalypse. The poor couple he startled on that park bench will probably never be able to make love again." Bill shook his head mournfully as Sherrill made her way to the door. Peering through the tiny cell window she took notice of middle-aged man fiddling with his shackles in the corner, a bushy beard stretching over his tired, leathery face. Thankfully, he was provided a raincoat before she even arrived.
"And you're telling me this because...?" Sherrill responded, resting her cheek on her closed fist and shaking her head.
"Well, you haven't heard the whole story." Bill replied, wagging his finger smugly. "Our eccentric little friend here claims to be Peter Hofer, remember that kid who disappeared in Royal Oak about two weeks ago? Yeah, that's him! Just, uh, mysteriously aged by about twenty years." Bill joked jovially. Sherrill furrowed her brow, turning to take another peek into the cell.
"Is he being questioned in regards to the disappearance?" She asked absentmindedly, stroking her temple with her index finger.
"Of course."
"Well, let me know what you find out after you give him his psych evaluation. I've got a weird feeling that the rabbit hole goes a lot deeper than this." Sherrill continued, turning back to Bill and shoving her hands into her lab coat with a sigh.
Bill chuckled.
"It always does."