The first rain of October in the Haven fell in a soft pelt, gentle to the skin yet chilled as though borne of a bitter December. With the pad of his thumb, Detective Danville McMikle swiped raindrops from his eyes, turned up the collar on his trench coat, then returned his gaze to the object of his attention. Before him lay a schoolgirl's book bag, the final remnant of the latest abduction victim, the fourth in as many days. On each of the previous three days a missing persons report had landed in the detective's inbox, each from a different sector of town, and none sharing the same traits, other than sudden disappearance. There were no patterns to follow, no forensic evidence to collect, no ransom demands…and no bodies. These people had simply vanished in the night. Seventeen years aboard the Haven's finest had honed McMikle's intuition to a razor's edge, and that intuition spoke ill as it told him this was all going to end badly, tragic to a whole new degree. Behind him, forensic technicians scurried about processing their crime scene, though to a futile end he knew. There was nothing to be found here, no story left to tell, the void. As had happened so many times previous, Detective McMikle felt helpless, and with that, hopeless.
The crime scene itself was near an open field that sprawled behind the Bludhaven School for the Gifted, which sat on the far outer cusp of the city limits, well removed from the trappings of the inner districts. This was the peaceful area within the city limits, where the infection of urban crime and decay had not yet corrupted innocence. Until now. McMikle ambled away from the others to insert a comforting distance between him and the chaos behind. He walked far into the field, letting the din of detective work fall as silent as the rain that moistened him. There, alone on the dark pasture, he succumbed to his one last vice; a Bluegrass brand unfiltered cigarette, with the patented Smooth Blend tobacco. It was a "disgusting habit" as his precocious twelve year old daughter was fond of saying, but he had come to enjoy it over the years, though he would never partake in her presence. And, it helped him to focus, to concentrate on whatever puzzle he would try to noodle. A few moments in isolation would allow his thoughts to form in clarity, so he could then go back with a fresh perspective, perhaps find something new, something overlooked-
BEEP!
In an instant McMikle recognized the digital intruder into his thoughts. He eased his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew his department issued cellular phone. Once again he had forgotten to plug the infernal thing in to charge and now the battery was in its twilight. No matter, he scarce used the device anyway, but the annoying little alert tone did grate on his nerves in short order.
Oh well, he thought, just ignore it.
He returned to a drag from his cigarette, then tried to refocus his mind by training his eyes on the tree tops that swayed in the wind on the far reaches of his stare. Soon the environment dwindled to the velvet pelt of the rain on the landscape, his breath expelling smoke from his lungs, and the rhythm of a distant pulse…
Wait! His mind instructed, What…what is that sound?
McMikle squint his eyes as he began a slow spin around to scan his surroundings. The sound he heard was clear enough, its origin, however, was not. But it was becoming louder, though its beats were farther apart. He continued to spin, unable to pinpoint the source, but whatever it was, it definitely approached. A quick glance back to the others confirmed they were quite oblivious to it, deafened by their own frenetic pursuits. Rote instinct drove him to reach into his coat and draw his sidearm, his finger just inside the trigger guard. The sound was very close now, close enough that he thought he recognized it.
Wings!
The impossibility of it incited a nervous chuckle, for wings big enough to create that noise would have to be attached to a pterodactyl, he reasoned. Even so, he brought his gun to the ready and listened. Each pulse was closer than the one before it, but still nothing, there was nothing out there! He looked up, but could not see for the rain that fell into his eyes. He blinked over and over to dispel the water, to no avail. And still the sound got closer. The sound became echoed by his own heartbeat in his ears. His throat tightened, his breathing shallowed, and that thing kept coming. He turned to his fellow officers and yelled for somebody, anybody to listen, yet his pleas fell unheard. His finger now curled around the trigger, but his target eluded him, he had nothing at which to take aim. His blood thundered in his ears, his chest heaved while his heart hammered within its confines. He called again to his comrades, this time his voice louder, filled with urgency laced with fear. Still they heard nothing. His calls evolved into screams while the pulse of wings roared down upon him…
And then he saw it.
For no more than a second, but in that one second a lifetime of terror burned through his veins like vitriol. A dark, merciless face with a mouth that sheathed rows of sharp teeth, and two empty sockets where eyes should rest, portals to infinite darkness. His vision was brief, but the pain he all at once felt surge in his body seemed eternal. A final scream choked in his throat, his head careened back at an unnatural angle, allowing one last look at the ground, and his unaware partners below. Sharp burning talons seared through his flesh and caused black patterns to occlude his sight. Vertigo swept over him as his body was hoisted away like a child's toy into the thick blanket of the night sky.