SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

I spurred my patrol car to life with a donut on my lips. The Penguins were in the midst of singing Earth Angel on the radio.

The song created burning from my midsection to push up, but I jammed it back with a decent mug of caffeine. I made a turn in the intermediate part of the lane and into the woodlands. I disguised the cruiser in some bushes before hauling out my arsenal.

The heat pulsed up to my ears as I focused the flashlight dead ahead. Before I moved forward into the underbrush, I drew a few deep breaths. I examined for about a solid four miles on foot. Then I started to turn back. That's when I saw him.

"Mi... sorry… Dr. Cullen?"

He wobbled a few skips and crumpled to the ground. I took a stride forward, but he rose a pale finger from his position.

"I don't... suggest that... Mr. Swan." His words garbled.

"Si- Doctor… if you're in strain, I am supposed to call an ambulance."

"Mmm, no I'm great. Go on about your work, Charlie boy! Mmm-hic."

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Dr. Cullen… are you… drunk?"

He snorted in the ground. "I suppose - hiccup - you could claim… that." As he giggles, my tummy churns. "Don't I sound foolish?"

Old Charlie was sure as hell confused. Why would a physician reject an ambulance? Was the doctor worried about the bill he might have to pay? Or was he unsettled because his career was on the line?

"I must press this, Dr. Cullen."

"You shouldn't." He kept his face on the ground.

I felt as if something bit my kidneys from the innards as continued a few more strides forward. Seeing that he provoked no more movement, I cupped his chin with one of my hands. Something was wrong.

His eyes were darker than the sky. His teeth were razor-sharp, and there were many more than there should have been. I staggered backward and aimed my rifle.

"Mr. Swan, please let me-"

"You're vermin!"

"Mr. Swan, please, I'm a doctor."

I paused a moment.

"Why are you a doctor? Wait. You don't..."

He laughed. "Hardly, Charlie."

"So... why?"

"It would take - hic - too long to explain. Please. Trust me."

"Why shouldn't I make you more dead than you are?"

Behind him, I heard rustling. We both dart our eyes to the shrubbery.

"Leave."

"Doctor…"

"Now. You're in the middle of ground zero."

Something like a blur dashes from the bushes and launches to Carlisle. They grapple before my eyes, but I cannot keep up. Sometimes I can see Dr. Cullen stumbling. I try to aim my rifle, but there's too much struggle.

"GO!"

My feet and arms are no longer in my control. I'm observing in the backdrop as my rifle slings onto my back as I jolt through the thicket. I cannot even move my neck, but I can make out the action on the side of my view. A surge of blood floods my head as the cruiser roars to life, that's when I look at it. Blurs coming up from the rear. One of the blurs engaged with the other. I hit the gas and speed back into the street, away from the timbers, away from risk.

I performed a hurried sweep around Forks before turning up at the police station. The sun is rising. I cannot make myself go back to that thicket where I saw Dr. Cullen. I acknowledge my Co-workers as I come to my office.

Officers of various ranks greeted me. They asked me queries about my daughter such as, "How's she adjusting to Forks?" and "Will she be taking English? My kid should be her same year…" Then they carried on with their discussions. I grinned and acknowledged at what I thought were the right moments as I moved on to my office. The adrenaline subsided.

There were no photographs of family relatives, nor items suggesting hobbies and enthusiasms. It was four plain walls, a place to hold my parka, cozy armchairs, and a desk with a used computer. The room smelled of pine, coffee, and paperwork.

I pushed the power button on the desktop. It hummed before I established myself in my armchair. I neglected the pleasantries on the other side of the connecting wall. I hope that I can strike a case to keep my mind off of earlier's events.

In most locations outside of Forks, the phones were going off left and right. Forks department was the butt of every Washington cop's quip. I had to accept the notion boiled my blood even though I had to play chagrin towards my allies. It was better to turn the cheek in situations like those. The officers who made the jokes were from meatheads thirsting for action. What I wouldn't do to blow their brains with a little detail that I had. And suddenly I considered Doctor Cullen. A painful lump in my throat refused to gulp.

After the dial-up, I clicked and surfed around the system. Sometimes an officer came in with a file report of a completed case and place it in my file bin. I took a pen and notepad and make brief notes before the load was complete. Three missing individuals appeared within one week. One, in particular, startled me because she was not much older than my baby girl. Through her profile, I learned that she was a local that lived nearby Weber's church. She attended mass every day, including Sunday. After finishing a few daily tasks and a motivational speech to my team, I headed back to my cruiser. She roared to life.

It wasn't too difficult to find Mr. Weber's church since there were only two in town.

The parking lot was small and in desperate need of attention. I watched my step as I stepped out of the cruiser, making sure not to make a rough fall to the lobby. There were only a few people present. They paid their respects to a little shrine dedicated to the girl before they entered. A lifetime ago, I can remember walking down those pews waiting for my blushing bride to be.

I lingered in the lobby, shuffling through pamphlets.

They promised freedom from grief and a personal relationship with God. I wondered what God had created such monstrosities in this town, but felt a wave of guilt. I snuffed the thought to the darkest part of my mind. A pamphlet startled me, asking the reader if they were seeking the answer to eternal life. My muscles tensed, thinking back to what Gene had said about vampires being already dead. I flipped to the other side of the card and mentally kicked myself. It said, "Jesus loves you" and went on about how great heaven was.

"My son, it is so good to see you!"

I half-step to face a man about a head shorter than myself. He was sporting spectacles and a pastor's black clothing. I met his embrace as best as I could, but it ended up being something like a pat on the shoulder blade. He squeezed me as if he was washing an assumed sadness away. I wondered if my poker face game was off today as I waited for Mr. Weber to finish his hug. The embrace ended, and we resumed our stances.

He had one of his million-dollar prized smiles donned on.

"Hello, my son Charles, and to what pleasure do I owe for such a visit?"

It hardly surprised me. Charlie was a common nickname for someone given with the name Charles, but that name was not mine.

"Hello, Padre," I said as I fidgeted with the pen in my breast pocket. "I was nearby and had an inquiry for you. If I could have a moment with you alone?"

His face never falters, but I watch his eyes wander from underneath his hooded eyelids. I wondered if he was assessing me, though it was most likely. He liked to know what was going on with others. Not in the way a gossipy mother from a PTA meeting would. He did it in a way that a friend was making sure you were not going ten feet under in your head. He nodded and motioned me to go further into the church and led me to the confessions area. A few individuals greeted him before we closed the wooden door behind us.

I could tell that they had recently attended the rug because the carpet had a hint of cleaner. The pastor took his seat as I took the smaller one, of which I had not sat on in decades. I attempted to recite the words. "Forgive me, Father,"

Mr. Weber raised his hand and chuckled.

"Unless there is something you have something to confess, the formalities are unnecessary. Are you here because of the girl?"

I closed my gaped mouth and nodded as a response. Mr. Weber sighed. He looked into the painting of Jesus Christ. It was the one where he is wearing a crown of thorns and is holding his heart between his hands.

"Her name is Mattia, a girl about your child's age, no?" I nod.

"Right. I suspected that I'd be gaining a visit from the police. I hit it in the nail, assuming you would be my inquisitor." She nods and continues, "She was well-read and well-liked by most of the community. I could only imagine that someone had stolen her. They wanted her for themselves, which is a dangerous path to pursue."

I pull out the pen and the memo pad from my pocket, jotting down the notes.

"Does she live with her parents? What's her last name?" His face fell ever so just, "Ah, yes, her past is tricky."

"How so?"

"She belongs to the town. Her mother passed away in the hospital after birth, and her father is unknown."

"Belongs to the town...?"

"A wayward child," Mr. Weber says. "The church has agreed to take responsibility for her well-being. Food, clothes, a small house in the nearest neighborhood. And she returns her time and efforts after school," he pauses. "Did." As if reminding himself of the current situation. "Her last name is Church. We thought it would be fitting."

I nod, scribbling away. I look up to him, and the preacher's glasses are fogging up. He takes the cloth in his pocket out and cleans the glasses in his hands. He then readjusts the glasses and wipes the edges of his eyes.

"Mattia was volunteering at an attendee's home before she disappeared. The attendee's mother happened to have psychosis."

"Ah... do you have a name?"

"Yes. Oritz. Lila and Ingrid. I don't know who's who."

I scribble them down as soon as she utters the names.

I hesitate before asking the question, "Does Mattia have any stalkers? Enemies?"

"If she had any stalkers, they were well hidden. As for enemies other than high school nonsense, there was not much of an issue."

High school nonsense was something Charlie had been familiar with. All the drama, name-calling, insults towards what you wore and what you did for fun or if you knew enough people. He was all too familiar with high school nonsense. I gruffed. There should not have been too many enemies in the high school... though it would not hurt to have some officers probe his daughter's school. The last thing I wanted was to mortify my daughter by being in the presence of her peers, that would be a target on her back.

"Thank you, Father Weber."

Mr. Weber nods in response, "You are welcome. Please, Charlie. Find her. We miss her greatly."

In the middle of Toto, "blessing the rains of Africa," I cut the engine in the nearest neighborhood. This street was the last whereabouts of Mattia Church before the abduction; at the end of the road was a cul de sac. Usually, I would have a partner with me, but something felt off about the disappearance. I was hoping that it was something in the realm of metaphysics, but I knew that it was too soon to jump to that conclusion. The house I parked in front of was modest, with a black rug to wipe your feet on before entering. I did as such as I approached the door, and before I knocked, I could hear a muffled screaming on the other side of the door. It was not a scream of distress, but the purpose was perplexing. I hesitated before I knocked then waited for a response.

One beat.

Two beats.

No response. The screaming continued.

I knocked again, this time with more force.

Moments later, I could hear dragging sounds from the other side of the door, but I was not sure what on earth that might be. It sounded pretty heavy, which concerned me. Blocking something against the entrance of a door was a hazard. A minute later, a petite brunette answered the door, winded. She was wearing a tee too large for her and a pair of gym shorts. I cleared my throat.

"May I help you?" she asked.

I flashed my badge, "I am Captain Swan, I am here about the disappearance of Mattia Church. May I speak to Lila Oritz or Ingrid Oritz?"

She frowns. We wince as there is shouting behind the girl; they a string of words that do not seem to add up together but are English.

"I'm afraid my mother is not in the best condition to be speaking to anyone, but I would be glad to comply. Please, on the porch." She motions towards the outdoor furniture on the left of the patio.

I step back to allow her to shut the door behind her, and we approach the table. I assume this must be the daughter. She has dark circles under her brown eyes, and her shoulders slump as she walks. Ingrid does not wear socks or shoes and her calluses are prominent on her skin. Her hair is in a bedhead bun. A yawn escaping from her mouth confirms her exhaustion, but she stops halfway. She looks down and apologizes, but I shrug in response. I pull out my pen and trusty memo pad to jot more notes on a free paper.

"Is it just you and your mother?" I ask.

"Well, currently. My father communes to the outskirts of Seattle for work until the evening."

"I see. So you often take care of your mother?"

"For the most part. Though Miss Church offered to assist."

"And when was this?"

Ingrid tilts her head and looks upward to the corner of her eye. She looks as if she is searching for the answer.

"About a month ago?"

My eyes gaze over her as if to ask, "Are you asking or telling me?"

She clears her throat and replies, "A month ago, sir."

I jot it down and nod. "Have you noticed any suspicious activity as of late?"

She shrugs. "Unfortunately I'm not quite sure what goes on around the neighborhood."

I look her in the eye. "And why's that?"

"I… tend to stay in the house."

"To help your mother?"

"To… avoid people."

Ah, an introvert. "Why's that?"

"I can't walk my dog without getting hit on by the opposite sex at least once. I decided to keep indoors."

The lead may be a dead-end, though I have yet to talk to the rest of the neighborhood.

"So you haven't seen anything suspicious?"

She shakes her head, "No, sir. Though Mrs. Smithy might."

I blink.

"She's our neighbor. She was ..." she pauses a moment, "marking down how many times she heard door slams from our house. They were disturbing her. We have to keep quiet around here, which can be… difficult given the circumstances."

"Thank you for your time."

"Sir… is… Miss Church going to be okay?"

"We're doing our best to locate her. You should be safe for a while. Lock the doors when you get home if you go out you should go during the day. The works."

"Yessir."

We parted ways. Earth Angel creeps in the back of my mind like a slimy Lovecraftian monster.

It was unnecessary to return to the cruiser since it was a walk to Mrs. Smithy's house. I give a few quick knocks to the door and wait for a response. I can feel a sneeze coming on as footsteps approach the door. The response was much quicker than the Oritz household. Instead of the door opening completely, the door cracked open. A shorter, elderly woman wearing a pastel Mumu and rollers in her hair. Her eyes pierced my soul as if she were trying to keep me at bay. I rolled my shoulders back.

"Yes?"

I pull out my badge.

"Yes, I'm aware you're a cop, what do you want?"

Tough as nails. I can see why Ingrid finds her so... charming.

"Mrs. Smithy, I am here about the disappearance of the wayward child Miss Mattia Church. I would appreciate it if you helped with the case."

"I know my rights. Am I a suspect?"

"You're a witness to a teenage girl's disappearance."

She purses her lips for a moment as if she is debating something. She shuts the door, and I hear a few jingles before the door opens again, this time enough for me to enter. Mrs. Smithy is already halfway down the hallway.

I have a suspecting feeling this will be a lengthy interview.