Martha and I stepped into our respective cars. I borrowed a black 2016 model Ford fusion. I didn’t want anything too new because I felt it would only draw more attention to me. Even then, the cars I saw were mostly late-2000s models. Following Martha to the three-story brick building of the inn, I stepped onto the wide porch, and Martha opened the door for me.

Inside, the lobby had dark hardwood floors with a massive burgundy rug at the center. To the left was a long counter with a young woman working behind it.

Martha approached the front desk and said, “Regina, are your parents around?”

Regina shook her head.

“That’s quite all right; perhaps you can help me with my friend here. He’s a colleague that works for the FBI,” Martha said.

Regina’s eyes widened.

“It’s okay. It’s not a big deal. He’s just doing some investigating into the bodies that were found here. You should meet him; he’s a great guy. But I have to ask you for a favor. Please don’t tell anyone you saw an FBI agent today. He doesn’t really want people to know he’s here, do you understand?”

Regina nodded.

“Regina, meet my friend, special agent Wright.”

I shook her hand, and I said, “Please, you can just call me Eddie or Edward. Whichever you prefer.”

“Nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“So our friend Eddie here needs to stay for an extended period. He’s wondering if you offer any monthly rates.”

“We do, actually, but I’ll talk to my parents about it, and they’ll handle all of the finances for it. There are a few rooms available. Do you have any preferences, Eddie?”

“Put me on the top floor if that’s possible. Especially one that might have a view of the downtown strip,” I said with a smile.

“Absolutely. Just give me one moment.” Regina turned around and stepped into an office door with a glass window where I could see her reach into a drawer and pull out a skeleton key with a wooden tag on it. Entering the lobby, she said, “Room 304. Top floor with a little view of the downtown. Best view, in my opinion.”

“Wonderful, thank you so much, Regina.”

“Please come to the front desk if you ever need anything. If I’m not here, my older sister Diana will probably be working here. Or one of my parents.”

“Marvelous. I look forward to meeting them.”

I walked back out to my car, and Martha helped bring in my bags to my room. We went inside an elevator made of golden bronze with dark red carpeting on the elevator floor. With a sudden thought, I reached into my backpack and pulled out an ultraviolet light. Holding it up to the bottom of the elevator, I was hoping to see a stain of some kind, but there was nothing that would have suggested blood spatter.

Never mind.

“See anything?” Martha asked.

I shook my head.

Martha exhaled a single laugh through her nostrils and said, “You’re really chomping at the bit to start investigating this, huh?”

“Something like that.”

We arrived at the third floor, the elevator doors parted, and we walked through the small hallway. My steps seemed to echo, it felt like there weren’t any other tenants in the other rooms, but I couldn’t say for sure. If I had to guess, though, I was the only one on the third floor.

I unlocked the door to my room and stepped inside. As it swung open, I plopped my handbags on the ground to the left and right and slid off my backpack. Martha put my suitcases off to the side and wandered through the space. I had a queen size bed with dark blue comforters and sheets. A desk underneath the window and a tall standing lamp in the corner with a cushioned chair. It was a cozy room that felt more like a studio apartment than a hotel room. Although there was no stove or giant refrigerator, there was a mini-fridge in the corner.

“Well, thank you for helping me move in. I can take it all from here.”

“Good luck tonight going to Big Henry’s. Call or text me the moment you need any help of any kind. I like the idea of you going in without any attention around you, but I’m worried you might end up like the other six.”

“Thank you. I’ll be careful and reach out this second something seems off.”

“Pleasure meeting you again, Eddie. Meet me tomorrow and let me know how it goes.” Martha shook my hand and left the room. Her footsteps faded down the hall. I barely heard the elevator ding as it opened up its doors.

Unpacking my belongings, I carefully slid out a picture frame from my bag with more delicate items. I unwrapped the bubble covering and placed the frame on top of the dresser next to the desk. It contained the photo of Michael giving me bunny ears on top of the abandoned building in Melville.

Whenever I gazed at the photo for longer than a few seconds, my mind started to drift, and I would think about everything that transpired and led up to where I am today.

Oh Michael, oh Michael.

His camera was found. The photos were developed, I owned a copy of every picture he took that day. My dad kept the negatives at the police station.

I remember when the negatives were developed, everyone wondered if there would be another photo taken. Perhaps Michael snapped a picture of the perpetrator.

There was another photo taken.

It was right after we split up, no doubt. Unfortunately, it was nothing more than just a solid black image. There wasn’t a sign of another figure or scratch or something bleeding light into the camera’s iris. The photo was like looking into a black void.

Michael, I just hope you’re doing okay out there. Wherever you are, whatever family adopted you and raised you, I’m sure you had a good life with this new family, and I just hope we can catch up again.

I never let myself think of negative thoughts in regards to Michael. He was never found, so he may still be living in a different part of the country.

No. He is living. He is on the opposite side, the West Coast, or hell, Alaska. Maybe he even got Canadian citizenship. Whatever the matter, Michael is prospering through life and enjoying all of its pleasures and blessings.

I looked away from the photo and continued unpacking, making myself at home. Once I finished up, I sat at the desk by the window and stared out at the small strip of town. It reminded me exactly like Lockweed, Michigan. A stretch of downtown buildings that had been there for almost a hundred years, with cute storefronts and locally-owned restaurants. The resemblance made me shudder.

The closest place to my left was Big Henry’s, about a half-mile away. It was a rectangular box-like building that was only one floor. It didn’t match the two or three-story brick buildings on the rest of the strip. It looked like it was built as an afterthought, perhaps a few decades after the town had already been in existence. Across the street was the stainless steel trailer of a restaurant that reminded me of a vintage airstream. It was closer to me on the right.

It was 9:00 PM on Friday when I decided to go out to Big Henry’s.

I didn’t get in my car. It was an easy walk. Perhaps that was a bad idea, but I had my gun in my holster hidden by my flannel.

When I strolled towards the bar, I kept envisioning my expectations for the night.

The plan was to blend in like a fly on the wall. Or a chameleon adapting to their surroundings.

There were three large windows at the front of Big Henry’s, a neon sign on each window. One of them had the Notre Dame logo, the N intersecting with the D lit up with green neon. The other was a vibrant blue Indianapolis colts logo. The other was a Miller Lite logo, a combination of white, gold, and blue.

The front door was made of thick wood and heavier than I thought it would be. There was no host to greet me at the front. I felt like I had to choose a spot as soon as possible. There was a section at the end of the bar that was free. Three open seats, I took the one at the end, giving myself a two-chair gap with the person next to me. The pub was crowded, all of the tables were filled, and most of the bar had someone sitting, looking up at the massive flat screen. Paying attention to nothing else around them. A Cincinnati Reds game played on most TVs, peppered throughout the walls between framed Indiana sports memorabilia.

I took my seat, and a bartender approached me, setting a napkin and a glass of water on top of it. The bartender was a younger guy, no older than his early 30s.

“Hey, need a minute, or do you know what you’re drinking?”

I smiled at him for a moment. “Could I get a non-alcoholic beer in a glass?”

“I’m happy to do that for you. What kind would you like?”

“I’ll take the non-alcoholic Labatt.”

“Coming right up.” The bartender spun around and opened up a fridge at the bottom, pulling out my drink. As he poured at an angle to get to the perfect layer of foam at the top, I surveyed the rest of the bar and thought about what food I should order.

A hamburger seemed to be what most of the patrons were eating. I might as well do the same.

Most of the customers were in their 30s. There was a group of six people who were probably in their 20s, howling with laughter. An old man with gray fuzz and a sweat-stained Colts hat three seats away from me spun around to glare at the young people cracking up. Some of them slapped on the table and shrieked with laughter. I tried to listen to their conversation, but they were all laughing so hard I couldn’t begin to figure out what was so humorous. The old man grumbled expletives and fixed his attention back on the game.

“Those brats shou’ be at The Painted Goose. ‘The hell are they doin’ here?” The old man said, but he didn’t say it to anyone in particular. He was talking aloud, aiming his voice without direction.

“Excuse me, but what’s at The Painted Goose?” I asked.

The old man glared at me. “Was I fuckin’ talkin’ to you?”

“Easy there, Clyde. I will kick you out if you talk to any guests like that again,” The bartender said as he delivered my drink. “Don’t worry about Clyde. He’s just a bit rough around the edges sometimes.”

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Clyde said to me and sighed. He took a drink of his massive 32 oz glass of beer which was almost gone. “I’m jus’ tryin’ t’ watch the game. Tha’s all. But no, we got dem’ asses from The Painted Goose comin’ up in here laughing about God knows what.”

The bartender stood in front of me, but he scowled at Clyde the entire time. The bartender shook his head and faced me. “Did you want anything to eat? We’ll be closing the grill in about an hour.”

“A burger with a side of fries would be great. Thank you.”

“I’ll put that in for you.” The bartender turned around and wrote down my order, and typed on the digital display behind the bar. I noticed there was a woman who must have been in her 30s delivering food orders to people. For the most part, the bar was relaxed. No one was in a rush; the patrons were enjoying the game. A couple sat on the opposite end staring at the screen. Three burly guys sat next to each other, watching the game. Two girls sat a few seats away from them, and then there was Clyde and me.

Not that I cared about the baseball game, I felt pressured to watch it to blend in a little more. But since the place wasn’t bustling with people, the bartender came up to me and said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. New in town?”

“Yes, I’m actually taking a bit of a vacation.”

“Ah. So, where are you from?”

“Michigan. And you?”

“Born and raised here. My uncle owns the place.”

I smiled. “So he must be Big Henry then?”

“The very same.” The bartender chuckled. “Michigan is a beautiful state. Where are you from in Michigan?”

“Lockweed.”

“Ah, I can’t say I’m very familiar.”

“I’m not familiar with Wilton.”

“Just traveling through town then?”

“Not quite. I’ll be staying here for a little while.”

“Oh, well, welcome then. People don’t know this place very well, but it’s a bit of a diamond in the rough, I think. I mean, I’ve lived here my whole life and never felt the need to move. I’m kind of surprised you’re staying.”

“Why is that?”

“I feel like most people somehow find it on their GPS while traveling to either an Indianapolis or Chicago or perhaps going the other way and going to Cincinnati or something. This seems like a popular stop for out of towners. People who want to grab a bite to eat or even others taking a day trip from around the area. How long do you think you’ll be staying?”

“Not sure, probably however long my work takes.”

“What’s your work?”

I smirked, worried that my response might cause a dramatic reaction. I never knew how someone would respond whenever I told them what my career was.

“I actually work for the FBI.”

The bartender’s brow arched, and his jaw dropped. “Really? You might be the most interesting customer I’ve ever had then. I’m not in any trouble, am I?”

“Not at all.” I lowered my voice and waved for him to come closer. He leaned his head in, and I said, “Just trying to get some information on the bodies that were found.” The bartender pulled his head back and had a frown. I picked my voice back up to an average level and continued, “I’ll be staying here for a little while, I imagine. So I thought I would see one of the more popular places in town on a Friday night.”

“Wow. I feel like you’re messing with me.”

I reached into my interior flannel pocket and pulled out my FBI identification card.

“I guess you’re not. Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m talking to an FBI agent. So do you just ask everyone you meet if they know any information about what happened?”

“Only if the opportunity presents itself. And since we’ve become well acquainted, do you happen to know anything about the six disappearances?”

The bartender shook his head. “I wish I could help you.”

“No worries. I’m just here blending in with the crowd, seeing if I can detect any cracks anywhere. You know?”

The bartender nodded. Then the server came up to my side and delivered my plate while saying, “Here’s your burger and fries. Enjoy!”

“Thank you. Anyways, my name is Edward. Nice to meet you...?”

“Joshua. Nice to meet you too.”

We shook hands before I grabbed ketchup and mustard and drizzled it over my burger. I took a chomp. Cooked to perfection.

“Well, if you need anything else, Edward, I’ll be around.”

“Thanks, Joshua.”

I sat at the bar, surveying everyone around me. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. All of the young people who were dying with laughter earlier left their table. Some of the other people departed as well. The bar was still the same crowd from when I came in. I ordered a second non-alcoholic beer and continued people watching, occasionally looking up at the Cincinnati Reds game, which was almost over.

Since nothing exciting was happening, I decided to pay my tab and walk around town. Perhaps I might see something.

I walked further into the downtown area. All of the shops were closed. I saw a clothing store, a tailor, a shoe cobbler, a coffee shop, a pharmacy, sandwich shop, a general store, a bank, and a barbershop. They were all closed and had no lights on. There was also a city hall building and a firehouse a block away with an old Victorian house. The only illumination came from the pale moon above and the amber glow from the ornate lamp posts, black pillars attracting many moths. There was a wooden bridge off the main road that went over a small river. The water didn’t rush, but it casually flowed from left to right, a calming white noise sound. Before the bridge, there was a field with a paved parking lot. There were seven cars sitting still, but the lot could probably fit thirty spots.

Someone was smoking in one of the cars. They were completely obscured in the shadows, but I could see a human figure holding a cigarette as they leaned up against a 2013 Silverado truck. They were about 30 yards away, and it seemed like they were staring at me. I must have been staring at them for a good 20 seconds. Both of us were frozen.

Something in my gut told me this wasn’t right. Something was off. I’m not sure who that was or why they were there, but they were locking eyes with me. Perhaps it was the disappearances that were gnawing at my subconscious. I tried to reason with my body that everything was okay, but nevertheless, I shivered.

The figure finished their cigarette and tossed it on the ground, but they hadn’t shifted their focus yet.

How long will this staring contest go on for?

I was the first to look left and noticed the two-story brick structure broken off from the downtown string of buildings. It had a beautifully painted mural that read, “The Painted Goose.” It was painted with puffy lettering, and at the end was a goose with a paisley pattern with a rainbow of colors. The building was up-lit by white LED lights. Four people stood outside in a circle in front of the building, having a cigarette. They were talking, but too far away for me to hear. Occasionally they laughed.

I returned my focus to the shadowy figure leaning up against the back of a truck, but they were gone. Part of me felt like I shouldn’t have let them out of my sight. But I felt like I may have dodged a bullet. Perhaps our staring contest would have only made things worse.

Further down the main road, I saw a glowing blue sign that must have been Club Novus. They had their own parking lot packed with cars, but no one was outside, not even to have a smoke. I couldn’t tell what the sign said, but I knew it had to be the nightclub.

My eyes focused back on the parking lot, and I wondered about investigating the shadowy figure that was staring at me. Although, it felt like it would be looking for trouble. Perhaps it would be best if I just went back to my room for the rest of the night.

Strolling through the empty and sleeping downtown strip, I could see Big Henry’s, which only had a few cars in their parking lot. But I stopped for a moment.

I heard footsteps echoing to a stop from behind.

I spun around, and the shadowy figure that was leaning up against the truck’s bed was standing at the in the middle of the downtown strip. As soon as we made eye contact, he went down an alley.

Now I had a reason to investigate.

I sent Martha a text message: I’m walking around the town by myself at night, and I think someone is following me.

I thought she might call me right away or reply back in a second, so I waited for a moment, but my curiosity got the better of me. Backtracking again, I came up to the mouth of the alley, but I stopped myself.

I should really investigate, after all, what if this is the killer?

But what if I’m being lured into a trap?

If I do go in, and if anything happens to me, they’re going to send the cavalry. Surely the criminals would know that.

Or would they? No one really knows I’m here right now. They have no idea that an FBI agent is in their town.

What if this person had taken Michael?

I stepped forward into the dark alley. Only one old amber light flickered eight feet above my head. The odor of sour garbage lingered in the air. With each tiptoe, the echo bounced between the two buildings.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” I asked.

I stood still with my ears perked.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” a smooth broadcast-like voice replied. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from exactly, but it came further in the alley.

“Just so you’re aware, I’m a federal agent. I am armed. I’m only investigating the disappearances that happened here.”

I was desperate to hear any response. Hopefully, they would be able to offer some help, but I didn’t see that happening.

“I’m going to walk to the end of the alley and back. I would really like to speak with you if I could. You’re not in any trouble, at least that I’m aware of.” I crept through the alley to the very back, constantly searching for some clue where this person could be. I had a sneaking suspicion he was watching me, wherever he was. Reaching the end of the alley, it was just a field with no cars or people around. Going back through the passage, I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

Damn.

But the trip wasn’t a total loss. I at least had a story to share with Martha when I met with her the next day.

“I didn’t mean any trouble. Sorry if I ruined your evening. Have a good night,” I said as I walked out. My exit was slow, in case I heard a reply, but there was nothing.