It was a morning like any of the others that preceded it. The intermingling chirps of birds could be heard from the streets as the sun announced another fine spring day. People were walking the streets, their murmurs reaching up to the third floor of Muriel Greenwood 37. The smell of apple and cinnamon tea wafted from the kitchen.

And yet, for Isaiah, the morning brought with it a strange sense of finality.

The visit to Alsmel had removed the biggest enigma that was looming over the case of Bubba’s photo – far from vanishing off the face of the earth, Drew Nicholls was leading a harmonious, fulfilled life. The fate of Harlan Douglas was never a matter of contention. With all the evidence at hand, the investigation seemed to have reached its end.

With what he knew, Isaiah was willing to bet everything he had that the lingering spirit was Ezra Rowse. And, if this was true, the case of the missing boy could finally reach its conclusion. But reaching this conclusion required more than just a strong hunch. Isaiah needed confirmation.

More than just that, he felt that there was still an important piece missing. Confirming that Ezra was indeed the spirit would be enough to file away his case for good, but it wouldn’t really solve it. Nobody would know what actually happened after that fateful day when he never returned home, whether his death was an accident or if something more nefarious was going on. And here, Isaiah still felt like there was a story to be uncovered.

There was also the matter of the strange spectral thread emanating from the photo.

Milton couldn’t sense it no matter how hard he tried. What’s more, in all his years as a spiritual investigator, Isaiah had never heard of anything of the sort. A few weeks after visiting Drew Nichols, he went to St Wilda’s to talk to doctor Whicket, hoping that she could shed some light on the subject.

The problem was, Isaiah was a freak occurrence. The vast majority of people who are possessed don’t live to tell the tale. Most of the times, they suffer a quick death, the shock of a spirit entering their body so great that the brain simply shuts down. Those that manage to endure it are handed over to exorcists who attempt to purge the uninvited guest, but this just whittles down the survivors to a small handful: some people die during the exorcism itself, the strain proving too much for their body, some are put out of their misery because the spirit cannot be removed and takes over the body, replacing its actual owner. Finally, those that do survive this ordeal often end up in a vegetative state, chained to a hospital bed for the remainder of their lives. There have been only a few cases such as Isaiah’s registered in the entirety of history, and none of them were still living.

Because of this, doctor Whicket really had no experience to refer to – the best explanation she could muster was that the fragments of a spirit in Isaiah’s body somehow enhanced his innate abilities, allowing him to sense phenomena that are beyond the reach of other spiritualists. It wasn’t much but it would have to do.

As he sat at the table, his tea slowly cooling in front of him, Isaiah held Bubba’s photo for the umpteenth time, staring at it intently. The thread that was connecting it to something else was now so clear in his mind that he could see it when he closed his eyes. This had happened so gradually over the weeks that passed that it took him by surprise; Whicket assumed that the ability developed step-by-step, due to exposure to the lingering spirit.

Whatever the case, Isaiah could now follow this thread as long as he was holding the photo. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine travelling along it, zooming past places that he had never seen before in his life, as if he was separated from his body and flying above the ground. And then, when the trip ended, he would arrive to the goal, the very thing that the spirit was connected to. He could see it as if it was right there in front of him.

When he saw what it was, he understood that it was time to fulfil his promise to chief Sarratt.

All it took was one phone call. Within an hour, an expedition was prepared. Isaiah had suggested, and Sarratt had agreed, to physically follow the thread all the way to the endpoint. If the thing he saw during his astral journey was indeed at the end of the thread, the spiritual division would be very interested in recovering it.

Once all preparations were complete, a large police car took off from HQ, carrying five people in it. Driving the car was officer Marrow, she who first greeted Isaiah during his initial visit to the headquarters. She was obviously pleased to bits that she got to be a part of this, whistling as she navigated the streets of Strona. Next to her, officer Garrett from the spiritual division sat in the passenger seat, a woman with a hardened look about her that suggested she’d seen many things during her years of service. The rest of the group sat in the back. Officer Motley, a young spiritual expert and exorcist personally recommended by Sarratt, Isaiah and his husband Nigel. Nigel insisted to be taken along, arguing that his help would be necessary if Isaiah needed to be brought back following a possession attempt. While it was a security risk, the chief agreed, but only if Marrow kept an eye on him at all times.

Nigel had been feeling stressed all morning. He was none too pleased with the idea of Isaiah following a spiritual breadcrumb trail to some place he’d never actually seen. The whole set-up worried him. He was afraid that concentrating on the unseen thread would cause mental strain and make it all too easy for you-know-who to try and invade. And the element of the unknown regarding Isaiah’s ability to sense this thread was also making him anxious. As the car worked its way up towards the highest level of Strona, Nigel’s right hand was holding his husband’s left, and his own left hand was tightly clutched to the point his fingers were turning white.

The drive itself was almost completely silent, as everyone seemed to have their own reasons to keep quiet. Isaiah was keeping concentrated on the trail, instructing Marrow which directions to take. Nigel was in his own world of discomfort. Garrett and Motley seemed on edge, staring into the distance through the windows. Marrow’s only attempt to strike a conversation – an awkward “Soooo, read any good books lately?” – was completely ignored.

The car sneaked slowly up a relatively steep climb, eventually reaching the top part of the city. Isaiah’s directions soon lead the group to a sprawling park that essentially blended into the hills.

“What is this place?” Isaiah asked, awed by the densely packed green canopies of trees casting their shade on the winding paths below. There was nothing quite like that in the capital.

“Upper Park,” Marrow replied, relieved that someone finally said something that wasn’t “left” or “turn here”. “Where to from now, chief?”

“Actually… we need to go up,” Isaiah said.

“There’s no more up from here,” Marrow grumbled.

“No, up the hills. There should be a path…”

“There are hiking paths that start from the outskirts of the park,” Garrett spoke for the first time since they left the HQ. “Though they’ve been abandoned for a very long time now.”

“Abandoned?” Nigel piped up. It was more of a nervous bark than a question.

“Yes, the city stopped maintaining them way back in the day. I know about them because my grandmother used them. She told me how there were even neat little resting areas up in the woods for hikers.”

“So what happened?” Nigel pressed on.

“Nothing really happened,” Garrett answered. “People just stopped using them after the city started developing Alsmel. Less steep, nicer scenery, more beautiful views… most people who hike switched there in a heartbeat.”

“We need to go up the old paths?” Motley said as if he’d just woken up and needed to catch up on what was being said.

“Yup,” Marrow grunted as she parked the vehicle. “Which means we’re taking the rest of the trip on foot.”

They got out of the car and took two heavy equipment bags out of the trunk. Garrett took one and Marrow took the other, slinging them over their shoulders with apparent ease. After entering the park, reaching the abandoned hiking paths was easy. In spite of never having been there, Isaiah flawlessly navigated the walking routes: his awareness of the thread was now so heightened that he could practically visualize it as a glowing, winding line marking the way. As the group reached the edge of the park, they left behind the chattering crowds, glorious stone fountains and shrieking aviaries. Soon they had entered an area that was obviously not frequented by people. The sounds of conversations and cars were reduced to faint echoes, drowned out by the songs of birds. The leafy branches of the trees formed a thick upper story that let in very little light. Snaking between the trees was an undulating dirt trail that led towards higher ground. It was not the kind of place you’d like to end up in the middle of the night.

“This is the path,” Isaiah said.

“Alright, this is where we start climbing then,” Garrett said calmly. “I propose that we move in formation. Hargraves, you should go in front and lead the way. Motley, you and I will be directly behind him. Mr. Hargraves will go after us, and Marrow, you’ll protect the rear.”

“You said Hargraves twice,” Marrow interrupted.

“I did,” Garrett said matter-of-factly. “Hargraves is essentially a part of the force for this operation, so I’m addressing him as I would any other colleague. His husband is a civilian, so I’m addressing him as I would any other citizen. I thought it was quite clear.”

“Oh, absolutely. I mean, when you say it like that, totally,” Marrow stumbled.

“Can’t I be closer to Isaiah?” Nigel pleaded.

“Mr. Hargraves,” Garrett said. “Please be aware that your safety as a civilian is a top priority in this situation. I wouldn’t feel comfortable having you at the edges of the group. It’s the most vulnerable position. I’m not expecting anyone or anything to attack us here, but it’s always best to err on the side of caution.”

Isaiah came up to Nigel, flashed him a winning smile, and then embraced him tightly.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said comfortingly. “I’ll be just a few steps away from you.”

“I just have a horrible feeling about this,” Nigel’s voice faltered. “It’s just that you’re still so vulnerable after that mess with the neighbor… And if anything happened to you I’d…”

He choked on his words, and Isaiah felt warm tears sliding down Nigel’s cheeks and falling onto his collar.

“It’s ok,” Isaiah whispered softly. “Nothing bad will happen. Nothing bad can happen to me when you’re around. You’re my rock. You know that, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Nigel said, blubbering.

“No need to cry then,” Isaiah said. “It’ll be ok.”

When he felt that Nigel had calmed down, Isaiah slowly released him from the hug. Nigel wiped his tears, squeezed his husband’s hand tightly, and then took in a deep breath.

“All set to go?” Garrett asked. Everyone nodded.

“Very well. After you,” she said to Isaiah.

Bubba’s photo in his hands, he began to lead the group uphill.