The sky, stretched out over East Springfield, was taking on more and more intense shades of red, orange, and yellow, which merged into a distinct, fiery mantle enveloping the slowly setting sun. The hustle and bustle of the street gradually quieted, and the building across from the cemetery sunk into the shadows of the tall trees, seeming even more gloomy and expressionless than in the daytime. On the fourth floor of this building there was an investigation office, the interior of which did not in any way encourage potential clients to entrust their private matters to the person responsible for the disorder and chaos present in almost every corner of the room. The wooden floor of the room was covered with papers of various sorts, from old archival records to documents requiring immediate examination. The entire left wall was obscured in half its height by metal gray shelves, whose questionable-quality surfaces were bent under the weight of files, books, figurines and photos. The right wall was covered with black wallpaper full of faded roses, most of which was disappearing under a corkboard with incomprehensible paper notes, carelessly pinned one on top of the other. This original decoration was completed by an old, white closet with peeling paint and a massive desk of unidentified color standing just under the window opposite the door. This desk has apparently gone through a lot in its short life, as one leg was supported by thick encyclopedias, a stain of ink adorned the entire side, and an uneven, in places rubbed table-top forced the user to carefully place any objects on its surface.

A loud, resolute knock snatched a young man from his sleep, who, under the influence of an excess of extremely absorbing investigative cases, fell into a nap on a hard chair.

- Torres, are you there?

From inside the room, a slight rustling of a chair and the crumpling of a piece of paper could be heard, after which the door swung open with a loud groan and, for a short moment, only a glint of a brown iris could be seen in the crack.

- I haven't escaped yet...

The older man pushed lightly on the wooden surface while Raziel Torres moved to the side, with weary eyes watching the cautious steps of his boss, Joseph Perrie. Torres was a 23-year-old detective whose passion was the most convoluted cases that the FBI's highest-ranked ones did not despise. Unfortunately, due to his perpetual inquisitiveness and innate perfectionism, which did not extend beyond the mind, he was usually given non-urgent cases that did not require quick, decisive action. Torres was seen by many as an attractive, stubborn young man with smart eyesight and Asian beauty. His blonde hair was rarely sensibly arranged, but this feature was adding a mysterious charm to the man. He was not very tall, and because of his meager diet (usually consisting of soup, noodles and coffee) Torres seemed vulnerable to being broken by any gust of wind.

-Will you ever get your head around this mess... - sighed Perrie, kicking the stack of letters and sealed papers under the desk.

- It's been worse... - Raziel muttered, opening the operable part of the window and lighting a thin cigarette at the same time. The glow of the lighter's flame drifted briefly across the young man's face and something told Joseph that Torres didn’t mean any physical space. Perrie turned back to the lost in thoughts blond man, on whose face impatience was mingling with forced indifference.

- I have a proposition for you Torres. Objectively, not to be rejected - Joseph extended a slightly wrinkled hand towards Raziel, whose eyes lit up slightly, then dimmed as the puff of smoke disappeared.

- If this is another case of missing from twenty years ago, I can already tell you where to look - the man rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, whose state demanded a long walk among natural light and greenery. Their feline shape usually attracted the attention of interlocutors who, influenced by the intensity of Torres' gaze, were ready to reveal any information of his interest. The young detective seemed unaware of this extraordinary power or usually did not let it show. At the sight of the sealed letter, however, his gaze jumped quickly to the gray-haired man's face, and the concentration in the depths of the chocolate eyes showed a willingness to use any power of persuasion they might possess.

- I don't know if you've thought this over, boss, but the contents of this envelope may end up just like the contents of all the previous ones - Raziel glanced at the littered floor and gazed again into the grey, clouded irises, as if with a silent request for something Pierre was deeply aware of. The man smiled slightly, then efficiently tore open the envelope and carelessly threw its contents on the stained desk.

- Let me know when you've made up your mind - Joseph turned toward the door, unhurriedly taking his steps toward the exit. Just as he was reaching for the handle, he heard a sudden swish behind him and was immediately interrupted by the figure of the detective, whose excited look was a nice contrast to his pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes. In Raziel’s fist, clenched tightly, there were scraps of a crumpled document that had rested moments before on the desk beneath the window, and his other hand gripped the handle of the shabby door tightly, blocking any escape route for his only chance.

- I can't do this alone, I need someone to help me - Raziel watched with tension as Joseph stepped back slightly, reached into the inside pocket of his faded grey jacket and handed him a small card, on which next to the carelessly scribbled numbers was the name of the private detective who had once worked in the same building where the 23-year-old now spent almost every day and most of the nights.

- Ruth has already agreed, make an appointment with her at the port tomorrow, I'll get you a transport - Joseph watched with satisfaction the sudden wave of emotion that flashed across the younger man's face in a split second, then he efficiently pushed the living block out of the way and walked lightly out of the room. Raziel stared for a moment at the dark curtain, which was moving slightly each time a gust of wind came in through the tilted window and embraced with its cold arms the figure suspended in place. This state of mind did not last long, however, as an instant, even painfully stinging thought passed through the Blond's consciousness, causing the young man to move suddenly, and after a brief moment he caught up with his boss and blocked his path again, this time immediately moving on to the question.

- Why didn't you entrust this to the people on the third floor?

Pierre became confused at this sudden question, involuntarily reaching his hand to his neck to rub it three times in his customary subconscious sign of embarrassment.

- I know perfectly well how insightful and thorough you are in your work, so I thought...

- That this job doesn't require making quick, sudden decisions and is perfect for someone who has screwed up three such actions in a row?

Joseph looked away, staring now into the depths of the dark corridor, whose only illumination was a lamp suspended above a faded painting of Starry Night. After a moment, however, his sharp gaze rested on the determined, tense man and he decided not to deceive his subordinate with unnecessary lies.

- I chose you because no one else was willing to accept the task. Mark and Julie are involved in another case, and Alex says he'd sooner go looking for a corpse at the bottom of the ocean than sail to this island. Besides - Joseph put his hand gently on the shoulder of the young detective, who only at that moment realized how tightly he had tensed all his muscles - I know you and your ambitions Torres, I know how much you need freshness in your monotonous work. However, if you don't want to deal with this investigation, then...

- What time? - Raziel fixed his gaze on a point above his superior's head, and as he involuntarily looked at his face, he saw a faint smile of satisfaction, slightly deepening the wrinkles under the older man's eyes.

- Six o'clock in the morning is best, but you'll have to give notice of that....

- Yes, I know, Ruth Murphy.

Pierre laughed quietly, patted Torres on the shoulder, and directed his steps toward the steep staircase. Raziel stayed still for a long moment, brushing the thin paper gently in his hand, then returned back to the study, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get up at four in the morning when the watch on his wrist already indicated eleven o'clock in the evening and the road to Bond Street was not the shortest.