An old jeep drove down the street. Rustling up and down the speed humps, the rusty hull rattled. Small bits of brown showed amongst the dark green of the chipped paint. The sun reflected off the windshield high up in the noon sky.

George tapped nervously on his steering wheel, staring at each and every corner with an alarmed look. His hand gripped his manual stick tightly, clunking it here and there whenever necessary. He glimpsed at a small piece of paper rustling on the passenger’s seat - an address was written on top, read as ‘Anvil Street 56’.

Hypnosis. Brainwashing. Mind-control; all words that garnished the memories of his childhood. Alister and he often watched crappy old spy movies and sci fi flicks. A plot element so common it might as well have been called a genre convention. He remembered talking about the topic, both as bright-eyed kids, and as hot-blooded teenagers.

In fiction and fantasy, it was all well and good. In real life? A delusion, most people would say. He’d watched those History Channel documentaries before. Nutty people, talking about aliens and the government manipulating their minds. All cooks. Easy to identify. They always wore that crazy hippie outfit. Birds in a feather.

Sometimes, truth was stranger than fiction.

They’d spent the entire morning looking up terms like brainwashing, mind-control, and the like. All George had found were shitty movie and videogame plots. Alister had looked deeper with that secret martial art, the ‘google-fu’, but only discovered obscure japanese comics. He looked very ashamed at that, to George’s confusion.

They did uncover a small hint, however.

Alister had already given up. He was preoccupied with watching television while George scrolled through pages and pages of google. A link caught his eye. A single comment was highlighted for a newspaper - The Fairview Daily. The sister newsletter to The Fairview Weekly, a paper George had a subscription for. It details gossip and news from the local community.

In a little segment about local wicca worship and the growth of satanism, somebody had left behind something very interesting. A three-year-old comment by a now deleted username.

“These guys are dangerous! Don’t trust their lies! They brainwashed my sister!”

It was in reference to the group mentioned in the paper. A new-age religious movement, the Fellowship of the Five Fingers. George’s involvement with such groups lasted exactly ten minutes, starting when his college date had asked: “So, do you believe in demons?” A shame, since she was so pretty and all. The pentagram carved in her palm just wasn’t George’s thing.

The Fellowship of the Five Fingers, or the “FFF”, as the article abbreviated, was a new-age religious movement founded by Ronda Rousey, a mid-80’s psychic. From what little information could be found online, it started as an offshoot of LaVeyan Satanism, whatever that meant. College groupies made up the bulk of the community. Five years ago, they’d started a small commune here.

When George turned the final corner, he could make out the sign in the distance.

The commune looked ordinary, the three-stories wooden condo not showing any outwards signs of occult activity, save for their logo flying outside. George felt an ominous presence from that structure, a building he’d pass by usually without any suspicion. His bias, together with the overtly sanitary color scheme of white and yellow, somehow gave him the chills.

He parked a block away for safety’s sake. Crazies knowing your license plate was something he wanted to avoid - his bumper had suffered enough the last time. Walking towards the compound, he stared at the flag waving outside. A green flag with a yellow pentacle, an eye painted in the middle. A striking pink made up the eye’s sclera, while a dark blotch of black filled the iris.

Alister stayed at base. As a fugitive, he couldn’t move so freely. Besides, George didn’t want Alister to come close to a bunch of crazies that might be keeping demons chained up in a sex dungeon downstairs, for all he knew. It would’ve been monumentally stupid, even for him, to bring Alister to the group that might be responsible for the current situation.

Monumentally stupid, incidentally, was also what Alister had called this operation.

“What’re you going to do, knock on the door and ask them if they murder puppies?”

George knocked on the door. He cracked his knuckles in preparation. It didn’t take long for the wooden door to creak open. Behind it stood a smiling woman of small stature. A curious glance graced her face as she swung the small gap wide open.

“Hello?” she asked, scanning George from top-to-bottom. “Can I help you?”

Feeling a little ashamed, George relaxed his hands. “Uh, yes.” He said. “This is the compound for the… Fellowship of the Five Fingers, right?” He asked.

The woman bent her knees. Her long white skirt - the sundress - flapped up slightly. “The Fellowship welcomes you.” She said.

George turned red. He stood for a moment, finding the right words to say. “I just…” He paused. “I wanted to ask some questions.”

The woman beckoned him in, her hand guiding him inwards. “Of course,” she said. “Come in.”

George hesitated. The doorframe looked like a jaw to him - when the door closed, he’d be shut inside. With those people. He gulped, and stepped forth. Overthinking was never his suit. “Thanks.” He said awkwardly.

She led him into a couch. So far, George didn’t see any signs of whips, chains, and electric chairs, which was probably a good sign. The interior was simple - a couch, a television, a single coffee table. Like a receptionist’s room. Now with 100% less stuff.

He flinched when a tea set plopped on the table. The woman served him a drink. George covertly sniffed the beverage for a moment before sipping. The woman laughed, and as a sign of good faith, chugged the entire hot broth down at once.

“Sorry.” George looked down. “Uh, I just thought…”

“Don’t worry.” She waved. “People usually do that. They don’t trust small little movements like us.”

“Yeah, still,” George said. “It ain’t nice, I’m sure. The name’s George by the way.”

“I’m… Henrietta.” She said, pausing for a second. “But the Fellowship calls me Thalia. Like the muse.”

George looked blankly. “What’s a muse?” He shook his head. “Anyways, that’s not why I’m here.”

Henrietta giggled. “Yeah, I understand.” She said. “You said you have questions?”

George looked into his tea. “Well…” He said. “I just wanted to know more about you guys and your… Compound you have here.”

“Are you interested in joining?” Henrietta asked. She leaned back. Her dress emphasized her form.

“No.” George shook his head vigorously, stopping his eyes from wandering. “I just wanted to know more. For, uh, a friend.”

“What specifically?” She asked. “What does your friend want to know?” She gave a knowing grin.

“What’re you guys up to, here?” George asked. “Like, what do you, do…” He trailed off lamely.

Henrietta pointed at herself. “We’re here to serve.” She said. “People think we’re some kind of cult crazies because of our origins, but we’re really just here to help out the community.”

“What kind of work?” George asked.

“Homeless shelters and soup kitchens, mostly.” Henrietta poured herself another cup. “You can ask them if you want. The city council’s really happy with our performance.” She smiled.

The fragrance of lavender stung his nose. “Oh,” George said. “I see.”

“Yes. We’ve had many former…” She tapped her fingers. “Clients come and work for us, too.”

“Is that so?” George shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

“Yes.” Henrietta nodded. “As you can tell, we’re very dedicated at what we do.”

“Uh, I see you’re very enthusiastic.” George replied.

She smiled. “We’ve been working on providing therapy recently,” she said, radiating confidence. “If you’d like, you could join and help us out, you know?” Suddenly, her finger twitched, the cup of rapidly cooling tea spilling all over her. “Oh!” She yelled.

George blushed and jolted straight up. “Are you alright?” He asked, trying his best not to peek.

“I’m fine.” She smiled playfully. “Just have to take this off-” She tugged on George’s arm. “Why don’t you come over and help?” She giggled, motioning towards a nearby door. The toilet.

George shook her off and stumbled, falling ass-first forwards. He scrambled up and muttered: “I’m sorry. I have to go.” He stood up and dashed towards the door opposite to him.

It was not the door he came through.

Behind that door, the walls were painted eggshell-white. Two wooden furnitures stood in that room; a chair and a table. On the chair sat a skinny man staring blankly forward. He did not even twitch when George cracked the door wide open. He showed no signs of any reaction, instead simply staring ahead of him, his mouth mumbling something without sound.

On the table, a single burnt candle stood.

In a daze, George could not move a single muscle. When he regained control, he stepped forward, trying to get the man’s attention. Something pulled at his shirt from behind. Henrietta’s palm firmly gripped his back and yanked with all the force allowed in such a small frame.

“Excuse me.” She said coldly. “You said you have to go now, right?” A panicked disdain filled her eyes. She pushed him towards the exit.

“Wait a second,” George said. But he saw no way to advance without injuring the woman in front of him. “Let me just talk to him-”

“You have to go.” Henrietta grimaced. They stood by the front door.

“Who is that?” George yelled. He looked towards that room as she physically pushed him out. “Hello? Hello!”

Henrietta slammed the door at his face. It clunked against his nose, and George fell backwards. Rubbing his nose, he stood up, and walked towards the window. Unlike before, all the blinds were drawn shut, not a single silhouette visible behind.

Lewis tapped Harry’s back roughly.

“Hey, you there?” Lewis asked, giving his chair a soft kick. “Harry?”

Harry’s head jumped up, crashing against Lewis’s chin. He rubbed the top of his head and moaned. “What the hell?” He shouted, looking frantically about.

“I’d like to ask you that question, asshole!” Lewis yelled with indignation. “Can’t believe I was worried for once. The hell, Harry?”

“Lewis?” Harry said. He rubbed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I was plannin’ to ask you how you were doing, but…” He fake-cracked his knuckles. “I’ve seriously half a mind to kick your ass right now.”

Harry chuckled. “Good luck.” He said, yawning. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yeah, you did.” Lewis grinned. “You drooled all over your papers, Harry. Had a nice nap, didya?”

“Ah, shit.” Harry wiped the wet spots with his shirt. “I ain’t living this down, am I?”

“No, you aren’t.” Lewis flashed his smartphone. “‘Cause I’ve taken pictures. How the mighty fall, eh, Mr. Ace Detective?”

“Shut up.” Harry punched him lightly. “What’s up?”

Lewis grabbed a bundle of papers. “Nothin’,” he said. “Just wonderin’ what kept you up so long. Heard your fugitive search wasn’t goin’ so well.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had the juniors take care of that for me right now.” Harry sighed. “I’ve got an idea where the guy could be, though. Just have to get some facts straight.”

Lewis flipped through the pages. “That related to the George guy you told me about?” He asked. “Harry, these papers have literally nothin’ to do with your case.” He tilted his head.

“Yeah?” Harry said, looking down at his table in disappointment. “I was thinking the same thing too.”

“Why’re you readin’ up on all this stuff, then?” Lewis rolled the stack into a club. “The Lincoln-Brown foundation? You want a hospital named after you or what?” He laughed.

Harry snatched the roll from Lewis’ hands. “Nothing close.” He scratched his head. “I’ve been just… Look, you wanna indulge me on a tangent?”

“Is this goin’ to be about your gut again, Harry?” Lewis asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah, well,” Harry replied. “Fuck you, it is.”

Lewis smirked. “Knew it,” he said. “Well, shoot the shit.”

Harry fumbled with his pages. “It’s just…” He said. “Coincidences, y’know?”

“What’d you mean?”

“Look at this.” Harry pointed at the case report for Arnold Palmer. “This guy, killed by some dude. Wrote an article about corruption in the Lincoln-Brown foundation two weeks ago.”

“Right.” Lewis nodded.

“And then, this.” Harry brought forth a report on the current case. “Brian Fox. Republican mayoral candidate.”

“What’s the connection, Harry?” Lewis crossed his arms.

“It’s this.” Harry pointed at the picture of the current mayor. “Brian was going to win the election, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, and?”

“The chick that won?” Harry circled the man holding a check. “Her campaign was sponsored by the Lincoln-Brown foundation.” Harry looked expectantly at Lewis with a grave expression.

Lewis laughed. “What, that’s it?”

Harry flicked his forehead. “Thanks,” he said. “Well, kinda. I mean…”

“What more, Aliens? Lizardmen? Gay frogs?” Lewis chuckled. “I’m dying to hear.”

Harry shot him a stink-eye. “James Folk, another republican.” He continued. “About to win some position two towns over. Got shot.” He pulled up another news article. “His enemy? Larry Brown, some dude with connections to the Lincoln-Brown foundation.”

Lewis studied Harry’s face for a moment. Seeing that it contained no traces of sarcasm, he sighed. “Look, Harry, you’re seriously overthinking this.” He laid both hands on Harry’s shoulder. “You should take a day off, y’know? Spend some time with your kid or somethin’.”

“This can’t just all be a coincidence, can it?” Harry asked with uncertainty in his voice.

“Politicians and journos are always up to dirty shit.” Lewis frowned. “Look, you give me five minutes on google. I’ll find two or three more organizations they’re all bound to. Y’know what I mean?”

“I guess you’re right.” Harry said, dropping powerlessly on his chair. “Goddamnit. What a waste of time.”

“You’re too focused on doin’ your job well, Harry.” Lewis smirked. “Gotta slack off sometimes like us losers, y’know?”

“I’d rather get shot than be like you.” Harry snorted. “Thanks for the encouragement, though.”

“I swear, you’re cheating on your wife with lady justice, y’know?” Lewis slapped his own face. “You’re gonna die of overwork some day, Harry. How long have you been filing paperwork alone this week?”

“Don’t have to answer that.” Harry yawned and stretched his limbs. “Lemme go get myself a cup of joe.” He stood up.

“Grab me one too while you’re there, y’hear?” Lewis yelled as Harry walked towards the break room.

The break room was nearly empty. Most officers had gone home for the day. Harry chucked a handful of change into the vending machine and tapped a couple of keys. He watched as a dark liquid filled the plastic cup on the bottom.

Behind him, the door clunked open. In came Jordan Davis, his eyelids barely managing to stay afloat. He saluted when he saw Harry.

“Jordan,” Harry chuckled. “You still in?”

“Yeah.” He yawned. “Tons of paperwork to file. Remember the assholes from a couple days ago?”

Harry scratched his chin. “You mean the rednecks with the busses?” He removed his hot beverage from the vending machine.

“Yeah, those.” Jordan sighed. “They filed a complaint, the bastards. I had to deal with that shit.”

Harry pat him on the back. “What for, Jordan?”

“I dunno, some bullshit about unlawful investigation or some shit-” Jordan said. “What assholes. If it weren’t for the damn paper-pushers, I’d-” Jordan made a crude punching motion.

Harry’s ears perked up. “What paper pushers?” He asked.

Jordan grimaced. “The higher-ups. Who else? The boss gave me shit about wasting people’s times and all - the kissass really didn’t want to piss the foundation off.” He spat on the ground.

“You mean…” Harry’s gaze sharpened. “The Lincoln-Brown foundation, were they?”

“Yeah.” Jordan nodded. “The assholes. Don’t give a damn they’re doing all this charity shit.”

“You found out what the homeless thing was about?” Harry asked, inching closer.

“I dunno. Some stuff mission about helping out homeless in the state.” Jordan said, grabbing himself a cup of coffee. “Didn’t really look into it. Can’t say I care.”

“Right.” Harry wistfully smiled. “Well, have a good day then, Jordan.” Harry waved and shut the door behind him.

Alister slammed the table. The magazines stacked atop scattered on the floor.

“You did what?” Alister yelled, his eyes wide open.

George picked his ear. “Jesus, dude, you really don’t have to shout,” he sighed. “I just went over to check things out. Figured it was worth a shot.”

Alister looked at him with doubt. “Dude, how is that a good idea? What if they did something to you?”

“We got some more intel now, didn’t we?” George said, looking away. “You couldn’t find shit on the internet, so this was our only option.”

“Yeah, but - “ Alister looked worried. “You sure they didn’t mix anything in your tea?”

“Did you grow a vagina while I was away?” George chuckled. Alister was not amused. “Just a joke, man, calm down. I’m fine. Really.”

Alister looked as if he were ready to say something, but relaxed. “I can’t believe you sometimes, man.” He said. “You’re a real dumbass sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, at least I got shit done, right?” George grinned.

“Speaking of which,” Alister asked. “Found anything interesting?”

George scratched his head. “Yeah - well, no.” He answered, looking disappointed. “Well, I kinda found some weird lookin’ dude in a creepy room, but - “ He paused.

“But?”

“I mean, that’s the kinda shit cults do anyways, right?” George asked. “Remember that crazy chick in our neighbourhood?”

“You mean the woman who got arrested for walking around naked?” Alister crossed his arms.

“With a pentagram on her belly.” George nodded. “I remember your mom was really scared for a while - yeah, well, getting back to the point, it’s probably nothing.”

“I see.” Alister said. “Guess the hypnosis thing isn’t going anywhere, huh?”

“I dunno, man.” George looked serious. “Your sleepwalking thing…”

“But c’mon, hypnosis?” Alister nervously laughed.

“We should keep checking,” George stated firmly. “Just to be sure.”