Fairview had a series of soup kitchens since the late 20th century. A series of localized recession led to a large deal of unemployment around the area, which many previous mayors tried to correct, to varying degrees of success. In any case, in the current growing economy, hunger and shelter was not a big issue amongst the community.

Until recently.

Harry stopped by the largest kitchen in the area, the Fairview Shelter. Around thirty people usually staffed the compound. They served around three hundred servings per day. This number tripled over the last two weeks; now, tents and shabby stalls were installed in front of the dilapidated old building.

He stepped inside to find the tables positively packed and brimming. Harry quickly turned towards the counter, where a teenager scrubbed plastic silverware with fury. “Hey, kid,” he asked, tapping the boy on the shoulder. “Got a second?”

The boy turned around with a displeased expression. “What’s the problem, again-” he paused, stared at Harry for a second, and hung his head in curiosity and shame. “Uh, sorry, sir.”

“No problem.” Harry smiled, and gave him a pat on the back. “Working hard, are you?”

“Yes, sir,” the boy glanced at Harry’s police uniform, barely hidden under his large coat. “How can I help you?”

“I need to talk to whoever’s in charge here.” Harry said, looking around. “Mind pointing them out for me, kid?”

The boy bit his finger. “I think that would be Mrs. Petrov over there,” he pointed at a woman twirling a ladle in an oversized pot. “She’s the one that orders us around, I mean, uh, tells us what to do…” The boy quickly hushed, glancing nervously at the stout figure.

“Thanks, kid.” Harry tipped his hat.

“No problem, sir.” The boy saluted and walked back into position.

The woman - Mrs. Petrov - stood proudly, her shoulders raised. Her confident posture and footing told Harry enough about her position as head of the establishment. Powerful fingers gripped a wooden ladle tightly. Small pops and sizzled rung from the pot, small bits of potato mash and gruel flicking here and there.

She turned to meet as Harry approached her. “What’s the trouble, officer?” She asked, her annoyed glance locked with Harry’s eyes.

“No trouble, Mrs. Petrov.” Harry replied, greeting her with a handshake. “I was just hoping you could help me out with some questions, if that would be alright with you.”

She simmered the pot down, lowering the temperature. With a simple flick, she called an older woman over, who began transporting the heavy pot to a table. “I suppose I’ve got some time.” She said, an annoyed indifference clear in her voice. “What’s the gig, detective? Here to bother me with orders, too?”

Harry’s eyes lit up in surprise. “How’d you know I was a detective?”

“I’ve seen that uniform plenty before.” She scoffed. “Police officers wear a different color ‘round here, don’t they?” She led Harry towards an office, strutting in like she owned the place. “Had one of you folks walk in here a day or two ago.” Mrs. Petrov pulled out a cigarette.

“What about?” Harry asked, offering a light.

She lit the cigarette and started smoking. “Came here to check out the place, he said.” She puffed a ring of smoke. “Boss’s orders, he mentioned. Didn’t get his name.” She flicked the ashed away with practiced grace. “Didn’t bother, really, the boy didn’t make much trouble.”

“I see.” Harry replied, mentally noting it down. “You mentioned something about… Bothering you?” He glanced at her expectantly.

“Some assholes walked in here, lookin’ all fancy with their suits, wanted to talk to me about the way I run this place.” She smirked sourly. “Chased those buggers out of here, the cockroaches. Can’t stand bureaucrats telling me how to do my job.” She extinguished the cigarette on a plate. “Didn’t you come here for something, detective?”

Harry frowned. “I had some questions for you, Mrs. Petrov.” He said. “You usually don’t get as many visitors around here, don’t you?”

“You mean the homeless folk? Yeah, we don’t.” Mrs. Petrov sighed. “Had to hire some kiddies on break ‘cause we were short on hands.”

“How many of the newcomers are from around here?” Harry asked.

“Never seen most of em’ around town.” She replied, pulling out another cigarette. “Worked at most kitchens as a substitute before, too. Never seen em’ there either. Not a surprise, really.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thought you coppers were onto this.” Mrs. Petrov spat on the plate. “Some guys in suits led most of em’ here, I recall. Same assholes who got a piece of my mind.”

“The men in suits?” Harry asked. “Do you know who they are?”

Mrs. Petrov shook her head. “No idea.” She said. “That’s the weirdest part. I tried talkin’ to the newcomers - homeless folk tend to be the decent, talkative sort - but they won’t spit a word of who brought em’ here and why.”

“I see.” Harry sighed. “Do you have any idea who I could talk to if I wanted to know more about them?”

Mrs. Petrov silently inhaled her cigarette for a moment. “I guess you could try Paul.” She said, with smoke rising from her lips. “He’s the old guy with a red-black checkered shirt. You’ll notice him right away.”

“What’s special about this… Paul?” Harry asked, ingraining his description in his mind.

“The other folks call ‘em Crazy Paul.” She answered. “Really irritable. The old guy’s been spoutin’ complaints all day long since he came. I’m sure you could bribe him.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Petrov.” Harry said, reaching out for a handshake again. “You’ve been a great help.”

“Don’t bother thankin’ me.” She sighed. “I ain’t done nothing for you. Just get this trouble done and over with, y’hear? I’m tired of working overtime and getting played by some blue-suit fucks.”

Harry opened the door and held it out for Mrs. Petrov. He gave her a final thanks and started towards the exit with a calm pace. Outside, a commotion brewed, an old man stomping around with a broken bottle in hand. He yelled incoherently at another dirty man.

Harry stepped forwards and gripped the crazy’s outstretched arm tightly. The old man turned towards him and scrunched his mouth, aiming for a spit. Harry swiveled his head on time. The ball of saliva shot right past him. Harry twisted the old man’s arm, the bottle falling to the ground, and the old-timer with it.

“Easy, easy.” Harry said. “You better not move.” He held the twisted arm against the man’s back. “I’m with the police, y’hear?”

“My fackin’ luck.” The old man spat on the ground. “Piece of shit cop showin’ up like the fuckin’ dogs they are. Can smell trouble, can ya, fuckin’ pig? Bark for me, you dog!”

Harry kicked the man in the shin, earing himself a wince. He turned to the forming crowd. “Anyone know who this man is?” He asked. “I need someone to testify at the station.”

Amongst the murmurs, Mrs. Petrov showed herself again. She coughed, silencing the crowd. “That’s the Paul I was talkin’ about.” She said, pointing at his face. “You really need someone down at the station, detective?”

Harry studied her impatient expression and smirked. “I’ll just take your statement by call.” He said, cuffing the old man against his wishes.

“Let me the fuck go!” The old man chattered against the boardwalk. He convulsed when Harry forcefully pulled him up, garbling his words as he puked on the sidewalk. “-fuckin’ piece of shit luck…”

“‘Aight, in you go.” Harry said, nearly kicking the old man into the back seat of his car. He locked his hands with a second cuff against the passenger's seat headrest. Before Harry could step inside himself, his phone started vibrating. Annoyed, Harry clicked the telephone on.

“Hey, Harry.” A familiar voice crackled live. “It’s me, Jenkins.”

“What’s up?” Harry asked. “Need something?”

Jenkins took a moment to reply. “We found something in regards to our little fugitive.” He said. “You might want to check it out, Harry. I’ll send you the details by text.”

“Is that the footage from last evening?” Alister asked, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

A usb cable connected George’s phone to the laptop. On the screen, a dark footage played; small movements were visible, together with the ambient noise of the forest outside. A figure rolled around on the couch. George studied the video playing at quadruple speed.

“Yeah.” George said, solemnly staring at the timecode. Suddenly, the figure moved; dragging itself out of the couch, it shuffled around the room, crawling along the floor, tapping around. Eventually it raised itself when its hand brushed against the plastic top of the laptop.

“Holy shit.” Alister murmured. The figure in the video - Alister - was now illuminated by the bright blue light of the laptop screen. He navigated to a certain file with a couple of clicks and typed multiple sentences, before closing the laptop down and moving back to the couch.

The two sat in silence, pondering over the video.

George broke the quiet. “I moved the laptop before I left, by the way.” He said. “You still found it somehow. I was wondering how your sleepwalking thing worked, with you changing environments after all.”

“So, what, I’m doing it… Consciously?” Alister asked, feeling the goosebumps rising. “But that’s impossible. I don’t remember…”

George shook his head. “Y’see, that’s why I mentioned hypnosis, right?” He said. “It’s not like you’re actually asleep, and you’re going through the motions. You must be awake, in a way.”

“What the fuck?” Alister yelled, slumping down powerlessly. “And, what, I’ve been doing this the whole time? For years?”

“Well, the report didn’t mention how old the document was, did they?” George said. “But yeah, you could’ve been.”

“How’re we going to get to the bottom of this?” Alister asked, crawling up in a ball.

“As I said, we should continue looking into the hypnosis thing, right?” George replied. “Didn’t you mention you found something regarding that?”

Alister jumped up. “Well, I did, but…” He looked hesitant. “I dunno, man, it’s kind of a stretch.”

“C’mon, dude, just show me.” George said, pushing the laptop towards him.

Alister input a link in the website’s browser. “I found this.” He said, turning the screen around so both could see. “It’s an old forum - thing. They call it an imageboard.”

“Yeah, and?”

“Well,” Alister clicked on a link. “They have a section for paranormal research.” He looked more and more defeated by the second. “As you can see, it’s mostly dumbasses and armchair detectives roleplaying.” He pointed at the various thread titles, such as ‘CONFIRMED UFO SIGHTINGS’, ‘how 2 summon suckubus’, and ‘Divination 101’.

“But?” George grinned at the goofy titles.

“They had an interesting thread on cases of real hypnosis.” Alister said. “It’s mostly conspiracy theories and the really famous shit, you know, like the MKUltra thing, but…” He scrolled down to a specific post. “This one mentions another site where supposed ‘victims’ go to talk.”

“Shit, isn’t that like, exactly what we’re looking for?” George asked, excitedly scrolling through the page.

“Try reading most of the posts.” Alister sighed. “You’ll get tired of ‘how do I hypnotized hot girl’ posts soon enough, not to mention the crazies who think the Russians hypnotized Obama.”

“Oh.” George deflated, noticing exactly what was pointed out.

Alister directed the cursor to a thread on the third page of the site. “Well, but, I did find something kinda interesting, I guess.” He said, opening a small video. “Here, look at this.”

The title, ‘Real_Hypnosis_Footage’ titled the video. After a couple seconds of a black screen, the video transitioned to a CCTV footage of some sort of clinic. A woman in a hospital gown sat down on a chair, staring at a single flickering flame of a candle growing smaller.

A doctor stood behind the patient, carefully whispering words into her ear. No sound playback was available. When the fire began dying, the last of the candle’s wick and wax burning off, the doctor snapped his fingers, and the woman shut her eyes.

A moment later, the lady stood up, her blood-shot pupils dilating to a small point. Her mouth tore wide open with what likely was an animalistic screech, and she hung her head back. Her body limped into a quadruped pose and she began acting like a monkey.

Alister fast-forwarded the video. “Don’t bother with the next five minutes.” He said with a disgusted expression. “At some point, she shits in her hand and throws it against the wall.”

When the video resumed, a darkened spot besmirched the white walls. The doctor finally intervened with a snap, the woman falling like a rag-doll to the ground. The video cut off moments afterwards.

“Jesus christ.” George said. “Is that real?”

“I dunno.” Alister said. “That’s why I told you this is a stretch. Could all be a prank for all I know. Although I doubt most people would throw shit on the walls as a joke…”

George curiously continued scouring the thread. “How popular is this place?” He asked.

Alister chuckled. “Little imageboards like these? Not at all.”

“Shit.” George groaned. “Well, anything else you wanted to show me?”

“You’ll find it if you keep scrolling.” Alister said. “Probably just a big coincidence, but…”

“This one?” George highlighted the text.

“Yeah.” Alister nodded. “It’s half a year old. Some dude claims he’s been hypnotized and kidnapped back when he was homeless.”

“What’s special about this one?” George asked.

“Look,” Alister said, pointing at a specific line. “Here’s what he says: ‘They took me to some cult compound. I swear this is true, although I barely remember most of it… I saw some kind of occult symbols, like an eye and a pentacle…’” Alister read.

“And?”

Alister sighed. “Remember what you told me about the weird cult hippies back there?” He said. “They mentioned helping out with homeless people, right? And their symbol was an eye?”

“Oh, shit, yeah!” He yelled. “You’re right.”

“But I dunno, this all seems like a stretch.” Alister said. “Eyes aren’t exactly a rare occult symbol. Most crazy hippies come up with some shit like that. Third eye and all.”

“Still worth checking out, right?” George said, his fingers gliding across the keyboard.

“What’re you doing?” Alister glanced at a screen. “Are you making a post?”

“Yeah.” George said, finalizing the process with a click. “I’m telling him to contact us ASAP.”

“Did you leave your real email there?” Alister chuckled. “You’re going to get bombarded with spam, you know that?”

“Shit.” George lamented. “Whatever.”

“Yeah… Well, any other ideas?” Alister asked. “I can’t find anything more on the internet. We’ve been trying for days now… If nothing’s shown up so far, I doubt anything new will.”

“So much for your ‘google-fu’.” George grinned. “You wanna play some games, then? Maybe we’ll figure something out if we cool our heads down.”

“Yeah, sure.” Alister said, gunning for the remote. He flicked the wide screen on.

The television defaulted to a news channel. As per usual, it displayed a rather depressing headline - another homicide case. At that very moment, the suspect was shown fully on-camera, this confused, deer-in-the-headlights expression in full view.

“Another one, huh?” Alister grimaced. “Guess those are pretty common nowadays, eh?”

George's mouth hung open. He raised his finger and pointed at the suspect.

“Dude, you alright? What’s with you?” Alister asked, concerned.

“That’s the guy I saw yesterday.” George blubbered. “The guy in the cult compound.”

It was already way past noon when Harry arrive. He stepped out of his car and onto the soil. Thankfully, he’d prepared ahead of time - he wore his cheap sunday shoes. Packed neatly into the backseat of his car lay a long paper bag.

Jenkins greeted him at the scene with a scowl. He gave Harry a middle finger before reaching out for a reluctant handshake.

“Harry, when I said ‘urgent’, that’s exactly what I meant.” Jenkins kicked him lightly on the shin. “The hell is that?” He peered into Harry’s backseat. “You really made us wait for alcohol?”

“It’s for the case, what can I say?” Harry grinned. “I need it for somethin’. Besides, from what you told me, this doesn’t seem like some that can’t wait.”

“I’ve got better things to do.” Jenkins pouted. He pointed towards a ditch five feet away. “That’s the spot we found it in.”

Harry walked towards the bushes. Police tape surrounded that single bush; from an outsider’s point of view, it looked like some neighbourhood kid’s prank. “In the bush?”

Another policeman on duty pried the branches wide open. “Yeah, you see?” Jenkins pointed to a spot within the thicket.

Lodged within the green and brown of the thick bush was a rusting blue bicycle.

“Give me the run-down again, will ya?” Harry asked, staring intently at the object.

Jenkins sighed. “As I told you on the phone,“ he stared at Harry with malintent. “Some kid in Alister Moore’s block reported his bicycle as missing. Forgot to lock it around the local grocery store, apparently.”

“And that’s what I’m lookin’ at?”

“Yeah,” Jenkins nodded. “Someone found it here and called a local station to ask if someone was lookin’ for one. Guess it was too much trouble to yank it out.”

Harry approached the bush, still held open by the policeman. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. “It’s been here a while, has it?”

“I can’t give you an exact date, but it probably sat there for, what, a week and a half?” Jenkins grimaced. “The same time our suspect’s been running loose.”

“You’re thinkin’ Alister stole the bike?” Harry asked.

“I can’t say for sure - since it rained, any leftover hairs or fingerprints or whatever are probably gone.” Jenkins said, maintaining a grim expression. “Strong possibility, though.”

Harry turned his flashlight towards the forest. “And if he’s biked all the way here…” He said. “You’re thinkin’ the guy went into the forest, right?”

Jenkins silently nodded.

“If that’s the case…” Harry shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s start by setting up a warning perimeter. What other towns and cities border this forest, Jenkins?”

“Give me a moment.” Jenkins paused. “I remember it being Greenville, Yellowridge, and Jacksonville.” He murmured to himself for a second. “And a couple farms, I think.”

“Shoot them a call, will you?” Harry said, turning back to his car. “I’ve got some business left to do.”