Three Cursed Gods

07 : A LONG NIGHT

When McKayla walked into the coffee shop, her legs were shaky, still not recovered from the strange man she'd met on the street. The bell chimed, alerting the staff of her arrival, and the girl at the counter gave her a smile and nod of acknowledgement, before returning to her customer.

McKayla seated herself at a table in the back, next to a window with a clear view of the street outside, and pulled out her laptop. She didn't open it just yet, just stared at her hands, willing them to stop shaking. So many mysteries. The rhapsody case, the missing child, Cameron's disappearance and now this stranger. She shook her head. No. There was no point dwelling on the events of the past half-hour. This man—whoever he was—probably wouldn't ever cross paths with her again, and so didn't deserve her mental space. What was most important right now was the Rhapsody case, and then, later, the missing persons one.

Actually, the most important thing right now was getting a cup of hot coffee. And a bagel.

Once she'd returned from the counter and set her food on the table, she opened her laptop, taking a large sip of coffee as she did so. She was still on the Descendant registry, and was about to close it, when she paused. Sam Archer. Something was still off about that guy—she still had a feeling that he had something to do with this.

Trusting her gut, she typed his name in the search bar, and hit enter.

No results.

Hmm. She tried again, this time, Samuel Archer.

No results.

Perhaps Sam was short for something else, something more unique. She deleted the first name field, leaving it blank, and pressed enter, searching only for Archer.

A couple of hundred results popped up, and McKayla hastily narrowed her search to Male, Alive, Resides in New York.

Fewer results popped up this time, only four, but none of the photos or information seemed to match up. McKayla leaned back in her seat, considering, taking a bite out of her bagel as she'd did so.

Sam—or whatever his real name was—had lied to her. Perhaps she'd pay him another visit.

"What do you mean, 'he's gone'?" McKayla demanded, as the poor receptionist cowered. "Didn't I tell you to inform me of suspicious activity regarding Mr. Archer?"

"I—yes—but—you see—I didn't—I didn't think it was that suspicious," the receptionist stammered, his game of solitaire long forgotten.

"The man left three hours after I spoke to him, despite having paid for his room for two more weeks!" McKayla shouted. "How is that not suspicious, Carl?"

"—Colin—"

"—You could be named Camilla Maria de Santos-Riviera for all I care! How on earth do you mess up something so incredibly simple as a phone call?"

The receptionist looked to be close to tears, and McKayla sighed. She didn't really want to scare the poor guy, it was just...she'd been so close to a real lead on this case. So close. But now it was gone.

A quick call to Nigel in the foyer of the hotel told her that the man hadn't made a reappearance at Devilry and Drinks—she'd expected that. McKayla paced around on the musty linoleum carpet, thinking of her next move, as the receptionist watched her nervously from his desk.

She approached him again, and she thought she might have heard the faint sound of him wetting himself. "Do you have any record of where Mr. Archer might have gone?" It was unlikely, but—

"Yes!" the receptionist's face brightened, glad to finally be of use. "Yes—he asked me for directions to a club a few days ago! I think I still have the address here..." he began typing furiously on his computer, before coming up with results. He reached for a pen and a notepad and scribbled an address down, before tearing the paper off and handing it to her.