The Missing Children

Chapter 5

Maybe it's a trap, I thought as I stared at the address. But that didn't make sense. The cult lady could have just shot me right here, or taken me hostage, if they planned on performing some bullshit ritual on me. My only lead being dead, I decided to visit the address. Everything was close in Northberry, so I was there in only five minutes. The address given to me was an old house in what looked like a not-so-nice part of town. I assumed that this was one of those morbid places that would be left out of the pamphlets, if they were to promote tourism here.

I contemplated waiting in the car for the person who lived there to go out, so I could catch them by surprise, but given the fact that there were no other cars around, I was as inconspicuous as a polar bear in a jungle. I finished one cig and got out of my car, double-checking the address on the paper and the number of the house. I knocked on the door which looked like it was just about ready to fall from its hinges, and waited.

There was a sound of hushed, muffled voices coming from inside and a batter of heavy footsteps resounding from within. A moment later, the sound of unlocking clicked loudly and the door opened slightly ajar, just enough for me to see half of a thin, sunken face. A door chain stretched itself between the inside of the wall and the door itself, as the man stared at me with a blue eye from behind his cover.

"Yes?" He asked skeptically, eyeing me from top to bottom.

"I'm detective Torres. I'm here to investigate the missing children's case. Can I come inside?"

The man thought for a moment, before timidly answering:

"I'm sorry, now's really not a good time."

He tried closing the door in my face, but I stopped him and said:

"Please. All I'm asking for is a few minutes of your time. Someone's life could be in danger."

The man stared at me for a long moment, before shutting the door in my face. A moment later, the sound of metal sliding resounded and the door opened widely. In front of me stood a man as skinny as I expected him to be, with bulging eyes, greasy, brown hair which fell down to his shoulders and an oversized t-shirt. He stepped aside and allowed me to go in.

The inside of the house was a mess, with wrappers and containers from ordered and fast food, strewn all over the coffee table and knocked over on the floor.

"Sorry about the mess, I've been working a lot lately and didn't have time for anything else." He said.

He picked up the Chinese takeaway plastic from the sofa and offered me to sit, but I politely declined. Staring at the mess made me think a rat was going to just jump out of the pile. But at the same time, this lifestyle reminded me very much of my own, only instead of food I had empty booze bottles all over the place and it reeked of cheap alcohol.

I glanced at the man's forearms. He had a bandage over his left arm.

"Did you injure yourself?" I asked.

"Yeah, broke a glass in the kitchen a few days ago." He said, looking at his forearm and then back at me.

"Can I see? It might be serious." I said.

"It really looks nasty. I think that's not a good idea." The man suddenly seemed to become nervous.

"I'm fine with that. But I need to check, to make sure you're not infected."

"I really don't-"

"Please. I insist." It was an order and he knew it.

He hesitated, looking as if he was thinking of what to use as an excuse. A moment later, he started unwrapping his bandage. I put my hand behind my back, ready to draw my gun in case he tried to do something stupid. The bandages came off layer after layer, until they turned pink and then red. When he finally reached the end and took it off, along with the gauze, he displayed his forearm to me. There was a wound about 2 inches long and 1 inch wide, in the crude shape of a rectangle, as if the skin had been flayed off.