🗝️Detective Ryker Viltarin must uncover dark secrets before he loses not only his heart but also his life.🗝️
You're on your own, far from home
The wind is blowing in the top of the pines
A gloomy sky where the sun never shines
Deep...
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With a wonderfully fragrant coffee in his hand, Ryker stood before a small blackboard against the back wall, right next to the elegant brick oven, in which a wonderfully warm fire was crackling. Behind the counter, he heard the bright voice of the waitress:
"Hello, dumbass. I would rather cut my tongue than call you if it weren't for the fact that I have a craftsman waiting for you bitch at my cafe."
"The name? No, I didn't ask. Wait a minute ..." Lowering the phone, the blonde waitress peeked at him from behind a corner. "Sorry, what was your name again?"
"Ray," he replied without taking his eyes off the pinboard filled with notes. "Ray Viltarin."
A while ago, he realized that he had no network outside the café and its Wi-Fi, so his mobile phone was completely useless. But better safe than sorry. And Ray wasn't entirely a lie—it was his nickname.
"Ray Viltarin," the softer voice echoed from around the corner. "Oh, no need to rush; take all the time you need. This guy can stay here with me for longer."
This time, the sigh passed his lips, and Ray felt an unpleasant seething inside him. He hated it when people looked at him like a piece of meat. Hoping to find some distraction, he began to study the notices on the notice board. Occasionally, he sipped his coffee, savoring the mixture of bitter coffee beans and sweet syrup on his tongue.
"Someone's coming to pick you up," the employee's voice finally said as she finished the conversation and returned to the front.
Ryker himself merely responded with a weak nod. His eyes did not turn away; they remained fixed on the spot, focused and captivated by the notices.
Everything was on the board: Requests for tradesmen, some faded or written on stained paper. Offers of furniture or decorations with Polaroid photos or drawings. But what caught his eye for longer were the profiles with bold, red headlines:
MISSING
On the wall were wanted posters from various places - presumably those in the neighborhood - and different years. The oldest one was six years old and correspondingly crumpled and worn. It showed a young man who, according to the notice, was 26 years old at the time of his disappearance—a student. In the grey picture, he smiled carefreely. According to the description, he had brown hair. Spucemist-Woods was given as his last whereabouts. The most recent profile, however, showed a color picture. It showed a young, blonde woman smiling shyly into the camera. The profile was less than a year old. He counted eleven women and four men, ignoring the notices about missing animals—mainly cats like Blinzel, Pinkle, or Miss Marple.
