THE 30 DAYS Remastered

A Masked Man (Part - 2)

Few Hours Ago

Meanwhile, Clay was driving to the Stark orphanage, the road stretched out before him, silent except for the hum of the engine. His mind was focused on the next steps of the investigation when his phone rang, the caller ID showing Zack from the nearest police department to the orphanage.

Clay answered, keeping one hand on the wheel. "Hey, Zack, my man. Got something for me on that case?"

Zack's voice was calm but edged with something Clay couldn't place. "Yeah, I found something, but I need to know... where are you right now?"

Clay furrowed his brow. "That's odd... I'm on my way to the orphanage. Why?"

There was a brief pause, and when Zack spoke again, his voice had changed—more urgent, more serious. "I need you to turn back."

Clay blinked, confused. "Turn back? What do you mean? I'm almost there."

Zack's tone became firmer, almost pleading now. "Clay, for this one time, I really need you to turn back. Meet me near the lighthouse. Now."

A cold sensation crept into Clay's chest, unease settling like a weight in his stomach. "Zack, I don't understand. What happened? Why would I turn back without knowing a proper reason?"

Zack's next words sent a chill down Clay's spine.

"It's Lucy."

Clay's grip tightened on the steering wheel. His heartbeat picked up, thudding in his ears. "What about Lucy?" he demanded, his voice low and intense.

There was a pause, just long enough to make Clay's anxiety spike. "There's no time to explain on the phone. Meet me at the lighthouse. Please." Zack's voice softened, but the urgency remained. "Trust me, Clay. It's about Lucy. You need to turn back now."

For a moment, Clay hesitated, the road ahead of him narrowing into a blur as his thoughts raced. Lucy? He couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, but every instinct told him to keep moving toward the orphanage.

But this was Zack. And Zack never spoke like this unless something was seriously off.

Clay exhaled sharply, his mind still swirling with confusion, but he made his decision. He turned the car around in a sharp, swift motion, the tires screeching on the asphalt as he headed back the way he came, now heading toward the lighthouse, his thoughts filled with nothing but Lucy.

Meanwhile, as the evening sky dimmed into a deep orange hue, a black Mustang rolled quietly to a stop in front of an old, worn-down warehouse. The last rays of sunlight cast long shadows across the lot, the air thick with the stillness of twilight.

The car door opened smoothly, and a man stepped out, his figure tall and imposing in the fading light. Dressed in dark clothes, he moved with purpose. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a mask—smooth, pale, and devoid of features except for narrow slits where his eyes would be.

The man took a moment, looking around the empty lot before slipping the mask over his face. As the mask settled into place, his expression became unreadable, his presence now even more ominous under the cloak of dusk.

He strode toward the warehouse, his footsteps muffled against the cracked pavement. The rusted metal door creaked loudly as he pushed it open, disappearing into the dim light inside, leaving only the soft click of the door behind him. Darkness was waiting.

The man entered the dimly lit room, his movements deliberate, as if he had planned every step before he even arrived. The single flickering lightbulb cast erratic shadows across the room, adding an eerie sense of unpredictability to the moment.