Raven's Watch: Secrets Of The Blud Diary

Chapter Five: Blurred Mysteries

The drive to Sanctuary was quieter than Nathan expected, but with Jenny's newfound enthusiasm, the silence didn't last long. After they boarded a crimson sedan waiting outside the station, her nervousness seemed to melt away, and her excitement returned in full force. Chief Inspector Ford took the front passenger seat, introducing the driver, Agent Jonah, who smiled in the rearview mirror, his gray-flecked beard catching the midday light.

"This is going to be awesome!" Jenny grinned, legs swinging as if she could barely contain her energy. "I'm apprenticed to the Mimic Slayer!"

Nathan stifled a laugh, surprised but a little embarrassed by the title. "Mimic Slayer," he echoed with a faint smirk. It sounded ridiculous, as if he were some grand hero rather than someone who'd barely survived a close call. Her awe was flattering, but also unnervingly intense—he wondered how she'd even learned about that case.

After a moment, he sighed, glancing at her with a faintly curious smile. "Jenny..."

She turned, her face alight with expectation, her grin wide and contagious, almost childlike. But there was something... overbright about her enthusiasm, a nervous energy beneath it all, like someone who wanted to impress but was hiding something else just out of sight. The way her eyes shone with a blend of excitement and maybe even relief—it was as if this role she'd been assigned gave her a purpose she hadn't had in a long time.

He cleared his throat, gentling his tone. "Jenny... why don't you tell me about yourself? Where you're from... your family."

The question hit like a faint tremor, and he watched her enthusiasm falter. Her gaze flickered, her smile wilting as her shoulders fell. For a brief moment, she looked away, her eyes losing focus as though revisiting something distant and painful. When she finally looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap, Nathan felt the shift in the air—a soft ache hidden behind that cheerful facade.

Ford, who'd been listening closely, seemed to sense the shift in the air, casting a sidelong glance toward Nathan. "I forgot to mention, but..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "Jenny... she's an orphan. We found her at New Hope Orphanage. Her parents..." His voice trailed off as he noticed Jenny's hand clutching a handful of her skirt, fingers digging into the fabric, knuckles pale from the tension.

Nathan nodded gently, sparing Ford from saying more. "I understand."

Turning to Jenny, he saw the spark of energy that once radiated from her now replaced by a somber stillness. Her shoulders were stiff, and her hands trembled just slightly, betraying a fragility beneath her usual liveliness.

Must have been hard, he thought, feeling a pang of regret for having unknowingly stirred up old wounds. He reached out, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. The touch was light, but he could feel her muscles tighten beneath his hand, as if bracing herself.

"Jenny," he said softly, choosing his words with care, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up anything painful." He paused, searching her face for a moment. He wasn't someone used to giving comfort, but he knew too well the hollow ache of feeling alone in a world too vast to grasp.

He let out a quiet breath, a faint smile crossing his face. "But you're not alone anymore. You're with us now. We're your family."

His hand lingered in a gentle pat, and he felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly as his words sank in.

Jenny looked up at him, her eyes glistening, reflecting the warm light inside the car. A small, sad smile tugged at her lips, and for a moment, hope seemed to flicker there—soft and hesitant but undeniably present.

The remainder of the drive was wrapped in a hush. The scenery drifted by, the steady hum of the engine blending with the faint murmur of passing towns and fields. After nearly twenty minutes of watching the landscape, Jenny's eyelids drooped, and before long, she was fast asleep, her head resting against the window. She snored softly, a sound both innocent and oddly reassuring.

Nathan, however, was alert, immersed in the stack of files Ford had handed him. The first binder he opened bore Jenny's photo—a snapshot of her grinning widely, braces glinting on her teeth. He scanned her profile, noting her age with mild surprise. Sixteen. Despite her boundless energy, she carried a weight far beyond her years. Then again, he thought, given her background, it wasn't hard to see why.

He flipped to the next file, his gaze sharpening. The photo was of a young man, pale-faced with a messy mop of brown hair and intense, dark eyes. He could've been a college freshman from the look of him. Nathan scanned the usual personal details until he spotted something that made him pause. Beneath the date of birth was a line marked date of death.

"Interesting," he murmured, turning the page to the victim summary.

The notes detailed a cause of death from blunt force trauma to the back of the head, leading to severe blood loss. But the location—and the date—caught his attention. Humblefield. The exact same town he'd been in on the day of the mimic incident. He could feel his heart beat just a bit quicker, familiarity igniting his curiosity.

Nathan's gaze drifted to the window, his mind now racing through possible connections. How likely was it that a death like this—a murder by the looks of it—occurred in the same quiet town on the same day? And why had this file, of all things, been handed to him with Jenny's?

As he leaned back, considering, he glanced at Ford in the front seat, the man's face stoic as he watched the road. Ford had handed him these files for a reason. But what was the message he was meant to decipher?

Nathan squinted at the details in the file, adjusting his glasses. "What's the story behind Johnathan?"

Ford shifted, glancing back slightly. "Johnathan was a part-timer at Blud Industries, working the graveyard shift the night he went missing."

Nathan frowned, his gaze drifting to the blur of trees and buildings outside the window. "Blud Industries... I don't recall them having any facilities in Humblefield."

"That's the unusual part," Ford replied, watching Nathan closely. "The nearest Blud facility is two hours away—in Hedgecrest."

Nathan's brow furrowed as he turned back to the file. "Then, logically, there might be some form of teleportation involved."

Ford's expression shifted, almost a smirk. "If only things were that straightforward."

Nathan nodded, understanding. Teleportation was still a rare and uncharted ability, even for those familiar with the arcane. The thought lingered, though—a man appearing two hours from where he should have been, in a town haunted by a mimic. It didn't add up, yet the peculiarities stacked like pieces in a puzzle.

His gaze fell to the photo of Johnathan once more, then out to the asphalt highway stretching endlessly ahead.

"I have a feeling the higher-ups called me in because the mimic case is tied to this," he murmured, closing the file and resting it on his lap.

Ford nodded, his eyes hardening. "You're spot on. Let's just hope it doesn't reopen any old wounds."