Gwen's Cold Blood Murders

The Search

It wasn't until later that evening that the first signs of something wrong began to surface.

Max's mother, Claire Henderson, stirred a pot of spaghetti on the stove, the aroma of garlic and tomatoes filling their modest kitchen. She glanced at the clock—almost 6:30. Max was late.

It wasn't unusual for Max to be a little late sometimes. He would often stop to chat with his friends or linger at the corner store, buying a pack of gum or a soda. But today, something gnawed at Claire's gut, a vague unease she couldn't shake. Max had always been good about letting her know if he was going to be delayed, especially on days like this—when she'd promised to make his favorite dinner.

She wiped her hands on the dish towel, then picked up her phone and dialed Max's number. The ringing tone sounded, but there was no answer. She waited a moment, then dialed again. And again.

Her heart began to pound, but she shook her head, trying to calm herself. He's just caught up in something. He'll be fine. Max wasn't the kind of kid to worry about, not really. He'd always been independent, reliable. But as each minute passed, the knot in her stomach tightened.

When the phone rang a fourth time, she stood up and moved toward the door, her feet light but her mind racing. She opened it and stepped outside, scanning the quiet street. Max should have been here by now. The neighborhood was the same as it had always been, with families coming home from work, children laughing in their yards. Everything looked normal. But something was off.

Claire's thoughts went straight to her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Langford. Maybe she'd seen Max on his walk home.

She knocked on the door, trying to ignore the creeping sense of panic.

Mrs. Langford answered quickly, her kind face lighting up when she saw Claire. "Oh, hello, dear. What can I do for you?"

"Hi, Mrs. Langford. I'm just wondering—have you seen Max? He's a little late coming home from school."

Mrs. Langford's smile faltered, and for a moment, her eyes darted to the street as if searching for him. "No, dear. I haven't seen him. I thought I saw him earlier walking past, though—around 5:00, I believe. He waved, as usual. But after that..."

Claire's pulse quickened. 5:00. That was over an hour ago. Something wasn't right.

"Thanks," Claire said, her voice suddenly tight. She turned quickly and rushed back to her house, then grabbed her coat and keys. If Max didn't turn up soon, she would have to call the police.

She stood at the edge of the front yard, her thoughts tumbling over each other. Max was smart. He knew better than to wander off, to be out after dark without telling her where he was going. He had never been the type to get into trouble—he was just a regular kid, trying to grow up too fast. And yet...

A scream pierced the evening air.

It wasn't a loud, guttural scream. It was thin, high-pitched—a single, terrified cry that echoed across the street. Claire froze. Her heart skipped a beat. The sound came from a little ways down the road. The old churchyard.

Without thinking, she dashed toward the sound, her breath coming in sharp gasps. As she neared the church, she saw a figure running—stumbling almost, as if they were in a frantic hurry. A man. A tall, thin man, with his head lowered beneath the brim of a dark hat.

Claire's throat tightened. Something in the back of her mind screamed that this wasn't normal, that this wasn't someone she should approach.

She hesitated but couldn't stop herself. Her feet carried her forward, propelled by the raw fear gnawing at her. The man vanished into the shadows, disappearing around the corner of the church. She reached the spot where he had stood just moments before.

And then she saw it.

Max's backpack lay on the ground, abandoned, its straps twisted in a way that didn't belong. Beside it was something worse. A dark, crimson stain on the pavement.

Claire's knees gave way beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground. She couldn't breathe. Her vision blurred. The world around her spun into a dizzying vortex of panic and disbelief.

Someone had taken Max. And now, he was gone.