The headlights of the police car illuminated the scene. The man lying before her was clearly dead. The woman knelt down, examining the body, being careful not to touch it and contaminate the scene. She pulled a flashlight from her belt. Multiple stab wounds were visible. Judging by the trail of blood leading to the body, odds were that the man had been trying to get away from someone. What surprised her was that nobody had come to finish the job. The man had bled to death.
She examined the body further and instantly recognized the face. Damn it, she thought, not another one. This man had been missing for weeks now. Another phony psychic was dead on her watch. This guy’s name was Bobby Aaron, a con artist masquerading as a psychic. This was not the first one to go missing. Over the last couple of weeks almost all of them were either missing or dead.
The police department had to keep this under wraps because a majority of the town’s income came from people coming to visit these people. She really wanted to smoke right now, but she promised her husband that she would quit. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a package of nicotine gum. She took the wrapper off of one piece and put it into her mouth. This would be a long summer.
Her phone rang. It was her partner, Jim.
“Yeah?”
“Well, did you find anything out there, Sherry?”
“Yeah. I found a missing person out in the woods.”
“That’s great. We’ll bring him back to the precinct and we can question-”
“He’s dead, Jim.”
“Shit. Another one?”
“Yep.” Sherry stood up and started walking to the car. She sat in the car, pausing for a second. She evaluated the scene one more time. The trail of blood led deep into the forest. She could now see a small creek in the distance.
“So that only leaves Jerry Alexander, Chris Terrance, and that guy Drake Collins. Start looking into each of them, Jim. Once we get homicide down here, I’ll start questioning them about the disappearances.”
“You got it, Sherry. I’ll get back to you when I learn anything.” Sherry started her car and began the long drive back home. Her first stop would be the home of Drake Collins.
To some, Drake Collins was a wise and charismatic man. To others, he was a scheming, manipulative bastard. Both were true, but there was another side to Drake. He was a mentalist, basically a magician, but the key difference is that he told people that his tricks were real. Drake managed to make a living off of this, usually making his money off of people who are either too dumb or disillusioned to call his bluff. You may think this sounds a bit harsh, but the fact of the matter is that even Drake knew that all the supposed “psychics” in this town were con artists. The town, called Warnan, has been a hub for spiritualism since it’s founding. Every group from radical Christians to full-blown Satanists have made their presence known in the town, much to the dismay of its inhabitants.
Scotch slowly began to drip from Drake’s chin onto his pristine white tie. The TV blared in the room, slightly muffled by the sound of the fans and air-conditioning. The talk show host’s jokes fell upon deaf ears. Drake was preoccupied with other thoughts. The main thought being that his wife was not home yet. Tiffany had always been home before he got back from work. It’s not like she had a job or anything else to do. Drake knew exactly what she was doing. He had suspected for a while now that she was having an affair. His suspicions were confirmed when he glanced out the window, only to see an unfamiliar car drop off his wife. He tightened his grip on the glass, trying to keep himself composed. He put on a smile and opened the door.
