The Architect

‘Well great. Another missing person,’ thought Detective David Carter, sitting at his desk. He had grown up on great mystery novels, read them as a starving man devoured food.  Arthur Conan Doyle, Sue Grafton, Janet Evanovich, and all the rest. What he hadn’t thought of, however, was the fact that ordinary, everyday mysteries were more like missing pets and one-night-runaway rebel children. Not exciting murders or convoluted schemes like the novels. That being said, he wasn’t ungrateful for the job. He took what he could get out here. But he still couldn’t help a bit of disappointment at the lack of romanticism.

He ran a hand through his hair and set his eyes once again on the file of the guy he was supposed to be finding. Arthur Miles, concept artist just graduated from the local college and hadn’t yet gotten his ‘big break,’ as they say. Told everyone he was heading out of town to talk to a guy. “This could be it.” He had reportedly said. “My big chance to get out there.” Welp, he packed up a couple days’ worth of clothes, drove north, and never came back. That was a couple weeks ago now, and no one’s heard a word from him. Never answers his phone, nothing. Phone eventually started going straight to voicemail, meaning it was off, dead, or not within service range. Could’a been all three.

What had happened? Did he get where he was going? Hit a bad part of town? Kidnappers would’ve done something with the phone. Killers... he wasn’t so sure. After talking with the family, running away was out of the question. There was the fact that the meeting could’a been a sort of trap, but that was shot down when Carter met with the guy who invited Miles. Honesty in his voice, and no motive.

There was that small town on the way to the meeting. Miles might’ve stopped there for gas or something. What was the name of that old town...? Carter hadn’t really known it was there before the investigation, and no one else seemed to acknowledge its existence. It wasn’t that they were covering it up; they just genuinely didn’t know it was there, just like he didn’t know before driving through it. No maps of the town, no legal recognition at all. It was like that place didn’t even exist. Soon enough, this town started to pull Carter’s attention away from the case at hand and he couldn’t reign in his curiosity any longer. He wanted to see this town.

A few hours of driving later, Carter pulled over to the side of the road in the mystery town. Funny, there were no parking lots, or gas stations, or even other cars. He hadn’t noticed in his first drive through. Stepping out of the car, he felt like he was stepping back in time onto a cobblestone street with lampposts and tall almost gothic buildings surrounding it. He walked over to the next street, where he had heard the murmur of a crowd. Lines of quaint shops and market stalls met his astonished eyes as he went down the street, smells of fruit and perfumes meeting his nose. All the ladies wore long skirts and the men were dressed up beyond Carter’s out-of-place jeans and baseball cap.

Approaching a young woman with a round face and long chestnut hair near a fruit stall, he asked, “Ma’am. Could you tell me what town this is?”

“Well, sir, this is Pennton.” She said in an unrecognizable accent. “Central Street, right next to the Tower.” She specified.

“Ah.” Carter said, looking up at the looming clock tower. The time on the clock face showed 3:05, but wasn’t it later than that? Carter looked down at his watch to make sure, and yes. It was closer to 4:30.

The woman took notice and clarified, “Oh, do not mind the clock tower. It has stopped. Has not worked for years.”

“You know where I could get a map?” he asked. “A hotel anywhere...?”

“The inn is right around the corner there, on Third Street. But I cannot tell you about the map... We do not normally get visitors, you see, and all of the locals know the town well enough.” She said. “I am called Beatrice, by the bye.” She added hastily.