Project

2.4: Going and Missing

As they all left the mountainous building of Thomas' home in their cramped car, the three (soon-to-be two) investigators discussed their next steps to uncovering the mystery. Questioner and Writer were keen on seeing Sam once more, but for different reasons.

"I think he could be of quite some help! He's the one who helped improve your intuitive abilities, and he knows Project well." Writer explains, but Questioner can't shake off a different feeling.

"I think that he might have more to hide than we previously thought. I mean, look back to Sam: What did he seem like to you? A friend, an enemy, or a hit man?" Questioner asked him, taking Writer off guard.

"Well, that's a bit of a big question! I wouldn't consider him an enemy, but I don't know him well enough to be a friend... But where does 'hit man' come into this?" He questioned back, trying to find the hidden meaning.

"I mean, a person who does something based on a pay. Someone given orders and a good reward to do anything. I think Sam could be the middle ground here, but won't help us past his pay grade." Questioner explained, pondering to himself about Sam's attitude.

Though it was true that Sam had helped him to develop his skills, though it was true that Sam was someone who did want to help, Questioner couldn't shake off this paranoid feeling of what Sam could be hiding. Who did he see before they were asked to leave? Why did this person make such an impact? How does Sam know what to do, and even know when they were going to see him? There were many holes with Sam, and these were the things the observant Questioner feared. He had a feeling something was up.

However, as he couldn't find any basis aside from rhetorical questions to ask, Questioner leaves this train of thought in the back of his mind for now, and instead focuses on what he does know, "So Sam is our best lead for now, along with these files on Mystery, Pessimist and Optimist. Project is somewhere in France, and we'll run into Wynter when we're there as well, whom should have some more information for us. That's what we know, so we might as well act on it."

"Agreed, let's finish this!" Writer exclaimed, finally glad to have such a nightmarish mystery come to rest.

Sam: 17:23, location unknown.

I'm running, running nowhere in particular but away from whatever was following me. This person, this thing was hiding in the shadows, his laughter echoing across the walls. Why was no one else around? Why is it always when I'm in peril that I can find no other signs of life?

Aside from his cruel laughter, all I can hear are my heavy footsteps as they crash to the ground in a panic. I need to find somewhere, anywhere, where I can hide. Unfortunately for me, every sign and name I saw on the empty streets was in some foreign language, ironically one I never learnt. Is this really where I would perish? A place where I can't even read my tombstone?

I stumble upon one building, tall and desolate, yet open for me to hide. I don't know why this one stuck out to me, but it was the best bet I had at losing this laughing mad man.

I hear the person stop, almost centimetres from the doorway I hid behind. I clutch my chest, almost afraid that my heart beat would give me away. He begins to whistle a melody I know all too well. I almost join in out of habit, but hold myself back. Besides, my whistling would be no good with such a rapid breathing rate.

The melody slows down, as he creeps closer to the door. I hold my breath, afraid that I wouldn't breath again. He stands on the other side of the door now, and I can feel his gaze burn through the wood and into my mind. This is it I tell myself, this is how I die. Why can't it be somewhere nice? Or cheerful?... Why are my last thoughts going to be me wishing for a nicer death bed?