Escape the Night Oneshots!

Clues

It's hot.

The summer of 1978 will later be marked as one of the hottest in Los Angeles history, but for right now, all anyone cares about is finding some way to stay cool.

Matthew Patrick, however, is stuck behind his desk. He taps his pencil against the wood, listening to the creaky fan blow a negligible amount of air into his office.

He feels trapped.

The unfinished crossword from yesterday's paper sits in front of him, the edges curled from the heat.

The greatest detective since Sherlock Holmes, a newspaper article proclaimed, after Matthew had broken up that drug ring a few years back, citing his code-breaking skills.

He stands up, feeling his button-down shirt cling to his back under his jacket. He needs something to do.

Pacing for the fourth time that morning, he stares up at the ceiling, textured tiles bulging with age and humidity.

His secretary walks in, holding a newspaper.

"Did you see this?" she asks, and the disbelief in her tone makes him look up.

EIGHT RESIDENTS REPORTED MISSING

The pictures on the front are in a grid, each blurry face smiling wide, the last known photo before they disappeared.

Matthew recognizes a few of them.

Teala Dunn had been a covert operations specialist for the Los Angeles branch, so he's spoken to her before, if only in passing.

Safiya Nygaard has interviewed him so many times he's lost track. They've become good friends, actually. He's even gone on double dates, him and his wife with her and her boyfriend.

Colleen Ballinger is a celebrity in the disco scene, so it's probably because of her that this made the front page. She's been a pivotal witness in a few cases, but never one he's been involved in.

A record producer, a hippie, a daredevil... what's the common denominator here? All of these people are completely different.

Nikita Dragun's criminal record is impressive. Matthew's seen it before. He's seen her before, strutting into jail like she wasn't even in handcuffs. She got out on bail the next day, nobody really knew how.

The last picture takes a moment to form into something familiar in his brain.

Rosanna Pansino. Rosanna?

Ro?

For the first time all day, Matthew's body goes cold. He looks closer, takes the newspaper from his secretary, examines the picture.

It's her.

What was she doing with all of these people?

She's missing?

Sure, they hadn't called each other in two weeks or so, but Matthew thought that was just because she was busy. She was always busy. Always traveling, always getting from one place to the next.

He reads the article below. There's almost no information. The only thing they know is that everyone disappeared a week ago, off the face of the earth.

They didn't tell anyone where they were going.

That's the strangest part, Matthew thinks. These people-or at least the ones he knows-had lives. They had friends, family, even fans in some cases, who would care if they went missing.

He's definitely curious.

A fellow detective pokes his head in. "Hey, Patrick."

Matthew looks up.