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8. the ghost

The detective had a lot to think about on his walk back to the police station. Edward Shaw's cult had deeply unnerved him. He had only seen such cold fixation once, and he shuddered, recalling that dark memory all those years ago, when he was still a devout Christian boy. He remembered how small and weak he had felt under the Bishop's weight, he remembered how the earth had felt in his slender fingers as he writhed in agony; rigid and icy.

The detective remembered the vow he had made to himself that night, over the Bishop's inhuman grunts and primal breaths. He clenched his fists in the pocket of his coat, gritting his teeth as conviction burned in the pits of his eyes. He decided that he would not leave the dreadful island of Edgecomb until he discovered its deepest secrets.

"Ah detective!" The detective heard a voice in front of him and he raised his head to see Munroe waving at him in the distance. "I've been waiting for you." Munroe entered the police station, gesturing for the detective to follow. The detective followed Munroe in, making a face at the putrid stench smoke and sweat of the station but quickly concealing it as Munroe turned to him.

"Find anything?" The detective asked, making sure to breathe through his mouth.

"Actually, I found something pretty interesting." Munroe said, smiling through his yellow teeth and rifling through a pile of documents on his desk, before finally sitting down. "I went through some of the older missing person reports and found this..." he pushed an old paper towards the detective.

"Elena Vargas," the detective read, his jaw clenched. "Says here, she was found a few days after she went missing." The detective furrowed his brows at Munroe, who continued smiling.

"Maybe she can tell us what happened to her, it might be connected to Esme." He suggested.

"Didn't anyone take her statement?" The detective asked, scanning the paper again for anything resembling a testimony.

"I don't think so." Munroe narrowed his eyes. "The force before me was not very competent."

As if you are. The detective was tempted to say, but he bit his tongue. Despite everything, Munroe was helping him and the detective needed an ally he could trust on his side, now more than ever.

"Alright, it's a stretch but let's check it out." The detective said, standing up from the chair. "Lead the way." Munroe's smirk curdled away.

"Shouldn't we get lunch first?" He asked, patting his already large stomach. The detective stayed silent for a few moments, waiting for Munroe to break into boisterous laughter. But it never came.

"You're joking right." The detective asked, genuinely unsure. Munroe stood up and put on his police cap, tightened his belt and stepped in front of the detective.

"Yes, of course." He chuckled but the detective felt a twinge in his tone that told him the truth; poor Munroe was hungry. But they were chasing a cold blooded killer, a demon of epic proportions. And that didn't give them time to take lunch break.

***

The detective had spent most of his time on Edgecomb on foot, so riding in the passenger seat of Munroe's car was a fresh change. He leaned on the window, hoping to get a wink of sleep but, try as he might, the pleasant stupor of slumber eluded him. Instead he sat in silence, thinking about everything that had happened over the prior day, a day that felt as if it had lasted a millennia. The longer he spent on the island, the more drained the detective felt, almost as if the cold earth was sucking him dry. The detective had always been a thin, sickly man, even as a boy, but here, in Edgecomb, he felt different. He felt weak. Powerless.

"Here we are..." Munroe said, pulling the car into the gravel driveway of a derelict farmhouse, before turning of the engine. "The home of Elena Vargas."