Continued from excerpt in The Corral

…After locating the building in the photo and observing it, the pair decided not to look too much into it, not finding much there initially, but they did call in a forensic team to investigate further. As the night further rolled on, and paperwork crowded the desk space of Hall and O’Brien, the latter decided to leave for home, a wife and two kids waiting for him.

“Night Hall, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Have a good night man.” he replied.

Around 30 minutes after O’Brien had left, the police chief walked into the office and up to Hall. Police Chief Sam Hubbard was a middle-aged man, slightly overweight, and balding slowly, but had the up-most respect from all the men he was in charge of. 

“Good evening, Police Chief.”

“How are you, Hall?’ Hubbard answered.

There was an elongated pause as Hubbard shifted gears.

“There’s a client I need you to investigate,” the police chief murmured. “And while you’re at it, take a closer look at that building you were watchin’.”

“Got it,” replied Hall cooly.

“And do it without O’Brien. I don’t need him gaining any unnecessary knowledge.” And with that, the chief turned around and swiftly left, disappearing into the abyss of the midnight landscape waiting outside.

Around 10 o’clock the next morning, O’Brien and Hall pulled out of the station and headed over to the home of Noah Calvin. It was a menacing looking home, but that could’ve been the stigma placed on it because of the bias the two detectives had on it; the home of the prime suspect. They knocked on the door but it took a while until the door knob rattled and opened, a ghastly looking woman staring back at them.

“Mrs. Calvin?” asked O’Brien, “I’m detective O’Brien and this is my partner detective Hall, may we speak to you?”

“Humm, shur-, com in,” she replied, alcohol on her breath and a drunken demeanor invading her actions. They walked into the home, a dark mess with a pungent odor hanging over it.

“Where’s Mr. Calvin?” Hall asked.

“He been gone lookin’ for Noah for a while now,” slowly murmured the woman.

“I see,” he replied. “Do you have any idea what happened to Noah, or where he could be?”

“Naw, that’s why his father lookin’ all over fo’ him.” she bluntly replied.

Recognizing that she was in no mood or state to carry on a conversation, O’Brien interjected, “Mrs. Calvin do you mind if we take a look in Noah’s room?”

“Hm, ya sho… ‘s upstairs.”

They walked up again, a sense of deja vu hanging over them but this time a darker mood to the setting had arisen. Inside Noah’s room was very drably decorated and not much appealed to the eye. They each looked over a half of the room and almost instantly O’Brien found a cabinet with the bottom drawer locked. He took a metal lap and broke it open, eager to see what was inside it. As Hall walked over, O’Brien opened up the drawer revealing several items; a necklace in it’s packaging (for Katherine’s upcoming birthday no doubt), a box full of money (which was odd because from his friends the detectives had learned he had no job), and a journal. As Hall looked for more, O’Brien delved into the journal. It was a dream journal where he had recorded everything for the past year or so. As he skimmed through it, the detective was intrigued by its graphic nature and repetition of voices being described within Noah’s head. What most affected them were descriptions of a man from hell with devil horns he believed he was seeing. The things recorded in the journal suggested a repressed form of schizophrenia which Noah had clearly kept to himself. The detectives went downstairs to try and get the smallest information possible out of Mrs. Calvin before they left.

“Mrs. Calvin, did your son ever get tested for a mental illness?” Hall asked bluntly after finding the woman in the kitchen preparing another drink for herself.

“Tested? what we need him tested for?” she asked. “But, now ‘at I remember it, he ‘id have a lot of nightmares for a while, never told us wha’ it was a’out, but they were there. I could ‘ear him screamin’ sometimes.”

Disturbed, not only by the information they gathered, but by Mrs. Calvin’s apparent uninterest in her own son’s’ well being, the detectives wrapped up the conversation and headed back to the precinct. Night had already enveloped the sky as O’Brien and Hall went through the monotony of paper work, which was half the job of being an officer. O’Brien let out a loud yawn and stretched out his arms, trying to keep himself awake.

“I think I’m gonna head home, soon as we get back.” O’Brien told his partner.

“Sounds good, I’m gonna cool off and finish the last bits of paperwork.” The two returned to the station and parted their ways until the next day.

The dirt road was barely illuminated by the dim lights of a ‘69 Dodge Charger. A cool breeze blew in through the window from the obsidian surroundings. As the car pulled up to the building in front of him, the driver stepped out and proceeded to enter the musky, broken down home. Walking through the door frame and into an ashy, broken down remains of what could have been a living room, the man pulled an out of place rug from the floor uncovering a safe. The digits were spun in rapidly, he knew what he was doing, he had been here many times before. Out of the safe he removed and pocketed a gold skull, closed the safe again and got back into his car. As the man started to drive away, dozens of dark, somber figures walked out of the woods and headed towards the abandoned building. All were wearing antlers, reminiscent of horns. Hall looked into the rear view mirror calmly and acknowledged the figures, switching off his headlights and driving further into the crevasse of night.