My office at the station was a reflection of my mind - organized on the surface, but with an underlying chaos that only the most observant could detect. Meticulously stacked files, but with personal notes hidden between the pages. A bulletin board where each pin had its precise place, but following a pattern that only made sense to me.
It was my space, my sanctuary within the chaos that police work could be. And now, Olivia Bennett was invading it with her impossibly confident presence.
She analyzed the room with a penetrating look as she settled into the chair in front of my desk. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the calendar on the wall, where I had subtly marked the days of my episodes with small red dots. I felt as if she could decipher my personal code with just one look.
"How long have you been in Saint John, Detective Reynolds?" she asked casually, while taking a notebook out of her bag.
"Seven years," I replied, sitting down. "Transferred from New York in 2018."
"And before that?"
The question caught me off guard. "Why does that matter?"
Olivia smiled slightly. "I'm just trying to get to know my new partner. Work dynamics are important in cases like this."
Something in the way she said "cases like this" bothered me, as if she were referring to something specific that I should understand.
"Boston," I finally replied. "Police academy in New York. Five years on the force there before coming here."
"Family?"
"No," I replied dryly. "Grew up in a foster home. No siblings. No known parents. Any more personal questions, or can we focus on the case?"
Olivia nodded, apparently satisfied, and opened her notebook. "The case, then. Megan Alice Keller, 12 years old. Disappeared Tuesday after leaving school. Last person to see her was her best friend, Lily Thompson, who separated from her at the intersection of Pine Street and Cedar Avenue, approximately at 3:45 PM."
"Correct," I confirmed. "Megan was supposed to arrive home around 4 PM. The journey takes about 15 minutes on foot. Her mother, Kate Keller, called the police at 4:30 PM when her daughter didn't arrive and didn't answer her cell phone."
"Which wasn't found," Olivia added. "Nor her school backpack."
"We checked the security cameras in the area. Nothing. It's as if she simply... disappeared."
Olivia closed her notebook and looked at me directly. "Do you believe in coincidences, Detective Reynolds?"
The question seemed to come out of nowhere. "Not in my line of work."
"Neither do I," she agreed. "So perhaps you can explain to me why exactly five months ago, another girl disappeared in almost identical circumstances less than 40 kilometers from here. And five months before that, a young man disappeared following the same pattern in another nearby town. And so on."
I frowned. "Are you suggesting a pattern of disappearances every five months?"
"Precisely," she opened her notebook again and turned the screen to me. On the screen, a meticulous spreadsheet showed dates, names, and locations. A disturbing pattern emerged: every five months, a person disappeared in one of the small towns around Saint John. "In the last three years, six disappearances following the same interval."
I felt a chill run down my spine. Three years. The same period in which my amnesia episodes had begun.
"And you think Megan is the seventh victim of this... pattern?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Eighth, actually," Olivia corrected. "There was another case two months ago, in Rochester, which I initially didn't connect. A man named Brian Miller, 27 years old, forest ranger." She hesitated. "He also left a message before disappearing."
"'He doesn't like it,'" I guessed.
"Almost that. 'He needs one more.' And then, two months later..."
"Megan," I completed, feeling as if the air had become heavier.
Olivia nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "There's something very specific happening here, Detective Reynolds. Something that transcends a simple serial predator."
"Like what?"
"I'm not sure yet," she admitted. "But I believe Saint John is the epicenter. All the disappearances occurred in an increasingly smaller radius, converging on this city. Like waves in a lake, but in reverse. Converging instead of expanding."
I studied the spreadsheet, trying to find any flaw in the theory. "These patterns... they really seem deliberate."
"And they don't end there," Olivia continued, sliding her finger across the screen to reveal more data. "Varied demographic profiles. Ages between 12 and 30. Different occupations, social classes, ethnicities. But there are two constant factors."
"Which ones?"
"First, all victims were described by friends and family as exceptionally empathetic. Sensitive. The type of person who seems to feel more deeply than others."
A feeling of discomfort grew in my chest. Empathy. Sensitivity. Characteristics that I had gradually lost over the last three years, according to my psychiatrist.
"And the second factor?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.
"All were last seen near water. Lakes, rivers, fountains, public water features. Which leads me to want to visit a specific place here in Saint John." She closed her notebook. "Shadow Lake."
I felt my heart race upon hearing that name. Shadow Lake was a small natural formation on the outskirts of the city, partially surrounded by a dense forest. According to local legends, its waters were so dark they seemed to absorb light. A place avoided by most residents, not because it was dangerous, but because of its oppressive atmosphere.
And also the place where, three years ago, we found the first victims of the so-called "Harrison Butcher" - the case that had triggered my amnesia episodes.
"Why the lake?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Because of Brian Miller's complete message," she replied. "'He needs one more. In the black waters, the cycle completes itself.'"
My thoughts were interrupted by the ring of the phone on my desk. I answered automatically.
"Reynolds," I replied.
"Jack, it's Lisa," our forensic specialist sounded agitated. "You need to come to the lab. Now."
"What did you find?"
"It's about the bracelet..." she hesitated. "I'd rather not talk on the phone. Just come."
I hung up and found Olivia watching me intently.
"Problems?" she asked.
I hesitated. Robert had warned me not to mention the bracelet, but something about Olivia made me want to trust her. Maybe it was her direct gaze, or the methodical way she had connected the cases. Or maybe it was just that strange feeling of familiarity that I couldn't explain.
"We might have a lead," I replied vaguely. "We need to go to the forensic lab."
The lab was in the basement of the station, a surprisingly modern and well-equipped space for a small town like Saint John. Lisa Chen, our forensic specialist in her thirties, was standing by a microscope when we entered.
"Jack," she greeted, then looked curiously at Olivia.
"This is Detective Bennett, from the special unit," I introduced. "She's working on the case with me."
Lisa seemed momentarily hesitant, but proceeded. "About the item that you... found." She chose her words carefully, clearly uncertain about how much Olivia knew. "I confirmed that it's really Megan Keller's. The initials match, and I found DNA residue compatible with the hairbrush her mother provided us."
Olivia gave me an inquisitive look, and I decided that transparency was necessary.
"Last night, during a routine patrol," I lied easily, to my own surprise, "I found a bracelet that we believe belongs to Megan."
Lisa seemed relieved with my improvised explanation.
"But that's not all," she continued, leading us to a small table where the bracelet was carefully arranged on a metal tray. "I found something peculiar on the beads."
She turned on an ultraviolet light over the bracelet, and we all leaned in to look. Under the light, tiny symbols glowed on each of the colorful beads - the same eye-inside-a-circle pattern that had been found in the park.
"This wasn't visible before," Lisa explained. "The symbols were painted with some kind of fluorescent ink, visible only under UV light."
"When was this done?" I asked.
"Recently," Lisa replied. "The ink isn't completely dry in some areas."
"After the disappearance," concluded Olivia.
"There's more," Lisa continued, picking up a nearby tablet. "When arranged in sequence, the symbols form a pattern. I couldn't decipher it completely, but it looks like a kind of map."
She showed on the tablet a digitized version of the symbols, rearranged in a circular pattern.
"It's as if it indicated a location," she explained.
Olivia took the tablet, her eyes narrowing as she studied the pattern. "It's not an ordinary map," she murmured. "It's a stellar diagram. These lines connecting the symbols... they represent constellations."
I looked at her, surprised. "How do you know that?"
"Amateur astronomy," she replied distractedly, still focused on the image. "And that's not all. If we superimpose this pattern on a map of Saint John..."
She quickly opened a map application on her own cell phone and positioned the screen next to the tablet.
"Look," she pointed. "If we consider Shadow Lake as the central point, and scale the diagram proportionally..."
My eyes widened when I realized what she was showing. The points of the diagram aligned perfectly with specific locations around the city - including Blackwood Park where I had "awakened" the night before.
"Eight points," Olivia murmured. "Eight victims."
"Are you suggesting that these are the capture locations?" I asked.
"Or something else," Olivia replied enigmatically. "We need to visit each of these points. Starting with Shadow Lake."
I nodded, my mind racing with the implications. As we prepared to leave, Lisa discreetly pulled me aside.
"Jack, there's one more thing," she spoke quietly. "When I analyzed the dirt under your nails..." She quickly glanced at Olivia, ensuring she was far enough away. "It matches the soil samples from Shadow Lake. Exactly the same mineral composition. And..." she hesitated.
"And?" I pressed.
"I found traces of blood. It's not Megan's. I couldn't identify it yet, but... it's not entirely human, Jack. The molecular structure is... different from anything I've ever seen."
Before I could process that bizarre information, Olivia approached again.
"Are we ready to go?" she asked, her gaze alternating between me and Lisa, clearly aware that something had been shared.
"Yes," I replied, trying to disguise my disturbance. "Let's go to the lake."
As we left the laboratory, my mind was in turmoil. If I had been at Shadow Lake during my episode, what exactly had I done there? And, more importantly, who - or what - had left that "not entirely human" blood under my nails?