Chapter 2

1

Sarah looked up from her files and saw Jeremy Cosgrove, the forensic IT specialist, walking by. "Hey Jerry, tell me what you think of these," she called out to him.

Jeremy was a tall, lanky man in his mid thirties. He had shoulder length, curly, blonde hair, green eyes, and a goatee. He wore wire rimmed glasses and usually a blue and white stripped, button up, short sleeve shirt (with pocket protector), blue jeans so tight that Sarah often wondered what he had going on down south because there was no way you could get any man bits in those things, and black dress shoes. He spoke in a nasally whine that always made him sound like he was in some sorr of low-level pain.

Jerry walked over to Sarah's desk, took the letters from her, and began to look them over, studying each one in minute detail.

"Well? Do those sound like they were written by a fourteen year old girl to you?" Sarah asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"A thirty year old pretending to be a fourteen year old maybe," Jerry answered with a shrug.

"Yeah, my thoughts exactly." Sarah pointed to one of the letters in his hand. "'Let's do lots of fun mother and daughter activities together forever and ever. Love your daughter Gabrielle.' What kid talks like that? It's not just weird but creepy. And look, her name is misspelled and crossed out. Show me a fourteen year old that still misspells their name."

Jerry handed the letters back to Sarah. "And the parents never noticed?" he asked in somewhat disbelief.

"No," Sarah replied, shaking her head.

"Are they retarded?" he asked bluntly.

Sarah winced at Jeremy's outdated word choice. "No, they're not. The father is out of the picture due to divorce, and the mother is overworked," Sarah said with a disappointed sighed.

"Ok, but she still couldn't tell those letters sounded off?" The artificialness of the letters was so obvious that he didn't care how overworked the mother was; no one should have missed those red flags.

Sarah shrugged. "Honestly? - probably not because she didn't want to. This woman has been working her ass off for years: going to school while working and taking care of a family, clocking in massive overtime, raising a child on her own after getting divorced, probably worrying that Child Services would step in and take her kid away, because they just love snatching up brown and black kids from their families; it's a lot to deal with. Her daughter being away was probably the first semi-break she's had in years, decades maybe."

"But still? That's pretty obvious," Jerry protested.

"Tell me, what are the labor conditions at the factory that made your shirt like? Your phone? How many homeless people did you pass on the way in here? People see what they want to see and ignore anything that might adversely affect their health or wealth," Sarah said, growing tired of Jerry's sanctimonious disbelief.

"Point taken. Still, you think she could have asked for help," he replied, not ready to give up the fight just yet.

"You never grew up poor, did you? In poor communities, you learn not to ask for help. You shoulder everything because everyone around you is in the same boat. And don't even think of going to the government, especially if you're black or brown. The only thing the state cares about when it comes to minority communities is how to lock more of us up.

"Back on the Rez, about once a month, a state van would come out and a group of white people, usually men, but not always, would start taking kids, saying they heard there was some form of abuse or neglect going on. Eventually, we formed lookouts who would signal when they were coming, and all the kids would hide. I remember sitting in a little dark hole, terrified that I was going to be taken away and given to some white couple as their token brown baby."

Sarah never looked at Jerry the entire time she had been talking. Instead, staring off, looking back through time at her past self, running and hiding, hoping not to be found. Now, she turned back to Jerry and said, "I bet you didn't know that either?"

Jerry looked down and shook his head in shame.

"Here," Sarah said, trying to alleviate some of the awkward tension. "Take a look at these screen shots of the text messages Gabrielle had sent. This first one here, where she says she thinks she's going to like it there, that kind of sounds like something a fourteen year old would say. Now, look at these next ones. They're so vague as to be useless. Most are just meaningless emojis; until this one where she talks about it being tough and not feeling like she belongs but her friends are helping her out. That sounds real as well. After that, a few more nonconsequencial texts, then poof, nothing but the letters."

"Hmm, and there, one deleted message," Jerry added, pointing to the screen.

"Yeah, I saw that. You can retrieve that, right?" Sarah asked, hoping he would say yes.

"Maybe. Nothing is ever fully deleted, but some things are harder to recover than others. I'll need her phone though."

"Sure, and see if you can find where those texts were coming from. If they weren't coming from the camp site, we may have to look in a different direction."

2

Sarah knocked on the principal's door of Gabrielle's school. It was a modest house, mid-twentith century craftsman, maintained impeccably well. Everything was nice, neat, and orderly. In other words, it looked like the house of an anal retentive asshole.

A black man, about 55 in age, with thick, black rimmed glasses, and a ring of white hair around his mostly bald head, came to the door. He looked annoyed but curious. He had a white, short sleeve, button down shirt, khaki pants, and a pair of faux leather loafers on. "Yes," he asked directly but unemotionally.

Sarah showed him her badge. "Detective Redcloud. I'm here about a missing fourteen year old girl by the name of Gabrielle Flores. Do you have a minute Mr. Fontaine?"

The man looked confused for a moment, then said, "Oh, you mean Gabriel, the crossdresser."

Sarah ground her teeth together. "I mean Gabrielle, the trans girl."

"Same difference," Darius Fontaine said, waving his hand dismissively.

Sarah took a moment to suppress her anger. Dealing with prejudicial white people was bad enough. Having to deal with bigots from other marginalized communities really made her blood boil. How anyone who's experienced the boot of oppression on their own necks, could ever want to put it onto another was beyond her.

"Anyway," she said as soon as she collected herself, "she is missing. I was told shewas bullied quite a bit. I know the school is still closed, but I was wondering if you could fill me in on some of those incidents; maybe recall a name or two?"

"Not much to say. He was a freak who got what he deserved. You can't be shoving that nonsense down people's throats and not expect them to react."

"Uh-huh. So I'm guessing you did nothing about it then. Well, I'm going to have to subpoena your records regarding all incidents of bullying."

"Do what you must," he replied, unimpressed. "One missing faggot is nothing to stop the world over. Back in my day, no one caredabout those freaks. The world would be a better place if we went back to that."

Sarah stared contemptuously at Fontaine. At this point, she was thinking of making him a suspect. "Ok Mr. Fontaine. One final question - Gabrielle's mother said it was you who recommended she send Gabrielle off to Camp Dream Catcher. Tell me, do you have any formal relationship with the camp?"

Fontaine suddenly looked a bit shaken. "No more questions without my lawyer present. Good day, Detective." He quickly stepped inside and shut the door in her face.

"Nope. Nothing suspicious about that at all," she said to herself, under her breath.

*************************************************

"My phone? Sure," Elana said and quickly went to get her phone.

It had only been a day since Sarah had first met Elana, but she already looked a decade older. She had the appearance of a woman who was melting on the inside, causing her external features to droop and sag.

"Any leads," Elana asked desperately as she handed over her phone.

"Possibly, but the investigation has just started, Ms. Flores, so I really can't say," a sympathetic Sarah explained. "Hopefully, this will help," she said as she took Elana's phone.

************************************************

"Here," Sarah said as she put Elana's phone on Jerry's desk.

"Cool," he replied as he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. "You find anything?"

"Gabrielle's principal is a prick, a queerphobic jerk. He said he thought Gabrielle deserved to be bullied. He clammed up pretty quick when I asked him about his relationship with the camp, though. He's definitely a person of interest. I'm gonna do a little more digging on him while you see what you can get off that thing," she said, pointing to the phone.

"Will do," he answered back with a salute.

"Oh, piss off," Sarah replied, her voice sounding annoyed, but their was a slight smile on her lips.

3

Sarah slowly made her way through the woods to where Jerry said the texts had been coming from. She had been surprised to see the location was within walking distance of the girl's house. This gave credence to the idea that Gabrielle had never actually gone to camp. Although if that were true, then the camp had been sending out fraudulent letters to cover up the fact that she had never arrived, which didn't make sense. There were a lot of pieces, but none of them seemed to fit.

In the distance, she saw a dilapidated, abandoned, old house. It reminded her of the shack from "The Evil Dead". As she got closer to it, the energy in the area began to change. It became thick, prickly. She started to sweat, despite the air being relatively cool. Without thinking, she unholstered her gun.Taking out her phone, she called Jerry. , "Are you sure this is where the texts were coming from?" She asked as soon as he answered.

"Absolutely. Why?" He was unnerved by the undercurrent of fear in her voice. He had known Sarah for a long time, and she didn't spook easily. If she sounded like this, something was definitely wrong.

"No reason, except I'm approaching a house that looks like a horde of Deadites are about to come rushing out of it." She tried her best to sound like she was joking, but she couldn't mask the actual fear that was welling up inside her.

Wow, that's not good," Jerry replied, not knowing how to actually respond.

"No, it's not," she said, feeling alone and on edge. "Alright, I'll call you back then." She ended the call and put her phone back. She then took went up to the door.

The air was even thicker here. It bristled and hummed with a demonic energy that made her start to shiver. The door stood partially open. In the back of her mind, a voice was screaming to turn around and leave as fast she could. "Wakan Tanka, guide and protect me," she said under breath. With one swift motion of her foot, she kicked the door all the way open.Inside, she saw there was nothing. It was completely empty. She was surprised but not relieved. There was a force that was simultaneously pulling her in and pushing her back. She couldn't explain it, but she sure as hell could feel it.

Gingerly, she made her way into the shack, testing each floorboard to make sure it was strong enough to support her weight. As she got to the center of the room, she noticed that something looked off. Even though there was nothing there, in the air, there appeared to be the faint outline of a door. Sarah didn't know what to think of it. It had to be some sort of optical illusion, but how was it being created? What could possibly bend the light so as to produce this effect? She cautiously stuck her arm out, through the place where the phantom door stood. Her arm bristled with charges of electricity. The feeling was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, just weird. She then took a deep breath and walked through it.

Suddenly, her mind was filled with nightmarish images of strange, Lovecraftian monstrosities, acid yellow skies, the bones of an impossibly large creature, rotting in some unholy sea. Then, it shifted to a castle. It was bleak and dark. In the center stood a figure dressed in a white and gold robe. He (for some reason she felt it was a he) was taking to some short creature of an appearance that no natural selection would ever produce. He then turned to face the spot where she felt like she was standing. He had on a featureless, gold mask, save for two horns protruding from it. They twisted up and intertwined with each other like two separate vines that had merged and grown together. The eye holes were as black as the abyss. They started to glow a ferocious, pustule yellow as he seemed to be looking straight at her. She screamed in terror as she fell to the ground. She quickly rolled over, pushed herself back against the wall, and fired her gun at the spot where the phantom door had been. She quickly snapped back to her senses and stopped shooting. Forcing herself up, she back to the spot where the door had been. This time, however, there was nothing. She stuck her hand out and felt nothing. Whatever it was, it was gone now.

Sarah sprinted outside, desperate to be out in the open. As soon as she was off the porch, she turned around and looked at the house, which she almost swore was looking back at her. She wanted to leave, but she also didn't want to turn her back on it either. Eventually, she forced herself to turn around and started to head back. As she did, she noticed a small pile of ash on the ground as if a sheet of paper had been burned. She shook her head and walked away as fast as she could. As soon as she got to her car, she started shaking uncontrollably. She didn't know what she experienced, only that it was profound and horrifying. There was also a name that was slowly crawling its way from the back of her mind, a name she read in book once, when she was in high school. A name that none dare speak - Hastur, The King in Yellow.

4

Sarah rushed through the precinct doors, barely able to walk. Her muscles felt weak, unsteady; lightheaded. Her thoughts were cloudy and disjointed. Nothing seemed real anymore, like she were living in a cartoon and at any moment the paper they were all drawn on could tear into a million pieces.

"Hey Redcloud, you look whiter than I am," the chief mockingly called out as she passed by his office.

She turned to rip him a new asshole, but as her eyes came upon him, his normal miss-shapen visage was replaced by a truly monstrous form. His head was replaced by multiple heads, all intersecting at impossible angles, forming a cancerous mass of mouths and eyes. His body was a trunk of branching tentacles and arms, all reaching out. Sarah closed her eyes and shook her head. When she reopened them, he was back to his standard, everyday ugly. She just grimaced at him, spun around, and walked away as fast as she could; making her way to Jerry's office.

"Come to lunch with me now," she said somewhat as a command, somewhat as a plea.

***********************************************

They sat at the outdoor bistro, waiting for their food to arrive. Jerry could tell Sarah was extremely shaken, but she said absolutely nothing on their way here, and the only person she had spoken to since they got here was the waiter.

"So you mind telling me why you wanted me come with you?" Jerry tried to keep his voice as flat as he could, but was unable to hide his worry.

Sarah nervously looked around before turning to face him. In a voice so low, it was a borderline whisper, she asked, "What do you know about The King in Yellow?"

Jerry just looked at her, confused. "Why? Have you seen the yellow sign?" he teased.

Sarah brought her hand down on the table so hard that it actually bounced a little, nearly causing everything on it to fall over. "I'm serious!" she said, her eyes aflame.

Startled, and a bit scared, Jerry decided to play it straight. "The Yellow King, created by Ambrose Bierce, in the short story 'Hiata, the Sheppard', later expanded upon by Robert W. Chambers, then adopted into the Cthulhu Mythos by H.P. Lovecraft. He's a Great Old One, half brother to Cthulhu, who he hates. Uh, shares traits with the Outer God Nylarathotep. That's about all I can remember, so will you answer me why you want to know that? Other than just looking for someone to talk cosmic horror with."

Sarah looked around again, but this time, she chose to look at the table and not Jerry. "He wears a mask, right?" she asked softly.

"In his human form, yeah. You're still not answering . . ."

"I think I might have seen him," Sarah answered him abruptly.

Jerry looked at her blankly for a moment. She stared at him with wide, watery eyes, begging him to hear her out. He took a quick breath and said, "Here or in Carcosa?" He meant it as a joke, but he immediately saw that she was taking him seriously.

"Possibly Carcosa," she replied. She then went on to tell him everything she experienced at the house. As she recounted the events, it felt like an exorcism. She became less scared, less nervous, and more her own rational self to the point of feeling extremely embarrassed by the time she was done, but still, she was glad she did it.

"It sounds like there might have been some toxin in the house." Jerry offered up in an even, scientific voice. "Some sort of mold or something that caused a hallucinogenic reaction."

Sarah nodded in relief and acceptance. "I agree. It was so real, though. The emotions, the fear, just walking up to the place. I'm an atheist, but it was so intense, I started to pray to Wakan Tanka for protection."

Wakan what?" Jerry asked. He had never heard the name before and wondered if it was an ancestor or something else. Maybe a Lovecraftian deity he had never heard of yet.

"Wakan Tanka. Europeans miss interpreted it as Great Sky Father or our version of God, but it's not that. There's really no direct translation for it. The best I can do is say imagine the Abrahamic idea of God, mixed with the Vedic concept of Karma, but not really."

"I don't understand, but I'm ok with it."

They paused as the waiter brought their food over. Jerry had a cheese burger while Sarah had a salad.

"Vegetarian or dieting?" Jerry asked. "Either way, I'm sorry for this," he said as he held up his burger.

"Neither, and don't be. I have a policy that I only eat the meat I kill myself. I think that's the only ethical way to eat meat. I hunt, I fish, but I don't raise livestock," she said as she stuck her fork into her salad.

"I didn't think that was an option in your apartment." Jerry was doing his to keep the mood light. Sarah was obviously doing better, but he could tell she was still a bit shaken.

Sarah took a mouthful of salad and asked between chews, "So how's finding that deleted text coming?"

"Harder than I expected, but I'll get there. What about you? What's next for you?"

Sarah took an extremely long, deep breath. "Well, I guess first thing is going back to that house. Look around better, see what I can find, wear a face mask this time. Then, go to the camp, see what they have to say, possibly do a follow-up with the principal." She then thought for a second and added, "Maybe do an Inikagapi."

Jerry looked up from his now half eaten cheese burger and raised his right eyebrow.

"It's a cleansing ritual," Sarah said sheepishly.

"You still spooked by that vision you saw, huh?"

Sarah looked away. "Yeah. I know it's not real, but just the memory of it, uh! It gives me the chills." She shook her head in self disgust.

Jerry grew very thoughtful and asked, "What if it wasn't a hallucination? What if what you saw was real? What would you do?"

Sarah didn't have to think about her answer; she already knew it. "I'd be angry. I'd be furious. If the supernatural is real, I'd want to know why it didn't protect my people. We sang the songs, danced the dances, performed the rituals, and all it got us was killed. I'd want to know what we did to incur such wrath and the white man so much favor."

"Maybe the supernatural can only guard against the supernatural," Jerry said, suddenly feeling really guilty about his own whiteness.

"Then the supernatural is useless," Sarah hissed. "We're better off with science, reason, and logic."

*********************************************

Sarah took a team back to the house to do a more throughinvestigation. The old feeling of dread had gone, however. The ash she had found earlier was gathered up for analysis. A few strange strands of cloth were found as well and bagged up. Other than that and a bizarrely large and twisted plant, nothing else seemed to be noteworthy.

The next day, Sarah drove up the camp. It was extremely neat looking. The various buildings looked more like military barracks than cabins for kids to make fond memories in. In fact, the whole place had a stern, no nonsense, feel to.

She walked up to the main office door and knocked. An extremely chipper, twenty-something, blonde girl came out and introduced herself in a voice that was way too upbeat for any human being to actually be. "Hello, I'm Tiffany. How may I help you?"

Of course you are, Sarah thought to herself. "I'm Detective Redcloud," Sarah said as she showed her badge. "I just want to know if you have some time to talk about a former camper by the name Gabrielle Flores?" The overly chipper Tiffany froze into a statue of abject fear. She stuttered for a bit before running back into the office.

"That's two," Sarah said to herself, thinking back on Fontaine. She went to go inside when a curly, red-haired man suddenly stepped in front of her (with little Ms. Tiffany hiding behind him like a child).

"Michael Grant," he said in the soft, smooth tones of the con artist. "I am the camp manager here. Is there a problem I can help you with?"

"I'd say so," Sarah replied just as smoothly. "I'd like to talk to you about this girl, former camper, Gabrielle Flores." She handed him a photograph, which he looked over and smiled.

"Gabrielle was a good camper, had lots of fun," he said as handed the photo back to Sarah, "but that's not Gabrielle."

Sarah smiled back at him, unfazed. "Oops, I grabbed the wrong picture," she said innocently.

I guess so," he replied, trying to size her up, "but we get to know our campers here."

"That's why we require the parents to send us a picture of them before they come," Tiffany happily added.

Michael snapped his head around and gave Tiffany the death glare. She knew immediately she had messed up.

"I see," Sarah just said. "Anyway, I would like to talk to you about her."

"There's not much to say but what I already told you," Michael replied warmly.

Sarah knew he would be almost unbreakable, but the girl, she was on the verge of cracking now. If she could get her alone for a bit, she would give up everything.

"Where did Gabrielle stay when she was here?"

Michael pointed to a building just over Sarah's right shoulder. "That one there."

"Ok, good. Mind if I take a look?"

Michael smiled broadly. "You have a search warrant?"

"I can," she answered back coolly but really wanting nothing more than to beat this jerk to a pulp.

"Well, when you do, that's when you can look."

"Ok, what about the contact information of the other children or staff that were here?"

"It's confidential. Plus, no warrant." Michael shrugged with a "what can you do" expression on his face.

Sarah started nodding her head up and down. "Ok, I see how this is going to go. Listen, we can play this cop show drama bullshit all day long, but a fourteen year old girl who was in your protection has disappeared. Now, you can cooperate here while I'm still feeling friendly, or," Sarah turned her head and stared straight into Tiffany's eyes, "back at the station with my foot up your ass. Your choice."

"See you when you have that warrant, Detective," he said unshaken, but then she wasn't talking to him. Her real audience looked like she was on the verge of either crying or crapping herself (potentially both), which is exactly what she wanted.

********************************************

That night, Sarah was tormented by dreams of monsters rising up and devouring humanity. She tossed and turned on the verge of screaming when she was awakened by her phone. She grabbed it from her side table and saw it was Jerry calling.

"Hello?" she said weakly but grateful to be awake.

"Sarah, I need you to come down to the office immediately! I recovered the missing text, and, well, you're not going to believe it! You got to get here now," he said frantically and hung up.

Sarah dashed around her bedroom, trying to get dressed as fast as she could. There was no time for professional attire; she put on a red T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of black Chuck Taylor's. She pulled her long, black hair into a quick ponytail and rushed out the door. For normal travel, she used her car; tonight, she hopped on her bike and rode off.

As soon as she arrived, she haphazardly parked her motorcycle and ran inside, past the on-duty clerk, down the steps to the computer lab, and into Jerry's office, where he was standing, waiting for her.

What you got?" she panted, nearly out of breath. "A call for help, a picture of a perp, a picture of Gabrielle?" She talked at maniac speed, fueled by adrenaline, hope, and fear.

"I can't describe it," he replied in both awe and confusion. He sounded like a biologist who had discovered a brand new but rather repulsive species of bug. "You're just going to have to take a look at it."

Sarah stopped and looked at Jerry with apprehension. "I'm not going to see a dead or mutilated kid am I? Please tell me that's not what I'm about to see. If it is, let me know now so I can walk. I can't take that, not now."

"No! I would never do that to you," he replied, hurt she would even assume that about him. "You still need to prepare yourself though." He pushed a button on his keyboard and the image came up.

Jesus!" Sarah exclaimed in shock. The picture was of a Caucasian man. He looked old, and somewhat hunched over. He had long, boney fingers, with his nails grown and sharpened into talons. He wore an occult looking long robe. On his head, he wore a demon mask, but it wasn't a mask to make him look like a demon, rather it looked as if a demon was eating his head; leaving only his lower face exposed. The angle of the picture showed that whoever was taking the picture was looking up at him, and he seemed to be recoiling in surprise. Around him, the interior looked like a medieval castle, with grey and white stone walls. There were banners with strange symbols hanging from the ceiling. At various intervals, Sarah could see offshoots from what she assumed was the main hallway.

Sarah looked at the image, almost mesmerized by the sheer offness of it. "What the heck is that?" Sarah asked in awe and fear.

"I have no clue. I'm doing searches on all occultic attire and symbology, trying to image match it, but nothing so far."

Sarah went to touch the screen but stopped for fear this creature might come to life and grab her.

"Anything at that campsite look like it might contain this?" Jerry asked, hoping he didn't sound as sarcastic as he thought.

Sarah shook her head. "No. Nothing big enough gauging by the scale of everything in this picture." She then turned to Jerry and asked, "And this is legit right? No Photoshop or digital manipulation?"

"I'm going to have to do a full analysis, but, so far, it looks like the real deal." Jerry sat down behind his computer and said, "There's something else I have to show you". He moved his hands across the keys and the picture shifted, resized several times.

"Who's she?!" A shocked and even more frightened Sarah asked as she pointed to the area Jerry had zoomed in on. Peaking around a corner, seemingly staring in the direction of whoever was taking the picture, was a young caucasain girl around 14 or 15. Her hair was dyed pink, however; her natural brown roots were starting to show. She wore a dark grey and black medieval-style tunic, with lavender-colored leggings and sleeves. She looked like she was both fearful and interested in what was going on.

"Don't know. I'm also running a facial recognition program with the missing children database, but so far no hits." He turned to Sarah who was just shaking her head in disbelief. "Maybe you should do that cleansing ritual."

**************************************************

Elana and Hector waited in the conference room for Sarah to come in. She had called them early this morning, telling them that she had some news to tell them but she needed to see them in person. Elana called off work and Hector canceled all his meetings for the day. As anxious and as fearful as they were, they still refused to comfort, talk, or even look at each other.

Sarah opened the door and came in holding a manilla folder. She sat down and just looked at the folder for a bit, not knowing how to proceed. She took a quick breath, looked up at them, and began talking. "Mister and misses, sorry, Hector and Elana, we were able to find out what the deleted text that Gabrielle had sent you. It was a picture. I believe it might be a picture of the man who has her. From the way everything is angled, it looks like she caught him by surprise. My guess is she took the picture, sent it, and was made to delete it."

Elana burst out crying while Hector just sat rigid and stone-faced. Sarah did her best to calm Elana down. Once she was sure she was ok enough to continue, Sarah started speaking again.

"I have a printout of the picture here," she pulled an upside-down picture from the folder and slid it over to them. "I want to warn you first. You might find this picture rather disturbing. I'm only showing you this to see if you recognize him or where this might have been taken?"

Both Hector and Elana reached for the picture at the same time. Despite the warning, both of them were desperate to see the face of the man who might have their daughter. Hector, having the longer arms, got to it first, flipped it over, and almost jumped back in his chair when he saw it. Elana saw it, let out a gasp, and started crying again.

"So this, this is the monster who has my baby," Hector was finally able to say through clenched teeth.

"That's my theory so far," Sarah replied. She had compassion for him, but she had seen that look, heard that tone of voice before. It was the look and tone of a man determined to take the law into his own hands. "I take it that he doesn't look familiar to either of you?" Both shook their head with Hector actually saying no.

Sarah nodded and continued. "When we enhanced the picture, we also found this," Sarah pulled out another picture and slid it to them. "This girl was in the background. Do either of you know who she is?" They both looked at the second picture of the pink-haired girl and shook their heads no.

"So, so this man, he, he has other little girls as well?" Elana asked through her tears.

"It appears so," Sarah sighed with regret.

"Detective Redcloud, may I keep this picture?" Hector asked, holding up the one with the demon masked man.

Sarah stared at Hector sternly. "No. I know why you want it. That's the man who has your baby, doing God knows what to her. You want to find him, make him suffer, possibly kill him. I get it. I understand. But here are the facts: you're probably not going to find him, if, by some miracle, you do, most more than likely, you'll be the one who ends up dead. And, if you would kill him, then you're talking about a premeditated murder charge. Oh, and if he is part of a larger cult, you'll have his buddies coming after you and everyone you love. That road, the one you're planning on going down, never ends up anywhere good."

Hector nodded and handed the picture back over to Sarah. The three continued to talk for about another forty-five minutes before Sarah said she had to go. She walked both of them out and promised to be back in touch. Hector and Elana gave each other one quick look before going to their cars. Once inside, he pulled out his phone and brought up the picture of the man he had secretly scanned back in the conference room. He looked at the beast, thinking over and over, I'm going to kill you.