Chapter 25: Wrong Move

"Familiar how?" Sheriff Davis and Deputy Jenkins leaned forward, suddenly alert. It was like finding a tiny oasis in a scorching desert – a flicker of hope in their pitch-black case.

Rico's forehead scrunched up, lost in thought. "I dunno, man. I've seen that dude somewhere before. Maybe some internet ad?"

Davis fought the urge to facepalm. Of course their star witness would have the memory of a goldfish. She'd hoped for someone a little more... well, everything. Instead, they got Rico – proud owner of a beer gut, a patchy beard that looked like it was losing a fight with his face, and the kind of receding hairline that made you want to start a GoFundMe for hair plugs.

"How am I supposed to know?" she snapped, patience wearing thinner than Rico's remaining hair.

Rico shot her a look that said he knew exactly what she thought of him. If only he'd known he was talking to a suspect that night! He would've memorized every pore on the guy's face. Okay, maybe not, but still. He was sure he'd recognize the dude if he saw him again. The familiarity was there, buzzing at the back of his brain like an annoying fly – he just couldn't swat it into focus.

As Rico rambled on about maybe seeing the guy in a taco commercial (seriously?), Davis and Jenkins shared a look. This was going to be a long, frustrating day. But hey, at least they had a lead – even if that lead was about as solid as a soup sandwich.

After shooing Rico out, Davis and Jenkins retreated to their office, desperate for a breakthrough. They rewatched Lacuna's interrogation for the millionth time, but the creep had barely said a word.

Except for those cryptic hints. "Someone won't let this go," Lacuna had whispered, eyes glinting. Was he part of something bigger? A shadowy organization that made the mob look like a book club?

Davis slumped in her chair, feeling the last of her hope fizzle out like a sad balloon.

"We're so screwed," she groaned. "If we don't crack this, we'll be writing parking tickets in Nowheresville by next week."

Jenkins nodded glumly. "We've got squat. Where do we even start?"

"I know, right? We can't even brag about catching a serial killer because, oh yeah, he died on our watch!" Davis mimicked their boss's voice. "'Good job, team! You caught the bad guy and then let him explode!'"

They sat in miserable silence, their careers circling the drain. Suddenly, Davis bolt upright, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

"What if..." she said slowly, "we give them an even bigger fish to fry?"

Jenkins looked lost. "Huh? What could be bigger than this mess?"

Davis leaned in, voice dropping to a conspirator's whisper. "Our mystery informant. We pin it all on him."

"But he's been helping us!" Jenkins protested.

Davis's face hardened. "I don't give a flying donut about that. It's him or us, Jenkins. You want to keep this fancy badge or not?"

…

The next day, Willowbrook's tiny sheriff's office was swarming with reporters. Davis had promised big news, and in a town where the biggest story was usually about someone's prize-winning zucchini, everyone was buzzing.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Willowbrook," Davis began, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

The press leaned in, hungry for a scoop. This was the woman who'd nabbed that serial killer a few weeks back. Whatever she had to say, it had to be juicy.

"A month ago, we received a tip from an anonymous source," Davis continued. "After digging deeper, we discovered a disturbing pattern of missing persons. All except one – a survivor who recently woke up."

The room collectively held its breath.

"We believe the person sending these tips... is actually the culprit behind these disappearances." Davis paused for dramatic effect. "This sicko is playing a twisted game of cat and mouse with us."

Cameras flashed as Davis spun her tale. When she finished, the room erupted.

"What proof do you have?" a local reporter shouted.

Davis put on her best poker face. "Due to the sensitive nature of the investigation, we can't reveal all our cards just yet."

"Are there any survivors?" another voice called out.

Davis's expression darkened. "I'm afraid not. We recently discovered a hidden basement filled with... jars of human hearts."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.

As Davis fielded more questions, weaving half-truths with outright lies, she caught Jenkins' eye. He gave a subtle nod. They'd bought themselves some time.

…

"Huh?"

Avery froze mid-mop, his eyes glued to the TV. He could not believe what he was hearing. This was a disaster. He'd wanted an ally to keep the organization busy, but he never imagined this person would become such a liability. 

Now the organization knew someone was feeding the Sheriff information about their "artists." He became too careless, he should've not underestimated the ambition of this Sheriff.

He didn't notice Edward bouncing nearby, eyes wide with curiosity. The guy might look like an overgrown kid, but his gaze was suddenly sharp. He noticed the subtle changes and reaction of Avery upon seeing the news.

Edward scampered over, barely containing his excitement. He cupped his hands around his mouth, stage-whispering, "It was you, wasn't it? You're the secret agent!"

"What?" Avery's heart raced. How could he have slipped up like this?

"Don't worry, I'm super good at keeping secrets!" Edward beamed, drawing an imaginary zipper across his lips. "Cross my heart and hope to die! I'm not a fan of those guys either. Lacuna's a total weirdo, and that clown? Ugh, don't get me started."

Avery's grip tightened on the mop handle, mind racing. This was bad. Really bad. But maybe...

"If you're gonna kill someone, you need a reason." Edward continued, his eyes sparkling with a manic light. "Like saving the world! That's what you and I are doing, right?"

Avery's mind raced. This was bad. Really bad. But maybe... maybe he could use this. If Edward thought they were on the same "team"...

"Yeah," Avery said slowly. "Something like that."

Edward's face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "I knew it! We're gonna be the best crime-fighting duo ever. We'll kill all the bad people in this town!"

As Edward skipped off, humming some upbeat tune, Avery felt a headache coming on. He'd just gained the world's most dangerous sidekick. 

Just then, Avery's phone buzzed in his pocket. Not the phone he used for Cleaner business, but his actual phone. A second later, Edward's started ringing too. Weird coincidence.

"Gotta take this," Avery muttered, propping the mop against the wall and ducking outside.

"Enigma, Hello!" A silky voice purred through the speaker. "I am the Whisperer. I am here to give you an assurance – we've got everything under control. We're hunting down the rat who leaked those docs. All our artists are safe and sound under our protection."

Avery let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. At least they weren't suspecting him. Crisis averted.

Or so he thought.

The moment he hung up, his Cleaner phone pinged with a new message:

9:00 PM Lazarus Facility Attendance is MANDATORY

Avery's stomach dropped. Mandatory meetings were never good news. As he stared at the ominous text, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was walking into a trap. Moreover, how will he show up as Cleaner 8827?

…

In an unknown place within Willowbrook, six individuals sat around a round glass table, their faces tense and wary. The recent news from the Sheriff's office had set off alarm bells among them. Never before in the organization's history had something like this occurred. Now, their very survival depended on finding a viable solution.

"Are you sure we need to deal with Cleaner 8827?" one of them asked, breaking the uneasy silence.

"Do we have any other options?" another replied, a note of frustration in their voice.

"How do we know he's the one who leaked the information?" a woman among them questioned, her brows furrowed in doubt.

An old man leaned forward, his voice gravelly with age. "We aren't certain, but the probability is high. We're no fools to think what happened with the fat clown and Lacuna was just a coincidence. Someone who has access to their files is involved, and that someone could very well be Cleaner 8827."

"Even if he isn't the one who leaked the information, it gives us a perfect alibi to show the organization we've taken steps to smoothen the situation," a sickly-looking man said, his frail appearance belying the sharpness of his mind. "It will also buy us time to find the real culprit."

"And what perfect timing that the Butcher is still here to take care of him," another added, a grim smile playing on their lips.