Rave*

The midday sunlight was particularly dazzling. After staring at the ceiling in a daze for a while, Ethan turned around and got up. He opened the window and took a few deep breaths in front of the lake, feeling very good.

I was busy until midnight yesterday, and today I can finally enjoy a paid vacation, he thought.

He arrived barefoot in the living room, opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of Coca-Cola, and drank it. Then he crumpled the can into a ball and took a shooting stance. The Coca-Cola can slid in a perfect arc and fell into the trash bin.

Someone knocked on the door, and Ethan took the pepperoni pizza from the delivery person, handed them the tip, and returned to the living room. With a slice of pizza in his mouth, he picked up the remote control, turned on the TV, and then settled comfortably on the couch.

On the television, Spartacus was fighting hard in the arena. Today he could finally relax without worrying about the outside world. They must have already noticed the disappearance of the Moody brothers. He wasn't concerned about the investigation, as Chief Hood wasn't a real sheriff, and they had no personal grudges against him. As long as no one found the bodies on the mountainside or the weapon in his storage space, there wouldn't be much that could be done in a police investigation.

After Ethan stayed home for a day, he received a call from Alma in the evening. Unfortunately, it was a short vacation. The investigation of the case by the district attorney's office had concluded, and Alma informed Ethan that he should return to work the next day.

The next morning, Ethan returned to the precinct, entering through the main door with a cardboard tray full of steaming coffee cups. The aroma of fresh coffee began to fill the air, attracting the attention of several officers.

—Wow, the hero of the day has arrived!— exclaimed Alma from the reception, flashing a smile as she reviewed some documents. —You're a sweetheart, Ethan.—

Ethan smiled back as he approached her.

—I know,— he replied, handing her a cup. —I thought a little extra caffeine wouldn't hurt.—

Alma picked up one of the cups, inspecting the label.

—Mmm, the double espresso I needed. You know how to please a lady,— she said, winking at him.

As he continued his rounds, he headed toward Brock's desk, who was focused on his computer, frowning.

—Brock, I brought brain fuel,— he announced, raising the cup in his direction.

Brock looked up, relieved to have an excuse to step away from the screen.

—Ethan, you're a saint,— he said, grabbing the cup with one hand and raising it in a gesture of gratitude before taking a sip. —I needed this. Last night was brutal.—

Ethan nodded with a smile.

The next on the list was Emmett, who was in the archive room looking for some documents. Upon seeing Ethan enter, he leaned against the shelf and took the cup he offered.

Emmett laughed as he took a sip. —After the night of patrolling we had, this coffee is the best thing that's happened to me today.—

Finally, Ethan found Siobhan at her desk, reviewing reports. She was so focused that she didn't notice his arrival until he placed the cup in front of her.

—Something to keep you alert, Siobhan,— he said, catching her attention.

She looked up, surprised, and smiled.

—Thank you.—

—No problem. You know the team always comes first.—

After delivering the last coffee, Ethan leaned against Alma's desk. After joking with her while holding the task list, he reviewed the report logs from the past two days through the reception computer.

As always, nothing unusual: just noise complaints, traffic violations, fights, and things like that.

It didn't matter if someone reported the crime. There was no corpse, no crime scene, no witnesses. The Moody brothers were simply treated as missing persons.

After finishing his coffee, he fastened his seatbelt and went out to patrol. The day was quiet and there were no calls; after his shift ended, he returned to the precinct to check out.

That night, Ethan was chatting with Brock and Hood. Outside, the sound of horse hooves was heard, and a carriage stopped in front of the door.

An Amish man with a black hat and a bushy beard opened the door and entered.

—Mr. Bowman, how can I help you?— Brock glanced sideways at the approaching man.

—Officer Brock,— Bowman nodded toward him and then looked at Hood. —Are you the new boss?—

—That's right. What's up?—

Hood stood up to respond; Brock crossed his arms and took a step back.

—There might be something happening at Yoder Farm tonight. My son said he saw someone organizing a party there, and it didn't seem right to him.—

—Maybe a rave?— Emmett quickly stood up from the back.

Bowman thought for a moment and replied:

—Yes, my son Solomon was talking about those kinds of parties. He saw people getting ready in the Yoder Farm barn.—

—Alright, we'll take care of it. Ethan, please escort Mr. Bowman outside.—

When Brock and Emmett heard the news, they nervously walked toward the equipment room.

—Mr. Bowman, come here, and thank you for coming to tell us about this.—

—Officer, I hope only you know that I came here to report this.—

As Bowman stepped out the door, he said to Ethan, visibly worried.

Ethan nodded, fully understanding his fear of reprisals.

—You can call me Ethan. Don't worry, we haven't seen you tonight.—

—Thank you. By the way, this is my daughter, Rebecca.—

After Bowman expressed his gratitude, he introduced Ethan to the woman standing next to the carriage.

Rebecca, wearing traditional Amish clothing and a white bonnet, turned around and looked at Ethan, a trace of panic in her eyes.

Before Ethan could speak, she quickly leaned forward and said:

—Good evening, nice to meet you, Officer Ethan.—

Ethan suppressed a smile, pretended not to recognize her, and greeted her with a neutral expression. At Bowman's insistence, Rebecca winked at Ethan, then turned around and got into the carriage with her father. As the carriage departed, Ethan quickly returned to the station.

n the equipment room, under the light, the table was full of weapons and bullets. Brock and the others were constantly loading bullets into magazines. 

—Why did you take out all your weapons? Does anyone want to tell me what happened?— Hood asked. 

Ethan stepped forward, took an empty magazine, and asked while loading bullets into it: 

—These rave parties are very organized and are usually held to sell ecstasy and cocaine. There are many illegal kitchens around here. Many farms are abandoned, and traffickers take advantage of that to grow drugs. 

Emmett repeated what Ethan had just said and then placed the magazine he was holding into his gun. 

—What do you think is going to happen at a party where someone's selling drugs?— Brock then holstered his gun and looked at the Sheriff. 

—Generally, by the time we get the news, the party is already over. We've never been able to catch these traffickers. Now we have the opportunity. 

Siobhan tucked the spare magazine into her belt and adjusted her soft armor. 

Ethan said nothing as he prepared; he understood the nature of that party. 

—So, what are we waiting for?— 

After taking roll call, Hood faced everyone's gaze, cleared his throat, and then said: 

—Let's get to work. 

Soon, a group of them arrived at the outskirts of Yoder Farm. The police car was parked far away to avoid alerting the traffickers; the police lights and sirens hadn't been turned on since they left the station. 

Ethan closed the car door, walked forward, and looked at the barn across the street. Through the gaps in the barn walls, he could see flickering lights inside, dancing to the music. 

There were cars parked in front of the barn, and two African American men were guarding the door. 

—What's the plan?— he asked. 

—Let's just act. This place only has front and back doors. As long as we're careful, we should be able to handle it. 

—No. Who knows how many teenagers are inside? If panic breaks out and something happens, we'll be in serious trouble. 

Emmett shook his head disapprovingly. 

Hood impatiently took off his uniform jacket and tucked his police badge into his pants pocket. 

—I'll go in myself. If I can find one of the traffickers and subdue him, I can control the scene without causing too much chaos. 

—Wait a minute,— Brock quickly stopped Hood. —The law requires you to identify yourself. What you're doing is illegal. 

—Don't be so rigid about the rules. If you have any objections, call the cops and have me arrested. 

Hood brushed Brock's hand aside, tucked his gun into his waistband, lifted his shirt to cover it, and walked toward the barn, heading for the main door. 

Brock wanted to say something else, but Hood was already gone. 

He saw Hood walking toward the front of the barn, where the two men in black stopped him at the door. Suddenly, Hood attacked and knocked them both unconscious with several powerful blows. After "greeting" them, he opened the front door and entered. 

Siobhan let out a soft gasp and asked Brock, confused: 

—Can he do that?— 

—I don't know. You should call the cops and arrest him,— Brock said angrily. 

Although things didn't go according to his instructions, after Brock sighed, he still ordered Emmett and Ethan to go to the back door to guard it and prevent anyone from escaping. He and Siobhan stayed at the front door, waiting for Hood's radio signal, ready to receive reinforcements. 

Swatting away mosquitoes, Ethan and Emmett moved toward the back door. As they turned the corner, Ethan saw that the door was guarded by just one man in a black shirt, scrolling on his phone with a lewd smile. 

—Follow me,— Ethan instructed Emmett, reholstering his weapon and approaching quietly from the side. 

Emmett, gun in hand, looked around cautiously. 

When Ethan was just a few meters from the door, the guard heard footsteps and looked up—but it was already too late to react. The moment he lifted his head, Ethan quickened his pace and delivered a powerful blow to the guard's ear. 

The guard's phone slipped silently from his hand as the game on the screen continued uninterrupted. Ethan took the handcuffs from his belt and, with practiced skill, cuffed the unconscious man. Emmett also ran up beside him. Both of them stood guard at the back door, waiting for Hood's signal. 

—You really don't act like a rookie,— Emmett said, admiring him. 

—Who knows? Maybe I have a talent for this,— Ethan replied with a smile. He then pressed his hand against the wooden door, which trembled slightly from the noise inside, preparing to enter. 

—Something's wrong inside. Call an ambulance and get in quickly to take control of the situation,— Hood instructed over the radio, his voice barely audible through the loud music. 

Ethan and Emmett exchanged a nod and opened the back door to rush inside. Despite being mentally prepared, Ethan's body shuddered as he crossed the threshold. The sound from the speakers made his heart race and his hair vibrate with the music's rhythm. 

The barn was packed with young people waving colored light sticks and dancing frantically to the beat. Ethan looked at Emmett, who tried to shout something to him, but his voice was drowned out by the wall of sound. Resigned, he pointed toward the equipment near the DJ booth. 

Ethan nodded in understanding and quickly made his way to the booth. Once there, he looked around, identified a few cables, and yanked them out. Instantly, the barn fell silent—though many clearly drugged people continued moving to the nonexistent rhythm. 

Brock and Siobhan had already entered through the main door. When the music stopped, Brock turned on the speaker he was carrying and shouted: 

—We are the Banshee Police Department. Everyone inside, do not move and prepare for inspection. 

As soon as Brock finished speaking, someone in the crowd raised a gun, aimed at the ceiling, and fired. The gunshots echoed inside the barn, and the crowd erupted in screams. 

Some people crouched down on the spot, protecting their heads, while others tried to run in panic. The scene turned chaotic. The traffickers organizing the party also fired into the ceiling, hoping to create more confusion and escape. 

Ethan pushed through the crowd, trying to reach the traffickers, but a man in a suit spotted him and quickly drew a gun, aiming it at him. 

—Is that Hansen?— Ethan wondered as he ducked behind a pillar. 

A bullet hit the pillar, spraying sawdust into the air. Ethan felt a sting in his ears, and the terrified people nearby dropped to the ground. 

—Everyone get down and don't move!— Siobhan ordered, trying to control the situation. 

Ethan took a deep breath, inspecting the bullet holes in the wood. He reached up to his ears, relieved to find they were still intact, though his fingers came back slightly bloody. 

—Ethan, are you okay?— Brock ran to check on him. —It's just a scratch. Some wood splinters. 

—I'm fine. I'll take care of it later. Go help Siobhan,— Ethan replied, pushing Brock toward the chaos, wiping the sweat from his palms and gripping his Glock 17 as he moved forward. 

Several traffickers were trying to escape through a gap in the wooden wall. Hood, running from the side, opened fire. One trafficker, panicked, stumbled and fell into the pond behind the barn. Hood, wasting no time, tossed his empty gun aside and dove into the water, struggling with the man. 

Ethan didn't stop to help. He ran past, chasing Hansen. 

—Hansen, stop!— Ethan muttered as he sprinted, his gun firing in bursts. 

A scream rang out as Hansen clutched his thigh and dropped to the ground, crawling toward a nearby gun. Ethan rushed in, stomped on his hand, and kicked him in the stomach, pinning him. 

Hansen shuddered as if shocked, his eyes wide and frantic. He tried to scream, but only managed a violent tremble of his tongue. 

—You're under arrest,— Ethan said, leaning down to flip Hansen over and cuff him with a sharp click. Hansen finally howled, tears and mucus running down his face. 

Ethan gave Hansen a few pats on his thigh wound, smiling.

—If you resist, it's going to hurt more.—

—Damn you! You can't do this! I'm going to get a lawyer and sue you until you're ruined!— Hansen shouted, desperate.

—No problem, I think you've got a chance,— Ethan replied sarcastically.

As Ethan dragged him back, he heard more gunshots behind him. He wiped the blood from his hands on the grass before lifting Hansen and heading back to where Emmett was.

—Don't shoot, it's me!— Ethan shouted, seeing Emmett standing nervously by the pond.

Upon hearing the familiar voice, Emmett lowered his weapon, relieved.

—What's happening?—

—This guy came running back, but I stopped him,— said Ethan, pushing Hansen toward Emmett and then extending his hand to help Hood out of the pond.

Back at the barn, the mess was still evident. Ethan stepped outside for a moment, lit a cigarette, and smoked it while observing the chaos.

After extinguishing the cigarette, he struggled to drag the body in the pond to the shore. Just at that moment, Deva and her friend Beatty came out of the barn, followed by Hood and Brock, who were arguing heatedly about something.

Ethan really didn't like that girl. He waited until Hood left before approaching Brock.

—Can you believe it?— said Brock, waving his arms with enthusiasm. —He just punched a handcuffed suspect in front of a dozen people! He'll get us all in trouble if he keeps doing this.—

—Alright, don't take it seriously. He'll be responsible for any trouble, right?— Ethan gave Brock a pat on the shoulder. —Come on, there's a lot to do.—

That night, after returning to his residence and taking a shower, Ethan dried his wet hair with a towel, headed to the living room, and found a business card. The towel brushed against his ear, and he still felt a burning pain.