For far too long Jaxon had been in his line of work. Working with the police department in a big city has its ups and downs: it's never boring, but there are some things that no one should see.
Since February, Jaxon came into work and opened a glass door with his name printed in gold font, sat at a comfortable, expensive desk, and stared at the faces of missing young girls. The pictures multiplied, it seemed. Every month there was more than the last, with rarely a shred of evidence as to what happened to them.
Today was no different. Jaxon opened the door to his office in a huff, a coffee in one hand and case files in the other, only to see more photographs on his desk, labeled '19 July'. He slumped into his chair and held his head in his hands.
"Detective Reeves?" A burly, hairy man stood in the doorway to Jaxon's office, leaning on the frame of the door. "Do you have a moment?" Jaxon looked up from the photographs and motioned for the man to close his office door. "I do," he murmured. "Good morning, Chief."
The chief closed the door as he entered the room, and sat at the foot of the desk in an old wooden chair. "I'm just going to get to the point Jaxon," he said as he twisted his mustache. "Do you have any damn idea what's happened to these kids?"
Jaxon stared off into the distance, trying to think of anything other than the children whose photos he has been musing over for five months now. He had no idea where they were, or who took them. "Does anyone know? It’s like they've disappeared. I've never seen anything like it. Sixteen girls don’t just… ‘go missing’." His voice was tired and drenched with abandon as he continued to stare past the chief, his eyes droopy and empty.
The chief sat in silence for a moment and then stood from his seat. "Jaxon, you're taking this too hard. I'm placing you on a different case until you can come back to yourself," he handed Jaxon a file. "Three days ago there was a break-in at the old Roswell Manor outside the city. I've got a few guys down there now doing rounds, and I'm sending you to take a look around. Do that for me." The detective hesitated, but took the file and grabbed his coffee from his desk. "Easy enough," he muttered. "And for the love of god, do something with these damn photos while I'm gone."
--
The forest is soothing. The sounds of birds chirping, or the slow trickle of a shallow stream over pond rocks is an escape. An escape interrupted by tires rolling over loose gravel as Jaxon makes his way to the manor outside of the city. Belonging to the Roswells, a couple long deceased, it was left in the hands of their daughter. She left the city not long after their passing, leaving the once-pristine manor in the hands of the state.
Pulling up to the entrance of the estate, bright yellow caution tape was strewn on the ground where it was removed from the main gate. Two men were patrolling the residence's outskirts while looking through broken glass and discarded rubbish, while another exited the front door with rolls of crinkled police tape collected from inside the house. Jaxon stopped his patrol car in front of the house and walked to the steps to greet the officers with his badge in his hand.
"Good morning, fellas. Detective Reeves, but I'd really prefer if you just called me Jaxon. Anyone care to fill me in here?"
"Officer Dean, sir," the officer with the collection of tape extended his empty hand. "and we aren't very sure ourselves. The break-in was reported by a jogger who noticed the door ajar and broken glass surrounding the house. When we got here the first time, there wasn't really any evidence of stolen goods or other obvious damage to the property, other than a few windows. We still can't find anything." Jaxon looked past Dean and into the house, which seemed unnervingly tidy. He motioned the officer to the side and shook his hand again.
"Thank you mister Dean; I feel I can take it from here."
"Absolutely. Feel free to call the station if you need anything from us."
Jaxon nodded in understanding and ascended the worn steps, creaking with age.
Not a moment after he passed the frame of the front door, a feeling of unease and distress washed over him. His ears began to ring with the sound of a thousand bells as he collapsed to his knees.
This is him.
"Detective Reeves!" The three officers rushed to the steps to assist Jaxon, who was collapsing on the floor of the manor entrance, shrieking. "Mister Jaxon!" The ringing in Jaxon's ears only increases as the men come closer, feeling as if his eardrums would burst as he writhes on the floor, his hands clenching his head. In an instant, the doors behind him crash closed and everything is silent.
Panting, Jaxon shakes on the floor; minutes pass before he attempts to rise. In his confusion, he notices the closed door, stumbles over, and jiggles the handle.
It won't open.
"What the shit? No, this isn't real. I'm asleep... I'm dreaming." He aggressively jolts the door handle back and forth with no results. Scrambling to the window next to the front door, he peers out in shock. The world is still, as if someone had paused a movie.
Officer Dean was tripping up the steps, his face still contorted in a scream as the police tape he threw to the ground was hovering in the air; the two officers behind him were stuck in mid-sprint towards the house. "What is this..?" Peeling his face away from the window, the house was pitch black, the darkness stretching down the hallway.
Catching his breath, Jaxon presses himself against the front door, trying to stop panic from taking over. Reaching into his back pocket, he grabs his cell phone and turns on the flashlight, the glow barely penetrating the blackness. "I suppose I have no choice."
Walking down to the hallway, his footsteps resonate like bass drums. Shining his light up and down the walls, looking to lavish paintings of fields of flowers and ornate wood tables adorned with expensive trinkets. There was no way this house could have been robbed.
Jaxon's breath catches in his throat as he encroaches on the end of the hallway, his light stopping just short of the wall in front of him. "Oh, god," he whispers. "This just can't be real..." Moving his flashlight along the wall, there are words carved into the wallpaper, with wood and paper shavings collected on the floor.
I know you, and you know me
but we can only meet if you find the key
Look to the largest room to the west
Inside the book embellished with the golden crest
His face contorted with fear and confusion. This message had been etched on the wall recently by someone who knows his identity, and who knew he would be coming here. Something in this house was waiting for him.
Creeping up to the wall, Jaxon carefully looked around him. To the right, there seemed to be a large living and dining area. To the left, a closed door and another long hallway that stretched around a corner.
Jaxon stared at the wall, never getting too close, and looked to the left hallway again. "Largest room to the west," he choked out. "To find the key..?"
After an eternity of standing quietly in front of the strange message engraved on the wall, Jaxon took a long breath in and slowly ventured to the left portion of the house.
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