Chapter 13: The Missing Persons Case  

Glenn City, a coastal city in the Derl region of southeastern Soth Kingdom, boasts pleasant scenery and a relaxed pace, making it an ideal place for retirement.  

Unfortunately, Harvey Michelson was not among those enjoying such a life.  

When could he retire? 

If only he could get paid just for fishing.  

“Rose Street, Rose Street has arrived!”  

The public carriage slowed to a stop, and the driver’s shout interrupted the middle-aged man’s unrealistic daydreams.  

Harvey adjusted his hat, rose from his seat, and headed toward the exit.  

As it was a fixed route for the public carriage and during working hours, the people getting off at this stop were quite consistent.  

Take, for instance, the bespectacled old man with white sideburns checking a gold pocket watch. 

Harvey had “commuted” with him for years. 

Though they didn’t know each other’s names, they were familiar, both cogs in the machine keeping Glenn City running—no one was exempt.  

The Glenn Historical Site Protection Association, where Harvey Michelson worked, sounded like an official organization but was, in fact, a privately run enterprise. 

It mainly took on outsourced work for ancient site exploration teams, all legally approved “archaeological” operations.  

However, that was just its public face. 

In truth, the association was affiliated with the Church of Truth, a secretive official institution listed in the Soth Kingdom’s highest classified archives, specializing in handling “occult” incidents that were fading from public view in this era of rapid industrialization.  

Yes, it appeared official but was private, yet beneath that private facade was an official organization—a perfect matryoshka doll to confound heretics.  

Harvey climbed the steps and pushed open the company door. 

Before he could remove his hat from his thinning hair, a gust of fragrance hit him, followed by Mary’s anxious voice.  

“Manager, Manager!”  

“You’re finally here.”  

Overwhelmed by the girl’s urgency, Harvey stepped back, raising his cane between them to calm her.

“Miss Wheeler, calm down. What happened? Tell me slowly, and I’ll handle it.”  

Mary Wheeler seemed to realize her breach of etiquette and stepped back, her face full of worry. 

“Someone from the Church is here, saying there’s urgent business.”  

“They’re waiting for you in the meeting room.”  

Someone from the Church—heretics, or perhaps a “forbidden item” entering the market that needed containment?  

Harvey frowned, pondering, when Mary leaned closer and whispered, “Manager, it’s not our usual contact, Mr. Child. It’s the Bishop himself.”  

Lance McDonald, Bishop of the Glenn City Church of Truth, at the pinnacle of power!  

***

In the meeting room, a man over fifty with blond hair sat at the head. 

Dressed in a black robe with a white collar and a dark purple sash, his deep-set blue eyes studied a document, lost in thought.  

Knock, knock, knock. 

A sound came from the door.  

Lance McDonald’s brow relaxed as he shifted his gaze from the police report.  

“Come in.”  

“Your Excellency.”  

Harvey entered, closed the door, and touched his forehead and chest, placing his palm on his left shoulder.  

“Truth above.”  

“Truth above.”  

Lance rose from his seat, returning the gesture.  

After the ritual greeting between believers, Lance sat back down and gestured.

 “Manager Michelson, please sit.”  

Harvey took the seat to the right of the head, his mood growing heavier. 

The Bishop had come alone, without attendants, a sign of the matter’s severity or confidentiality.  

Lance McDonald skipped pleasantries and slid the document across to Harvey, his voice grave.  

“This is an urgent request sent to the Church from Champagne Street Police Station this morning.”  

“It’s a mass disappearance case. Between yesterday afternoon and evening, seven victims were confirmed.”  

Lance paused, then continued, “Church investigators used occult methods to probe, but the victims’ locations and survival status are hidden, protected by anti-divination properties.”  

Seven reported missing in one day, not counting those living alone or unnoticed workers and vagrants.  

Harvey furrowed his brow and began flipping through the document.  

Rosie Moulton, female, 18, daughter of Glenn City Councilor Viscount Ted Moulton, went missing on May 23 while visiting friends.  

Hannah Carter, female, 19, only daughter of prominent Glenn City merchant Baron Newman Carter, went missing on May 23 while visiting friends.  

Hiss…  

Harvey Michelson felt a headache coming on. 

Two heavyweights like these—if either met with harm, Glenn City would be turned upside down.  

***

The bell tolled, and Rosie opened her eyes. The horrific scenes she’d imagined didn’t materialize. 

Lighting the candles and scanning the room, it was still empty, as if the maddening, torturous whispers were just hallucinations under pressure.  

The girl pursed her lips, her misty blue eyes growing more resolute. 

No matter what, she could not return to this room tonight, or by tomorrow’s bell, the one leaving wouldn’t be “her.”  

Was this the ritual’s true purpose? 

Five days, and it didn’t matter who the final three survivors were?  

A chilling sensation crept up her spine, like slimy, invisible tendrils.  

Rosie shook off the extraneous thoughts, leapt off the bed, and hurried to the room resembling a dining hall from yesterday.  

What happened to Hannah?  

***

Rosie considered herself an “early riser”.

The moment the bell rang, she rushed out without delay, faster than when she’d race out of school at the bell before holidays.  

Yet someone beat her to it.

At the dining hall door stood two people. 

One was Dennis Sandek, Hannah’s bodyguard, whose room was closer to the hall, so his early arrival made sense. 

But the other was unexpected.  

Herman Rhys.  

Rosie’s initial friendliness toward this impolite, somewhat erratic journalist had long faded.

 Frankly, he annoyed her, always glancing her way for no reason.  

“Morning, Miss Rosie. So, how’d you sleep last night?”  

Hiss. 

That overly familiar tone and suggestive question sounded off no matter how she heard it.  

Who’s that close to you? 

Was he deliberately teasing her?