June 19, 2003

  It began with the discovery of a body in a parking lot. The victim was identified as a woman, and the preliminary report indicated that there were no signs of sexual assault. The forensic team had already excluded that possibility, given that her reproductive organs showed no signs of trauma.

  Nonetheless, something still didn't sit right. Although her clothing appeared wrinkled and disheveled, and her underwear had been pulled down, the scene did not correspond to a typical case of attempted sexual violence.

  At a glance, it might appear to be a failed attempt at sexual violence—but there was something even more disturbing.

  Something that didn't fit any typical case I'd encountered in my years on the force.

  Her body was entirely drained of blood.

  That alone was baffling enough, but the sight of her corpse was what haunted me most. Pale as porcelain, her skin was ghostly white.

  Not just the ordinary postmortem pallor either—this was more like the drained husk of a person.

  There were no signs of livor mortis, the purplish discoloration usually present in a dead body. She looked more like she'd been exsanguinated by some sinister force.

  Like a vampire had drained her dry.

  I murmured to myself, "A vampire, perhaps..." even though such a thought was more a grim metaphor than a literal possibility. I was heading to the morgue to assess the situation in person. Despite having worked on numerous murder investigations, each more twisted than the last, nothing had prepared me for this one. The case exuded an air of the unnatural.

  I'd never seen or even heard of anything quite like it. This felt different. Unnatural, even.

  I needed to see the body for myself before I could begin to form any theory worth believing.

  As I approached the cold, sterile entrance of the city morgue, I was greeted by a familiar face—Frank Kellermann, one of the forensic investigators.

  Recognizing me, he remarked, "Markus, I did not expect to see you this early. I thought you would be wrapping up that river case."

  "I closed it last night," I replied briefly, recalling that the previous day's investigation into a man found floating in the river had ended as a suicide. The man, overwhelmed by insurmountable debt, had chosen a tragic end—a scenario I could never fully understand.

  Frank nodded somberly. "That case was disheartening. But I believe this one may be even more disturbing."

  "I need to examine the body," I stated unequivocally.

  Frank motioned for me to follow. He cautioned me, "Be advised, there is no overt indication of foul play. Aside from the misplaced underwear, every detail appears too meticulously arranged. That particular fact has raised our concerns."

  Inside the morgue, on the autopsy table, lay the woman’s body, fully disrobed for examination. Her pallor was even more pronounced in person—an almost surreal, unnatural whiteness that one rarely sees in natural death.

  Frank explained, "We performed a complete autopsy earlier. There are no wounds, no puncture marks, and no indications of blunt force trauma. Her organs remain undisturbed. It is not a case of organ harvesting. However, the absence of blood is inexplicable, as if it had simply vanished without leaving any trace behind."

  I examined the body closely, noting that there were no signs of blood pooling or any traces left behind. It was as though the blood had been completely removed in a manner that only someone with meticulous intent could achieve. Such a thorough method seemed entirely unrealistic for any ordinary perpetrator.

  “If this was done by someone, they covered their tracks perfectly. Too perfectly. No one is ever that clean. That’s why we’re starting to consider other possibilities.”

  I looked up. “What kind of possibilities?”

  Frank hesitated, lowering his voice. “Maybe cult-related. Some kind of ritual. We've had scattered reports before. Fringe groups. Weird ceremonies. But nothing even close to this.”

  I then inquired, "Have we identified her yet?"

  Frank responded, "Not at all. There was no wallet, phone, or any form of identification left behind. The fingerprints do not match anyone in our system. She is a complete enigma."

  I surveyed the lifeless figure once more—a pale, bloodless body discovered in a dark parking lot, with no signs of struggle or any indication of violence. There was an overwhelming silence and a deep-seated sense that something profoundly unnatural had taken place.

  A memory stirred in my mind. Four years prior, a case had presented similar peculiarities. A man had been found dead under similar circumstances. Not exactly the same—there had been no blood loss—but there was something deeply wrong about that case too. Like our current case, it remained unidentified, with no available fingerprints, dental records, or family connections. That case was eventually filed away as unsolvable, archived as another blank entry in the morgue’s logbook.

  I glanced at the lifeless woman once more. Her face was fixed in an expression that could best be described as serene—not portraying fear or anguish, but rather a void where her identity once resided. It was as if the force that ended her life had also stripped away all traces of who she had been.

  I asked softly, "May I take a photograph?"

  Frank looked up from his clipboard, puzzled for a second, then shrugged. "Hm? Sure, go ahead."

  I raised the old camera I carried — bulky, film-fed, but reliable — and snapped a photo. I never liked taking pictures of the dead. It always felt wrong. But something told me I'd need it.

  Because I was going to ask for help.

  Even if I didn't want to.

  Even if I had sworn I wouldn't go to him again.

  ***

  June 26, 2003

  That morning, I returned to my hometown—a quiet place where the idea of death felt more like a whispered story than something that truly happened. Life here moved at its own pace. Children ran along the roads, their laughter bouncing off the storefronts. Old dogs stretched lazily in pools of sunlight, and cars drifted across the cobbled streets like they had no destination in mind.

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  From the corner of the square, a young boy’s voice rang out.

  "Newspaper! Get your newspaper! Big story today—something you haven’t heard yet! A real killing!"

  His voice cracked slightly as he shouted, stumbling over the words but refusing to give up. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old, waving a bundle of papers high above his head as though it were a banner.

  For reasons I couldn’t fully explain—maybe it was curiosity, maybe instinct—I stopped walking.

  "How much for the whole stack?" I asked, reaching for my wallet.

  The boy stared up at me, eyes wide. "A-all of them?"

  I nodded once. "Every last one."

  He blinked, then quickly handed them over. His hands shook slightly, and as soon as the money passed between us, he turned and bolted down the street. He didn’t look back. It was as though selling me those papers was something he needed to flee from.

  "You know that kid just sold you yesterday’s news," came a voice from nearby.

  I turned and saw an elderly man tending a narrow flowerbed outside his shop. His hands were still sunk into the soil, but he was watching me with faint amusement.

  "He’s been out here all morning," the man said. "Those papers are old. He’s just trying to make a quick buck before someone tells him to go home."

  I offered a small smile. "It’s alright. I knew what I was buying."

  Truthfully, I had recognized the top headline before I even spoke to the boy. The article plastered across the front page was about the very case I had spent the last few days investigating.

  “Mysterious Woman Found Drained of Blood. Police Baffled.”

  The letters were large and unforgiving, printed in thick black ink that bled slightly into the paper fibers. I rolled up the bundle and continued down the street.

  Not much had changed here. The sidewalks still narrowed at the same places. The trees still whispered quietly with the breeze. The air even smelled the same—like old brick and summer grass. Every corner was a memory waiting to be remembered.

  I stopped at the corner coffee shop, a small place tucked between the grocer and the tailor. I had been coming here for years. Nothing about it ever changed.

  Warm light spilled from its windows, casting soft golden lines across the worn floor. Inside, faint music played through old speakers, just loud enough to notice if you were paying attention.

  As I stepped inside, the bell above the door gave its familiar chime.

  Behind the counter, a familiar voice greeted me.

  "Markus. Back from the city, I see."

  I looked up to find Regina Jensen—Rej—already watching me. We had grown up on the same block. Her hair was shorter than I remembered, but everything else about her was exactly the same.

  "I heard you’ve been keeping busy," she added with a grin. "Solving murders, chasing ghosts. Sounds like the city can’t do without you."

  I let out the smallest of smiles. "Please don’t start with the teasing. Not today."

  She laughed and turned to start my drink. Her movements were fluid, confident, like she could make coffee with her eyes closed. It was comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.

  "The usual?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "Yeah. The usual."

  I found a seat near the window, where the light filtered in just enough to feel warm without being blinding. I unrolled one of the newspapers and glanced through it. Most of the stories were already stale. One of them I had read the day before, back in the city. I even remembered finishing the crossword on the back page.

  Still, I figured I could do worse than passing the time with another puzzle. I pulled a pencil from the inside pocket of my coat and flipped to the back of the paper.

  I had barely begun filling in the first few squares when Rej appeared beside me, placing a cup of coffee gently on the table.

  "Thank you," I said, offering her a quiet smile.

  Instead of heading back behind the counter as I had expected, she pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. Only then did I notice how empty the café was. The usual quiet hum of other conversations was missing. It was just the two of us, and the soft music playing faintly from the corner speakers.

  Rej leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. She cupped her face in her hands and simply watched me as I worked on the crossword. I tried to stay focused, but after a minute, I could feel her gaze pressing into me.

  “You know,” I said, still looking down at the puzzle, “it’s a little hard to concentrate when you’re staring at me like that.”

  She let out a soft laugh. “Really? I can’t even look at you now?”

  I glanced up briefly. “You’ve been looking at me like I vanished into thin air.”

  “Well, what do you expect? I haven’t seen my boyfriend in over a month.”

  “I’ve been busy,” I replied, though my voice lacked conviction.

  “You could’ve visited. Once a week, even for a few minutes.” Her tone softened. “I didn’t expect much. Just a little time.”

  She wasn’t angry. She never raised her voice. But there was something in her expression—something quiet and honest—that made me feel more ashamed than if she had shouted.

  We had been together for five years, ever since finishing college. It hadn’t started with any big romantic moment. No dramatic confessions or sweeping gestures. It was the kind of relationship that grew steadily, naturally—two friends who realized, over time, that something deeper had always been there. We fit. We just hadn’t noticed it until we did.

  This coffee shop wasn’t only a place I stopped at for warmth and caffeine. It was hers. It was hers, and so it became mine. A quiet retreat that somehow stayed untouched by the rest of the world. Every time I came back here, it felt like breathing again. Because of her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely, setting down the pencil. “I know that’s not enough, but I mean it. Once this case is finished, I’m taking some time off. I need to. And I want to be here—with you.”

  I looked up to meet her eyes. “And with Johanne.”

  She smiled then, a small but genuine smile that made my chest tighten in the best way.

  “I’m glad,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  Being near her always made it easier to forget the noise of the outside world. The job, the headlines, the weight of the case—I could let go of all of it here, at least for a little while.

  After a moment, she reached for the mug in front of me and took a sip, as if it had always belonged to her. Then she glanced up, her tone shifting just slightly.

  “Actually… since you’re here, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  She hesitated, just for a second, then looked directly at me. Her voice was steady.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  My pencil froze mid-stroke, the half-finished word forgotten.

  “You’re what?”

  “You heard me,” she said, trying not to grin. “About two months along, give or take.”

  My brain struggled to catch up. Two months. That meant it had already been weeks, and I had no idea. I didn’t say anything. I simply stood up from my chair and walked around the table, pulling her gently into my arms.

  There weren’t any words that felt right in that moment. I was overwhelmed—not by fear or confusion, but by something softer. Joy, maybe. Something close to it. I held her tightly and let myself feel it.

  Even so, somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I couldn’t quite shake the other thing waiting for me outside this little café. The case. The woman found drained of blood. The questions still unanswered.

  But for now, I held her.

  “I hope you’re not planning to go and die on me while I’m pregnant,” Rej said, her voice playful but threaded with real concern.

  I pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “I would never do that. I won’t leave you like that. And besides, I still have Johanne to look after too.”

  She smiled at that, tilting her head slightly. “Now we’ve got two babies to take care of. So, Mr. Detective, I need you to promise me—no diving into anything dangerous.”

  “I promise,” I said quietly, and I meant every word. In that moment, I made a silent vow to myself. No case, no pursuit of justice, would ever be worth more than the life I had waiting for me here. If I ever found myself standing at the edge of something too dangerous, I would walk away. I had no intention of dying—not when my life was finally becoming something I wanted to protect.

  Just then, a small voice spoke up behind me.

  “Brother, you’re here.”

  I turned around and saw Johanne standing near the entrance, his schoolbag still slung over one shoulder. He looked tired, his uniform slightly rumpled from the day.

  “Johanne,” I greeted him warmly, stepping aside so he could come in. “How was school today?”

  He gave a casual shrug. “It was okay, I guess. Nothing special.” After a brief pause, he added, “I’m going upstairs to lie down for a bit.”

  As he began heading for the stairs, I called after him gently. “Before you do, could I ask you something?”

  He stopped, turning back to face me with a questioning look. I hadn’t forgotten the case weighing on my mind—the one that had begun to stretch beyond what seemed logical. And perhaps, just perhaps, this boy who had always noticed more than he let on could help.