Doug sipped the bitter coffee that the police department reserved for their most hard-working policemen while watching the bulletin board filled with reports of missing persons. Jeannet Amerie, mother of two, had been living in Sooke for ten years. Tom Paul, another local, with a family still waiting for him at home. Gary Stillman hadn't shown up for work in the past hundred days. All of them had disappeared without a trace. Some reports located them near Broom Hill, but none of them were hitchhikers, nor had they lived active lives previously, according to their families.

  Wincing as he took another sip, Doug moved to the interrogation room where the boyfriend of the latest victim waited. It was well past two AM, and the young man was growing tired of repeating the same story over and over. He didn't know where his girlfriend was, where she could be, or why she would ever leave without telling anyone.

  The truth was that Doug was grasping at air, desperate for a clue. The department had given up two years after sending rescue party after rescue party to the woods, finding not even a single torn piece of cloth—and that was three years ago. He had been working day and night, doing overtime, trying to figure out how people kept going missing. He slammed his fist on the table, pressuring the young man, who flinched at the sudden violence.

  "I've been working in this department for more than twenty years, son. You know what I've learned?"

  The young man stuttered, trying to come up with a response, but Doug cut him short.

  "When a girl goes missing, the boyfriend is always behind it. Always. So tell me, do I have to wait for her body to wash up on shore, or are you going to cut the crap and tell me what happened right now?"

  "I have no idea what you're talking about! I came here willingly, okay? So drop the tough guy act and help me find Hannah!"

  Doug stroked his moustache, wondering if he'd simply lost his touch. Back in America, teens would tell him all they knew the second he got serious, but now... It didn't matter. All that mattered was finding the culprit behind the disappearances and putting a stop to him.

  "Sorry, kid. It's been a long night."

  "I hope you do a better job at finding people than you do at pissing them off."

  "Is there anyone you can think of who might know where Hannah could've gone if she wanted some time on her own—you know, a safe, quiet place?"

  He thought about it for a few moments and answered, "We never had that kind of place. We meet at each other's houses, mostly. I guess you can ask her weird new friends, the tree huggers."

  "Weird new friends? Didn't you think to mention this earlier?"

  "I would've, if you hadn't been so focused on attacking me like I'm some sort of criminal."

  Doug pinched his nose. Let's hope he doesn't know about lawsuits, he thought.

  "Where can I find these people?"

  "How should I know? They're not my friends. All I know is that the bakery lady from around the block is part of them. Betty something."

  Betty Withman, single mother, never got involved in any community activities, and her sole interaction with the people of Sooke was selling them pastries. He'd even had to go to her place a few times because some concerned neighbours insisted that Betty kept refusing to send her kid to school, as if the police didn't have enough matters to attend to. Hardly the type of person he'd expect to get intel from. The good thing was that he knew the way.

  "Fine. I'll see about getting Hannah back. Now get out of my station."

  The young man scurried away so fast Doug could almost see afterimages.

  He took a seat and grasped his head. It was two in the morning, certainly not the time to knock on Betty's door demanding answers. He didn't want to go back home either—there really wasn't much to go back to. His wife had brought him to Canada to form a new life after the birth of their daughter. He'd managed to secure a loan and a transfer, which wasn't easy, because she wanted to be closer to her parents.

  Now, that whole new life they had planned had disappeared, just like the people he kept failing to find. What had gone wrong? It was obvious. Nothing had been the same since that fateful day. He remembered it as if it had been yesterday. He came back early from his first day at work, but not before making a quick stop by the vet shop to buy a bunny.

  The furry animal looked at him with those beady eyes, dark like the void—foreshadowing, in hindsight. But what else could he have done? His little girl had never asked for a single thing in her twelve years, not even candy, and when he and his wife told her that they'd be moving out of the city to a small town near the forest and the sea, her eyes lit up and she immediately said, "Daddy, daddy! If we're going to have a yard with grass, can we have a bunny? Pretty please?"

  How could he have said no? He shook his head while looking at the thing—it had already soiled his car. Why couldn't she have asked for a cat or a fish? Cartoons these days, getting kids weird ideas... He parked his car and got the cage. His little girl ran towards him yelling "Daddy!" giving him a warm feeling inside his chest, wishing he deserved such a happy welcome.

  "Careful not to get bitten, sweetie."

  He said this as he pulled the thing out of the cage. Doug watched, concerned, as she hugged it, too close to her face for his taste.

  "Did you bring the carrots, Daddy?"

  "Sure did. One carrot, though. Spoke to the doc, and she said not to give them too much. It's bad for them."

  "Aww."

  He gave her the carrot, which she promptly fed to the furry animal, and he left her to it while going inside the house to fetch a six-pack of beer to spend the afternoon. To this day, he wondered if things would've been different if he hadn't gone inside the house. He ran as quickly as he could when he heard a loud thud and a speeding car, but it was too late. The blue Volvo was far in the distance, the bunny nowhere to be seen. All he had left was the mangled corpse of his little girl, pulped on the road, and a long argument ahead. The image of her head, flattened against the road, still haunted him at night.

  He sighed and got back to his feet. He had to endure for as long as possible. He couldn't give up, not yet, not while those people were still missing.

  He greeted the janitor as he left the building, heading to his pickup.

  "One of these days you're going to get a heart attack, Doug. You've got to sleep too, you know? Won't do any good to those people if you keep this up."

  "Just do your job, Tyler. Let me worry about myself, okay?"

  "Aye, aye, boss."

  People pretended to care, pretended to know what you were going through, but they didn't know squat. They feigned sadness for a while, then told you to move on. One of the deputies had the audacity to tell him what his little girl would've wanted, which earned him a punch right in the gut. They told him to give up on finding the driver, just like they told him now to give up on the missing persons case.

  But he had found him a few years back, thanks to some patrolman's kid who was recording himself doing skate tricks a few miles away from his house at the time. It was almost by chance that he found this—the man was showing the video to the rest of the department when he saw the blue Volvo and asked him when this was recorded.

  The scumbag claimed "she came out of nowhere, chasing a bunny" and that "there was nothing he could've done." He had to release him from custody as he was smart enough not to sign a confession, and the prosecutor qualified his evidence as "circumstantial." But if he'd learned something about Sooke, it was that no one seemed to care about another sheet added to the missing persons pile.

  He parked silently in the driveway, sighed, and let his head rest on the wheel for a while. He was tired, but not just of working. He was tired of living in general, of swimming against the current. All those years of fighting against criminals, and what did he have to show for it? A mortgage that he wouldn't be able to pay off before getting too old to hold a gun, a broken family, and disappointed parents. He should've been a sergeant by now.

  He wanted to show all those people who questioned his life choices: "Look, I made it. I was right." But he wasn't right—he just was, alone and miserable. He knew what waited for him at home. His wife thought that he didn't notice all her movements, those suspicious walks downtown, the looks, the sighs. She was either cheating on him or something worse, and the pot was boiling. The lights were on inside the house. There was no point in stalling.

  He got out of the pickup and jiggled with the doorknob. The door was locked. He tried the lock, but his key didn't work. She had changed the locks. Doug wasn't angry; he was just sad. Resigned. He knocked on the door and waited for five entire minutes until his wife showed up.

  "Look who remembered he had a family," she said dejectedly. Doug came into the house crestfallen, slipping through the tiny space she left him.

  On the living room table, a stack of papers rested. Doug winced.

  "I need those signed, Doug."

  "Honey, it doesn't have to be like this. We can work this out!"

  "Work it out?" She scoffed. "When? Did a slot suddenly open in your schedule? Because this is the first time this week you've come home."

  "I'm this close to a breakthrough in the case. This last girl who went missing is the third person with a connection to Betty from the bakery. I slept at the station. I've been working around the clock!"

  "Yes, same as you did the last time you had a breakthrough, which—oh, coincidence—you keep having ever since..." She averted her eyes. "Ever since the accident."

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  A car honked, and like a flash, his wife began grabbing suitcases he was too distracted by the divorce papers to notice.

  "Is that him?" Doug asked, angry and humiliated. "Is that your new boyfriend, Vanessa? Eh? What are you going to do when he has to leave for work, eh? Are you going to ditch him too? Eh?"

  "Stop yelling at me! This is all your fault. You just had to be here with your family. But you're too self-absorbed, just like that day. You just had to be there with her."

  Doug's entire body tensed. He'd never punched a woman, but she was really pushing him to the limit. Vanessa noticed his eyes, glittering with fury, and laughed mockingly.

  "What are you going to do, Doug? You think you can punch your way out of every problem? No wonder you never finished college." She exited the house and turned one last time. "Now, if you can be an adult for one second, perhaps you can make it so your daughter doesn't follow your footsteps. Or did you forget?"

  The car raced out of view. The windows were tinted, but he didn't need to see his face; he would recognise that fancy car anywhere. Vanessa was dating her divorce attorney. Doug made a tantrum right on his front porch, kicked the grass, and pulled his hair. Then, shaking his head, he got back in his pickup and drove to the convenience store.

  He hadn't forgotten about his "other daughter"—it was just that she didn't want to see his face. Doug didn't know whether it was her mother's handiwork, the schools, the boyfriends, or even society as a whole, but she blamed him for every little misery in her life. Each of those tiny moments when she left her room, she would give him a glance of hatred and disgust, like the look you would give to a hobo who just soiled himself right next to you.

  If he was distracted from his family, it was his own choice. He might not be smart enough to get big A's, but he was still a cop. He had overheard the conversations, the name-calling, the contempt with which his girl would refer to him to her friends. He pretended not to notice and continued to provide. But today, that was just it.

  The young convenience store clerk was idly watching his phone, probably NSFW stuff, judging by his blushed face at the sight of Doug clearing his throat in front of him.

  "Evening, officer, how may I... Oh, hey Doug, still on the clock, I see. Burning the midnight oil?"

  He dropped the Kokanee six-pack heavily on the register. He wasn't in the mood to talk.

  "Wow, thought you'd left the stuff. You sure, bud?"

  "Mind your own business, son."

  "Sorry, boss. That'd be $17.37."

  Doug winced at the night fee. Was the kid getting smart with him? He glared in his direction.

  "Oh, my bad. It was $14.87—charged you an extra one. Sorry again!"

  "Tsk. Keep the change."

  Doug dismissively tossed the money and got back to his truck, cracking open the first beer. He frowned his nose at the acrid yet compelling smell. Digging in his pocket, he produced his sobriety badge. The golden Roman numeral five on a black coin looked at him sideways, frowning, judging him. He tossed it through the window and downed the beer in one big gulp. There went his seven years of sobriety, just like his marriage, his career, his family... Before he knew it, dawn had already come, and he was on his last beer.

  He drove to the precinct and walked past his coworkers. They all knew—the smell gave him away. He washed his face and put on his uniform. It was time to pay Betty a visit.

  Doug walked into the bakery, still early in the morning, and the tinkling bell announced his presence. It was a good thing that they opened this early, since he doubted he would be lucid in the afternoon. A homey smell of fresh bread made his mouth water, and he suddenly remembered that he hadn't eaten anything in the past 24 hours.

  The woman herself welcomed him in, wearing a red uniform she'd commissioned after reading it gave her store a more reliable and professional presence. The big bold letters on her apron featuring the name of the shop, "Mama Bear's Pastries", with a tiny brown bear smiling and eating a honey-dipped chocolate chip cookie, made the effort more cute than effective. She had her clientele, though.

  "Hey Doug. Same old, same old?"

  "Hey Betty. Not today. Any chance you've finally sent that kid to school?"

  "Ha! Not on my watch. Want to try the new doughnuts?"

  "Don't know if I should—I'm on a diet... You know school is good for kids, right? Teaches them to read and stuff?"

  "Come on! Jam-filled, glazed, and topped with rainbow confetti. Besides, you and I both know that school isn't that good. Don't want strangers putting ideas into my little boy's head. Not all that glitters is gold, Doug."

  "Fine. I'll take a few of these new doughnuts. I have a few questions for you."

  "Ah. Straight to business, I see. Come."

  She dusted the flour off her hands and signalled him to the back of the store. Taking a seat next to the round breakfast table, he got his notepad out of the inner pocket of his uniform.

  "When was the last time you saw Hannah?"

  "Who?"

  "Don't play dumb with me, Betty. I know she was part of your group."

  "Ah, yes. The young girl—such a shame she didn't stay with us a little longer. I assumed she got out of town, but you wouldn't be here asking me questions if that were the case, right?"

  "Right. I'll repeat myself. When was the last time you saw her?"

  Betty scratched her head, thinking for a few moments.

  "About two weeks ago, we were having a party. She had a good time—very feisty, that one. Such a shame."

  "And where was this?"

  Betty seemed to hesitate for a moment, but Doug wouldn't relent so easily.

  "In the Olympic View Park."

  "Olympic View?" Doug frowned. The place was mostly wild, hardly the type to hold a party. "Why there?"

  "What can I say? We enjoy getting closer to nature. You should come someday."

  Doug put his notepad down. Something fishy was going on here. First, people went missing near Broom Hill, then they turned out to be connected to a group that held parties there?

  "You know what? I think I will. When is your next meeting?"

  Betty opened her mouth but didn't say anything. She probably wasn't expecting Doug to be so readily accepting of her invite.

  "Eh, you know, I should probably consult with the rest..."

  "Why? Do you have something to hide?"

  "It's not that—it's just that you're an American, Doug."

  "Yeah, and? What, I'm stupid because I was born a few hundred miles south?"

  "It's not that. Our group—it's not a literature club. There are some things that you're not ready to understand, Doug."

  "Try me."

  Seeing that he wouldn't give up without giving her trouble, she bit her lip and slowly nodded.

  "Fine. Be at the park at midnight tonight."

  "Midnight? Sounds scary."

  "We'll initiate you into the group. If you don't show up, there won't be any second chances, got it?"

  Doug lifted his hands and smiled. "Don't shoot—I'll be there."

  Doug exited the store, not before downing the doughnuts, and dawdled through the city while waiting for nightfall. He tried catching some sleep in the patrol car, but for some reason he couldn't quite fall asleep, and instead it just made him more nervous to feel at fault. He tried to keep his mind clear of intrusive thoughts.

  What he did to the bastard who ran over his little girl like a street dog wouldn't repeat itself. It didn't matter how angry he felt—there were some lines not worth crossing. He imagined dying this very night, heading right into the midst of danger with some unknown group, zero backup. Would anyone miss him? The divorce would come through, and his daughter would go live with her mother. Perhaps it would be better for both of them for him to disappear, since according to their words, he caused them so much pain.

  "This world is broken," Doug sighed while patrolling. The law didn't work fast or efficiently enough to really contain crime—it was more about staving it off a bit from getting too out of hand. Criminals roamed the streets; dealers and fencers with known addresses were allowed to operate. Prostitution rings, left unchecked. At least here in Sooke things were mild, but back in NYC there were days when Doug questioned whether there even was a point in showing up to work. When he died, the only difference in the world would be some petty thieves getting away with it. Perhaps someone more capable would replace him, and even that grain of sand would be lost in the ocean along with his ashes. Would someone attend his funeral? He shook his head. No, his parents didn't care enough to travel all the way here, and his family wouldn't mourn. Maybe his buddies at the precinct would make a toast in his name. Maybe the local cop pub would put a picture of him on the wall, where maybe the occasional glance would settle for a moment, wondering, "Who is that?" until it faded away, and nothing remained.

  At least, if all went right tonight, there would be one less mystery in the world. For him, anyway.

  The moon was near its zenith, and the only sound that filled the night was the old tires of his pickup. He could see some lights in the distance, so he slowed down. The temperature was about right, and for some reason, Doug felt sad, like something was nearing its end. He got his wallet, not looking for money or credit cards, but for that one thing that made him focus on the present: a blond hair lock from his little girl, probably the only thing that remained of her in the world. Her mother had moved on, her sister never cared, and her grandparents hadn't met her. When he died, who would remember her? When there's no one left on Earth to remember us, will we have even existed?

  Doug got out of the truck and walked towards the campfire. Tongues of fire rose, and the crackling gave birth to little sparks that flew freely for a few seconds before disappearing into the darkness. In the penumbra, ten people welcomed him. He was expecting a dark robe, cloak-and-dagger cult, but instead, these people were wearing bright-coloured clothes, and crowns of flowers adorned their heads. They smiled warmly at him and gestured for him to come forward, which he did awkwardly.

  Swept up in the moment, he forgot his service weapon in the glove compartment. He was in for it all, and he let himself be carried by hand. The dark and gloomy woods turned bright under the many torches fixed near the trees, and merry talk started filling the heavy silence. He recognised some of the faces: Stuart from down the block, Richard the police chief, and many of the residents he'd seen while patrolling town.

  Kids ran around the forest, some playing hide and seek, some playing tag. In the distance, a figure loomed over the festival. It was Betty. Doug got serious and walked towards her, the ringleader of the group. As he approached, she put a cow skull over her face and lit a pyre that burnt brightly behind her.

  "Didn't think you'd actually show up, Doug. Ready to get anointed?"

  "Nice skull. Are we sacrificing a virgin?"

  "Ha. Nice one—very American. The skull is a symbol, Doug. It means impermanence. This skull belonged to my grandma's dairy cow. Now both of them are gone. Normally, everyone would be wearing their own, but we didn't want to seem threatening."

  "Thanks," he said sarcastically. "So, what do I do? Do I have to draw some weird sigil on my forehead with charcoal or something?"

  Betty shook her head. "No, Doug. You approach the fire. The spirits will demand sacrifice from you—proof that you're willing to go all the way."

  "I'm a bit short on chickens right now. Would've bought some poultry if I'd known, sorry."

  "Know this, Doug: what happens between you and them depends entirely on you. Don't get scared, just... let yourself go."

  "What nonsense are you talking about?"

  "Good luck, Doug."

  Shaking his head, Doug approached the fire and shrugged, looking behind to ask what he was supposed to sacrifice, but behind him, the woods were empty. Silent once again. The fire had died, but the moonlight shone blue over the raven-black pines and shrubs, providing him enough sight to know they weren't hiding.

  The fire's crackling grew louder, demanding his attention. He turned back to the pyre, which burnt fiercely, alive. Inside it, a world unknown, filled with streams of topaz and ruby, swirled mesmerisingly. It spoke to him silently, in a language so ancient it preceded written history. A tear ran down his cheek—he knew what it demanded.

  He pulled his wallet and fetched the hair lock, extending his hand to allow the golden strands to join the sizzling fire. A water drop fell on his head, and he looked up to see rain falling from the clear skies, and though doused, the fire kept burning.

  The woods had turned to a vision of fairies, glittering with the colours of the rainbow. He followed the path of daisies as the rain showered him. In that moment, Doug felt like a river running towards the ocean, fed by the ocean that had become rain. Perhaps when no one remembered him, he'd still exist, somehow, somewhere.

  The spirits of the roses joined him in his voyage past the woods and through the plains, towards Broom Hill. Visions of pink-red compound buds, growing like beehives, and alluring sun-shaped purple crowns—tulips that opened their petals to offer respite to the tiny butterflies that got tired of batting their wings against the unfathomable domain of air.

  The leaves of trees reflected the sun and glittered a thousand lush greens, more precious than the most expensive and purest of all emeralds. Birds made their homes inside them, furthering their beauty with azure feathers. Their attentive eyes followed a current unseen, like the ledger of summer's song, happily chirping their musical notes.

  Doug reached the top of Broom Hill and fell exhausted to the pasture. He hadn't felt the warmth of the sun like this in his life—nothing like artificial heating or torrid days. He was about to close his eyes when, on top of his chest, a brown bunny hopped.

  He saw its love and care in those beady eyes and petted the soft fur. He cried as he watched the bunny eat half a carrot and whispered, "I'm sorry. You can eat all the carrots that you want now. It's okay."

  Doug noticed that he didn't have the strength to get up anymore. He had solved the mystery of the missing people, and he was finally going to spend the afternoon with his little girl.

  He was happy.