A single day had passed since the incident in Wexford. Ethan Payne and John Rails made their way toward the town uninvited, without so much as a phone call or a formal letter. No one had sought Payne’s assistance, but he was not the sort of man who waited for an invitation. He gravitated toward the scent of a mystery as if drawn by an invisible force.
The sky hung low and overcast, and the earth exhaled the damp breath of early rain. Payne’s car pulled up beside a small hotel in the town center—an old but well-tended structure standing silent among wet beech trees. A small town, but at least there is a bed to sleep on, he thought privately.
The lobby was thick with the scent of aged carpets and weak coffee. Payne approached the desk and said in his measured voice, “We reserved Room 309.”
The young clerk checked the ledger, gave a slight nod, and handed him the key. “Have a pleasant evening,” she said with a polite smile.
“Before we go up,” Payne stopped her, “what is your name?”
She looked up at him. “Theresa.”
“Theresa,” he repeated, his tone sharpening with gravity, “could you tell me a little about what happened here yesterday?”
She hesitated. Something in his gaze—perhaps the way he leaned forward, causing her own voice to nearly fail her—compelled her to answer. “A boy who used to work here during the summer break... he disappeared. It was dreadful. He lives not far from here.”
Payne drew a small slip of paper from his pocket and placed it on the counter. “Could you write down the address for me?”
Theresa hurried to pick up her pen. She knew she wasn't supposed to disclose details about the town’s residents, yet she found herself unable to refuse. When she finished, he took the paper, offered a curt thanks, and turned toward the stairs.
John lingered for a moment, wondering how his partner had once again managed to extract information within minutes. In the room, Payne spread the paper on the table and read silently: “43 Briar Hill Lane.”
Beneath the address, a phone number was scrawled in a feminine hand. He tore off the bottom strip and tossed it into the bin. “We’re heading out, John,” he said without looking back.
John sighed; he hadn't even had a chance to comb his hair. “The fun begins,” he muttered to himself.
As they descended to the lobby, Theresa waved goodbye. This time, Payne did not respond. He had already obtained what he required. John pulled an old map of Wexford from his pocket, which he had scavenged from the municipal library in Rainders.
“Where did you get that?” Payne asked. John smirked.
Payne leaned over the map. “This is the lake,” he said. “We’ll need to stop there as well.” After a moment, he added, “And there’s a museum here, up the hill.”
John squinted at the map. “I don’t see any museum,” he said. “Only an old manor.”
A ghost of a smile touched the corner of Payne’s mouth. “Then we shall visit that, too,” he said quietly, tucking the map into his pocket. “But first, we begin with 43 Briar Hill Lane.”
It was eleven in the morning. Payne and John had arrived in Wexford early, determined not to waste another moment. The narrow dirt road led them to the address—43 Briar Hill Lane. They pulled up to the driveway and suddenly noticed a figure standing by the door.
A young woman, her blonde hair pinned back meticulously, stood there clad in a dark grey coat. Broken rays of sunlight piercing the clouds caught her hair, and Payne found himself watching her for a moment longer than intended. When John shifted his gaze toward her, he saw what Payne had already realized: the large letters stitched in faded gold upon her back: CID.
Another obstacle, Payne thought. Wow, thought John—though not for the same reason.
They approached slowly. The young woman was speaking with an elderly lady on the doorstep, whose voice broke between sentences. Silent tears traced paths down her cheeks. Even without a word, it was clear—this was surely the mother of the missing boy.
Payne did not wait for an introduction. He stepped forward, interrupting their conversation. “Pardon the intrusion,” he said, his voice calm yet firm. “My name is Ethan Payne. I am a private investigator. I have come to help you find your son—pro bono, no strings attached.”
The woman looked at him, her eyes red and swollen. For a moment, she gripped his hands as if seizing a final lifeline. “Promise me you’ll find him,” she whispered.
“I promise,” he replied instantly. There was no hint of hesitation in his voice, only that singular resolve John had come to know so well.
Payne turned his back on the blonde woman from the CID, as if her presence were entirely inconsequential. “Come, John,” he said briefly. “We have a lake to visit.”
The two strode toward the car, but a soft voice from behind halted their steps. “Excuse me... excuse me!”
Payne turned with slight reluctance. The young woman approached with quick strides, her hand extended. A faint smile played on her lips. “It will be a pleasure working with you,” she said. “My name is Haily. Haily Huddersfield.”
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Payne did not relish the thought of collaborating with a government representative. Nevertheless, he had little choice. Perhaps she will prove to be a necessary asset, he mused.
He extended his hand. “The pleasure is mine. I am Ethan Payne. You may call me Payne.” John joined them, shaking her hand as well, and in one simple motion, the two became three.
“What do you think, Haily?” Payne asked.
“Pardon?” She looked up.
“About the boy. No—about the body. The missing heart. What do you believe caused it?”
The wind picked up, and the recently dried earth gave off the heavy scent of approaching rain. The trees hissed in the gale, and the sky thickened above them like lead. Haily tensed, knitting her brow.
“At first, I thought it was cannibalism,” she said at last. “But no. A cannibal wouldn't leave a corpse behind. This is something else. Something deeper.”
Payne watched her in silence. To his surprise, she was thinking exactly as he was. “Perhaps she really can be of help...” he murmured, half to himself.
Haily arched an eyebrow. “What was that?” But he did not answer.
A voice echoed through the mist, rolling over the hill. The three of them froze and looked ahead. “Haily! Haily!” The voice drew nearer, heavy and labored.
A moment later, a figure emerged through the rain—a broad-shouldered man, his face flushed and his shirt stained with mud. His breaths were heavy, each one sounding like a small struggle. Fitting for a man weighing over a hundred and twenty kilos, Payne thought, observing him with a clinical eye. In his right hand, the man clutched a small box of donuts, as if it were the last thing on earth he would ever relinquish.
“Miss Haily! Miss Haily!” he called again, gasping. “Good that you’re here... you see, I... I need you to see something. Now.” He spoke in a rush, stammering but determined, resting a heavy hand on his knee to catch his breath. “I am the town Inspector,” he finally announced, almost proud of himself.
Haily reached out to shake his hand. Payne and John exchanged looks—surprised, and perhaps a bit repulsed. The Inspector looked as though he hadn't bathed in a week; his shirt clung to his skin, and the scent of sweat drifted from him even through the rain.
But Haily did not flinch. She shook his hand with a small, steady smile. Payne and John looked at each other again. They realized then that Haily’s delicate appearance was merely a mask. She was far tougher than they were. Despite themselves, they smiled. This partnership was going to be interesting.
“What is your name?” Haily asked politely.
“Inspector Harold. Harold Cobb.” He scratched his neck and chuckled softly. “Look, you can call me Harold. Is that alright, Miss Haily?” He laughed again—a bashful laugh, attempting to mask his embarrassment.
Haily smiled at him, a polite but sincere expression. “Certainly, Harold. What did you wish to tell me?”
The smile on the Inspector’s face vanished instantly. His expression shifted as easily as a light being extinguished. All the levity left him, replaced by a heavy, almost menacing gravity.
“The body, Miss Haily,” he said at last, his voice deeper than before. “The body we found by the lake...” He paused, searching for words. “We found her last week. But...” He stopped again, taking a deep breath. “The body... it isn't the same woman we found by the lake.”
A heavy silence fell over the three of them. The wind passed between them, carrying a chill that defied explanation. Payne was the first to recover; his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. John looked at Haily, and she at him, and in that moment of perfect synchronization, the three of them spoke as one:
“What?!”
“Take us to the body,” Haily said aggressively.
Harold began to falter. “Certainly, certainly, Miss Haily. Only... who are they?” He pointed at Payne and John.
“They are with me,” the CID agent said without hesitation, viewing Payne and John as full partners in the investigation. He nodded without argument and immediately led them toward the morgue.
They climbed into the vehicles. Haily joined Payne in his car, sliding into the passenger seat. Through the windows, they could see the flickering lights of Harold’s car in the distance, leading the way out of town.
The weather turned in an instant. The wind intensified, carrying sharp shards of rain that tapped against the glass. The sky was a bruised purple-grey, and lightning tore through the darkness, followed by thunder that seemed to rumble from the very depths of the earth.
A thunderous silence reigned in Payne’s car. The only sound was the wiper, creaking rhythmically across the windshield. Payne knew he should have replaced it long ago. In the back sat John, his gaze frozen on the world outside. Since setting foot in Wexford, he had hardly uttered a word.
“You’re very quiet,” Payne said suddenly, catching his eye in the rearview mirror. His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
“Everything’s fine,” John replied. His voice was cracked, nearly a whisper.
Payne nodded and said nothing more. Something began to stir within him—an old instinct. The body first, he told himself. Then the house. Then we’ll understand everything.
The drive passed in total silence. Harold stopped his car and honked, and Payne followed suit. Before them loomed a grey building: POST-MORTEM EXAMINATIONS.
At the entrance, the three donned masks and gloves. “Harold,” Haily called out. “I’d like you to tell me a bit more before we go inside.”
Haily stopped. “What do you mean, the body isn't the one you found? What is happening here?”
Inspector Harold shrugged. “I can't explain it, Miss Haily... we received photos of a woman found by the lake—dead, her chest cavity open and the heart missing. When we arrived... it wasn't the woman from the photos.”
Payne stood to the side, listening intently. Photos... he thought, and just as he was about to ask, Haily beat him to it. “I’d like to see those photos, Harold, while we examine the body.”
“Then get them for me at any cost,” Haily said with resolve. “In the meantime, take us to the body.”
Harold led the way. A faint scent of decay began to fill the air. John struggled not to retch, but Payne and Haily remained steady. They reached Room 309. Inside waited three surgeons. One of them, Christopher, welcomed them.
Payne and Haily stood before the table. The sheet was pulled back, revealing the corpse. John exited the room, unable to bear the sight. Payne stared at the gaping void in the woman’s chest. The incision was too precise.
Haily couldn't stop a single tear from falling. Payne touched her shoulder briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said. She only nodded.
Payne questioned Christopher about the findings. "The chest was already open when she was found," Christopher explained. "No bleeding. Bite marks on the neck... possibly a human. A cannibal."
Payne examined the body himself, noting wood abrasions on the fingers—signs of a struggle. Haily watched him, impressed by his clinical focus. He learned that the deceased was Betsy Anderson, a single mother of two. The children were with a neighbor, Doris.
They stepped out of the morgue into the fading light. “It isn't the right time now,” Haily said. “We’ll go tomorrow.”
A sharp metallic sound of a lock closing nearby signaled the end of the day. “We’ll go tomorrow,” Payne agreed quietly.
