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Second Chance Slaughter


Chapter 16: More Than Just a Missing Case



“This is our fourth visit today,” Sheriff Davis remarked as they approached Emily Peabody’s door. “Give me a quick rundown of this person’s profile,” she instructed Deputy Sheriff Jenkins.


“Yes, Sheriff,” Jenkins responded promptly. “Percy Peabody, a self-proclaimed psychic. Last seen on March 15, 2016, for an appointment with someone named Damien. He’s been missing ever since.”


“It’s been eight years. Have there been no developments in the case? What was the previous sheriff doing about this?” Davis questioned, but Jenkins remained silent.


Knock, knock!


“Sheriff Jenkins from Willowbrook. Open up,” Davis called out with an air of authority.


It took a moment before a young woman, around 20 years old, with disheveled hair and tired eyes, appeared at the door. She still wore anti-radiation glasses.


“Oh, sorry, I’ve been preoccupied. I’m Emily Peabody, Percy Peabody’s daughter,” she introduced herself, brushing her hair back and removing her glasses to greet her guests. “Come inside. I was expecting a call from Deputy Sheriff Jenkins before your arrival, but since I didn’t hear from him, I assumed you weren’t interested in the case.”


Davis shot Jenkins a sidelong glance.


“My apologies. Deputy Sheriff Jenkins here has been tied up with some reports we’ve been compiling. We just have a few questions about your father,” she explained as Emily led them into the living room.


Once settled in Emily’s living room, Davis and Jenkins couldn’t help but notice the stacks of books on psychic phenomena, mediums, and the paranormal lining the walls. In the center of the room sat a seance table adorned with a fortune teller’s crystal ball and a ouija board.


“We’ve left the room untouched, hoping he’ll come back someday, maybe saying he just needed a break. After all these years, we’re still hoping,” Emily said wistfully, her eyes filled with melancholy.


Sheriff Davis gently rubbed Emily’s arm, feigning sympathy while eager to get to the heart of the matter.


“Anyway, Emily, we have a few questions about your father,” Davis began. “How long has he been working in this business?”


“As far back as I can remember, this has been his only job,” Emily replied softly.


“Has he ever been involved in any... um, shady dealings?” Davis inquired cautiously, sensing Emily had likely been asked the same before.


“Not that I’m aware of,” Emily answered calmly.


“Did your father have any medical conditions?” Davis continued.


“He had hypertension, but he was diligent about taking his medication,” Emily explained.


“And this Damien, his last client before he disappeared, was he a regular client?” Davis pressed.


“I checked Dad’s logs. I know almost all his regulars. His last set of clients involved Ezra Creed, who visited often to speak to his deceased wife through Dad’s abilities. But Damien... there’s no record of him beyond that last appointment,” Emily replied.


“Did your father mention anything about this Damien before his appointment?” Sheriff Davis inquired.


“Not that I can recall. It was just another client appointment at the time. If I had known he would go missing after, I would have asked more questions. Who knows, we might have found him,” Emily replied.


“Has anyone else contacted you since your father went missing?” Davis continued.


“We’ve received several prank calls from different numbers after we posted our contact information online,” Emily explained.


The conversation then turned to probing questions about any peculiarities surrounding Percy’s disappearance and potential connections to other missing persons cases.


“Have you come across any of these people before?” Davis asked, opening a folder containing photos of recently missing individuals sent to her office.


Emily examined each photo carefully before shaking her head. “No, I’ve never seen these faces before.”


“I see,” Davis acknowledged.


“Do you think these people are related to my father’s disappearance?” Emily asked.


“We’re not certain yet,” Davis admitted honestly, “but we’ll keep you updated on any progress we make.”


Davis and Jenkins bid farewell to Emily Peabody, their thoughts swirling with the weight of unanswered questions. Once inside their vehicle, Davis exhaled deeply, her frustration palpable.


“Is this another dead end?” she muttered.


“Not quite,” Jenkins responded, his tone tinged with cautious optimism. “We did gather some intriguing details from those families.”


Davis perked up, intrigued despite her earlier doubts. “Such as?”


“One common thread: all the missing individuals are elderly men, aged 60 and above. They work in fields where income can be underreported, allowing them to avoid certain tax thresholds,” Jenkins explained.


Davis frowned, trying to connect the dots. “I fail to see the significance.”


“These criteria suggest the perpetrator may be targeting specific types of individuals,” Jenkins continued, his voice gaining urgency. “And in two cases, family members reported that their loved ones vanished shortly after meeting a client.”


The implications sent a chill down Davis’s spine. “Are you suggesting we have a serial killer on our hands?”


“It’s too soon to say,” Jenkins admitted, his expression grave. “We haven’t found any bodies yet.”



Avery sifted through stacks of profiles in the warehouse, his task clear: assign new targets for Lacuna and Siren Song without drawing attention from the organization.


Lacuna’s criteria were straightforward: men over 60, with a job allowing prolonged interaction. Siren Song fancied himself a crusader against prostitution.


Already, Avery had subtly guided Sheriff Davis towards Lacuna’s trail. If she was sharp, she’d realize this wasn’t just about missing persons. But he couldn’t risk sharing Lacuna’s next target; Lacuna might suspect collusion if he noticed.


“This one fits Lacuna perfectly,” Avery muttered, eyeing Donovan’s details. At 64, he posed as an unlicensed dentist, exploiting those unable to afford proper care.


These freeloaders avoid taxes but benefit from government support. The organization think that they should at least earn interest from them. The perfect way the organization could think of is through the Night Gallery.


“Wheels, deliver this to the Sheriff’s office in two days, discreetly,” Avery ordered.


“Yes, Boss.”


Opening his Cleaners of Night Gallery app, Avery sent Donovan’s profile to Lacuna, who replied with a simple smiling emoji.


The pieces were in motion, each move calculated to maintain secrecy and ensure the organization’s dark operations continued smoothly.

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