The Person Who Feeds VS The Person Who Hunts

Chapter Five, Part Two: The First Disappearance

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A Small Light Amidst Darkness

“Let’s go, then,” Marcus said on the spot, watching Kell frantically try to adjust his hair and tuck his wrinkled shirt back into his belt.

Marcus turned and began his descent down into the shaft, smirking back over his shoulder. “Where are your handcuffs, little boy? Did she take those as well?” he mocked.

Kell froze, staring at Marcus with a completely blank, embarrassed look. He stayed dead silent.

Marcus sighed, shaking his head. “Let it be. Now, come on!”

Kell quickly hurried to join him, still clumsily adjusting his clothes as he moved down into the opening. They descended deeper into the shaft, the daylight above fading away as the darkness began to swallow them step by step.

By the time they reached the bottom, it was pitch black. The darkness was so thick it felt like they were completely blind.

Marcus shoved his hand into his jacket and pulled his phone out. He clicked on the flashlight, and a sharp beam cut through the gloom. The light illuminated the decaying tunnel a few meters away, giving them a look that they expected. Kell started to fumble his own pockets as he searched for his phone, but Marcus was busy taking a look at the scene.

It was an old, functioning sewer line connected to the city. The pipes were entirely rusted away. Looking as though they would burst any second. Thick patches of damp moss clung to the concrete walls, and the water dripped from the ceiling. Even though the place was a filthy mess, an eerie, heavy silence hung in the air. The distant hum of the city above was completely dead down here. It felt like a tomb — a place left entirely unexplored.

“Got it!” Kell gasped and breathed heavily as his own flashlight clicked on.

Marcus didn’t turn around. “Alright. Keep your eyes open for anything useful tied to the case — and try not to look for trouble.”

Kell nodded his head, and they started to march forward.

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One Step at A Time

They explored the deep sewer like pirates tracking hidden treasures, navigating a maze of old drains and rusted pipes. The wet, sticky floors echoed with the sharp slap of footsteps. Sewage water splashed up over their pants as they went. They had come so far into the dark tunnels that the entrance behind them felt completely lost, miles away from where they stood.

After looking for a while, they came forward to two big tunnels. The left side was wrapped in complete darkness, too pitch-black to walk without a flashlight, while the right had a flickering light all the way through. Kell didn’t hesitate for a second.

“I’ll take the right side!” he called out, rushing ahead into the tunnel before Marcus would say a word.

Marcus watched his partner run off like a small baby dodging a chore. He let out a heavy sigh, muttering to himself, “You've got to be kidding me.” Turning his back on the light, he flicked his beam forward and stepped right into the tunnel of complete darkness.

The moment Marcus felt like he had reached the middle of the tunnel, he stopped to systematically explore each and every corner. For a long time, he didn’t find anything except thick moss and stagnant filth. But as he pushed ahead, a sharp reflection glinted under the beam of his flashlight. He stepped closer, looking down to find a single penny resting on the floor.

He went closer and knelt. He picked it up and wiped the sewer filth off to examine it. It was an old, slightly rusty penny with the year 1945 minted on it.

“Hm, recent rust. Quite old, but in great shape,” Marcus said to himself while looking at the penny. He continued, “But what is it doing over here?” He looked up at the ceiling; there were many drainage holes that led straight to where he was standing.

Marcus stood up, looking left and right with the penny in his hand. He couldn’t make up his mind whether to use it as evidence or keep it for luck! Before Marcus could do anything, his phone started to vibrate. He looked down at the screen — it was a message from Kell!

“You need to see this!”

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A Letter for you, My Friend

Marcus looked at the penny, sighed, slipped it into his pocket, and made his way to meet Kell. Walking through the tunnel under the flickering lights, he spotted Kell from a distance, staring intently down at something. As Marcus approached, Kell stepped aside to make room for him. The moment Marcus looked down, any uncertainty vanished — he was completely sure now.

Squished tightly beneath two heavy pipes were a pair of socks, shoes, and an entire black suit.

Marcus bent down slightly, slipping his hand into his left pants pocket to grab his gloves. He snapped the leather tight over his fingers; his eyes locked onto the trapped evidence. He gave the fabric a firm yank, pulling the squished suit free, which caused the loose socks and shoes to rattle and fall to the ground. Standing, he held up the suit, trying to figure out if it perfectly matched the missing person they were hunting for.

“In the case report, was there anything mentioned about what he was wearing?” Marcus questioned Kell.

“No, the guy is deeply into fashion — likes to change his outfit every minute,” Kell replied, shaking his head. “He’s practically a walking wardrobe. But Cherry Velvet did tell me he was wearing a black suit!”

“Hmm.” Marcus stretched out the crumpled black suit to get a better look at it. He held it up in front of his own chest like a man about to try it on, staring through the fabric into the empty space of the tunnel.

“Why leave his belongings behind?” Marcus mused aloud. “Doesn’t a criminal know that leaving evidence is like putting out poisoned cheese for a clever rat?”

Kell nodded, entirely agreeing with the logic. “You’re right. But what if he wants us to eat the cheese?”

“What do you mean?” Marcus asked, looking over.

“Every idiot knows not to leave behind clues when they fuck up,” Kell explained, pacing a step. “But what if the culprit wants us to follow this trail? I mean, think about it. Yes, Vance wore a suit, but a guy like him has a dozen of them. What if the killer grabbed an identical suit from the Sterling family wardrobe and shoved it under these pipes just to throw us off? How can we even prove this is the exact one he wore tonight? I’m telling you, Mac, someone is trying to trick us.”

Marcus quietly absorbed what Kell had just said. He glanced back down at the fabric. “You make a good point. We might not know for sure… but the Sterling family definitely will.”

Kell’s face immediately soured at the mention of the name. “Oh, those sons of bitches! They’ll eat us alive if we show up at their mansion without any real information about their missing son.”

Marcus smirked, holding the suit up high. “Who says we don’t know anything about their missing son?” He rattled the fabric playfully. “We know exactly what he’s missing — his clothes!”

Kell burst out laughing, the sound booming in the enclosed space. “The missing part is done; now it’s time to find the son!”

Their laughter echoed loudly through the pitch-black tunnel, momentarily breaking the heavy silence of the sewer.

“Jokes aside,” Marcus said, his chuckles fading as his eyes locked back onto the dark fabric. “Time to see where this takes us.”

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Stir The Sterling Pot

Marcus and Kell returned to the entrance, climbing out from the darkness one by one. They slid the heavy iron lid back into place and hopped into the car, driving straight toward the Sterling palace.

After a few minutes, they reached the Sterling mansion, which stood about ten blocks away from the Lambaster’s palace. The guards allowed them through the massive front gates, revealing well-trimmed gardens, lines of luxury cars, and a house so grand and beautiful it stood in total contrast to the ugly personalities of the people living inside it.

They parked their car near the corner of the main gate and walked up to the doorstep, where they were promptly welcomed by the housemaids. Once inside, they were escorted to the main hall and made themselves comfortable on an expensive couch.

As they settled in, Kell looked around, his eyes wide as he took in the flooded opulence of high-end paintings and architectural designs. Marcus, however, kept his eyes moving, searching the halls for Lawrence Vance.

Marcus leaned over and patted Kell’s knee. When Kell leaned forward, Marcus murmured in a quiet voice, “Whatever you say in here, just make sure you don’t say ‘Fuck you.’”

Kell smirked a bit. “Yeah, I’ll try my best,” he whispered back, leaning right back into the cushions and letting his big fat ass enjoy a comfortable seat.

Marcus shook his head slightly, a subtle glint of pride passing through him at how well Kell was behaving.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway as Mr. Lawrence entered, his golden cane tapping the marble floor. Dressed in a perfectly ironed gray suit, he had an unlit Dunhill International cigarette dangling from his mouth. Marcus stood up first, followed by Kell, and they exchanged stiff greetings before sitting back down.

Lawrence settled into a polished Eames Lounge Chair across from them. He set his cane aside and retrieved a gold S.T. Dupont lighter, its sharp ping filling the room as he lit his cigarette.

In a low, bold voice, he demanded, “So. Anything about my son?”

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Marcus cleared his throat. “Not yet, sir. But we found something, and we need your help to verify if it belongs to him.”

Lawrence grumbled, blowing a thick cloud of grey smoke into the air. “My wife has been crying all day for her boy, and I have nothing to comfort her with. No news at all.” He sighed heavily. “What kind of help do you want?”

Marcus pulled a heavy plastic evidence bag from his side, revealing the scrambled black fabric suit inside. He held it up. Lawrence stared at it through the haze of smoke, his expression hardening.

“What the fuck is this?”

“We need you to tell us,” Marcus said, keeping his voice level. “Is this the suit your son was last seen wearing?”

Lawrence rubbed his forehead, a mask of restless irritation crossing his face. Instead of looking closer, he shouted for his staff. Marcus and Kell exchanged a confused glance.

Four housemaids — Clara, Martha, Gable, and Sherral — quietly entered the hall and stood in a line beside Lawrence.

“These are the only people who know my son inside-out, from his wet beds to his cold showers,” Lawrence mocked, a cruel smirk on his lips. “Ask them anything.”

The maids looked at the stained fabric one by one. Clara stepped closer, squinting at the stitching. “Yes, sir!” she confirmed. “This was definitely the one.”

Marcus looked over at Kell, both of them nodding slowly. The suit was a match.

Before Marcus could ask Clara a follow-up question, Lawrence sharply snapped his fingers. “Back to work, ladies!”

The maids quickly dismissed themselves. Lawrence pointed the tip of his golden cane directly at Marcus’s chest. “Look, Officer. I want my son back in one piece, or I will personally make sure to burn your fucking station to the ground.”

Holding back a wave of hot anger, Marcus replied in a deadly cool voice, “Mr. Lawrence, how are you going to burn a place that is already burnt out from the inside?” He stood up, tightly gripping the evidence bag. “If you ever feel like you’re short on kerosene to burn the precinct, please let me know.”

Marcus turned on his heel and walked out of the hall. Kell pushed himself up, his large frame shifting as he adjusted his pants. He locked eyes straight with Lawrence, giving him a hard, warning glare before following Marcus out.

As they crossed the threshold, Lawrence’s voice echoed through the high ceilings. “Officer Marcus Ramsward Hunter!”

They both froze, turning back toward the room.

Lawrence stood up from his Eames chair and marched toward them, stopping mere inches from Marcus’s face. “I hope this case won’t turn out like the one you could never solve.”

Marcus’s eyes grew heavy with tears, his confident posture crumbling as his oldest trauma resurfaced. Kell sensed the change but didn’t understand it.

Lawrence smirked, leaning in closer. “Look at you. What a loser,” he taunted, lowering his voice. “You think you can act tough in front of me? Remember, I hold your fate in my hands.”

Marcus stood in absolute silence, forced to absorb every piece of filth Lawrence threw at him. Kell stepped forward to intervene, but Marcus raised a hand, silently confronting him to stay back.

Lawrence gave a creepy, satisfied smile, pointing his cane toward the front exit. “Now get out of here and find my fucking son.”

Marcus and Kell left the mansion in a cloud of heavy, suffocating disgrace. They climbed into the car and sat in total silence for a long moment. Marcus stared straight ahead, trying desperately to swallow back his tears, his voice cracking slightly as he finally spoke.

“Wanna have a drink?”

“Yeah, man,” Kell replied, his tone remarkably gentle and comforting.

Marcus started the engine, and they drove away — heading for a bar far, far away from this miserable shithole.

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Give me a Drink!

Marcus and Kell entered the bar, filled with voices and jazz music. They picked a secluded seat at the end of the bar. The waiter approached.

“Two beers, please,” Kell said, while Marcus remained silent.

“Coming right up, sir!” the waiter said before leaving.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it?” Kell asked, noticing Marcus’s troubled expression.

“It feels like that part of me never left! It pulls me down every time I try to forget,” Marcus replied, looking into Kell’s eyes.

Kell leaned in. “What are you feeling guilty about? Which case was that Bastard talking about?”

Marcus took a deep breath and said, “It was the case that made me both strong and weak. The one that took away my peace — The Case 450606!”