Afternoon sunlight filtered through low gray clouds, casting long shadows across the uneven stone road. A black carriage stood waiting, drawn by two ebony horses, and a stony-faced officer stood beside it. The carriage door swung open outside the Bureau of Suppression and Supernatural Defense. Charles emerged slowly, leaning on a silver-handled cane for support. Though his leg wound had mended enough that he no longer needed a cane before, the recent ordeal and unsettling visions had forced him back to using it.
He scanned the premises, spotting a familiar face: Joseph, tall and lean, waving at him with a tense but friendly smile.
"Joseph again?" Charles asked, lacing his voice with mild surprise.
Joseph responded casually, though worry lingered in his eyes. "You're hurt, so I'm free to help out. Everyone else is tied up with something, so I volunteered to come with you."
Charles exhaled. "Lucky me," he said with a wry note, stepping toward the carriage. Joseph helped guide him in.
"You sure have a knack for ending up with a cane," Joseph teased, gaze flicking to the silver top. Sunlight glinted off the polished metal.
Charles sighed more audibly this time. "Knack? More like cursed. Since I got involved with the special unit, I've needed this cane twice in two days thanks to injuries and illusions."
The carriage rattled off from the Bureau, heading toward the Berg family's home. Charles peered out at the world as it passed by, but the edges of the view warped in his mind. Even the shadows of roadside trees seemed to bend unnaturally, branches twisting blackly toward him.
He heard faint, spectral laughter. Alarmed, he blinked rapidly, attempting to dispel the illusions. It didn't fully work, though they receded to a half-seen corner of his vision.
Observing Charles's disquiet, Joseph spoke gently, "Don't worry. I'm right here. You're not alone."
Charles nodded, forcing a slight grin that failed to mask his fear. He dreaded these phantoms might disrupt his talk with Michael's family. That thought tightened his grip on the cane, knuckles whitening.
Upon arriving at the Berg home, Charles climbed down cautiously. The late-afternoon sun, somewhat dimmed by clouds, gave the old wooden house a forlorn air. Joseph hung back a short distance, letting Charles handle matters on his own.
Charles inhaled shakily, steeling himself, then rapped on the worn wooden door. The resulting knock seemed to echo in the stillness. Footsteps approached from inside. The door swung open to reveal Catherine, Michael's wife, eyes swollen and red as though she'd wept often. Yet the moment she recognized Charles, hope flared in her face.
"Mr. Detective!" she cried, her voice trembling with excitement. "You have news about Michael, right? Please say you do!"
Charles could almost feel his chest constrict at the hope in her tone. He started to answer, but she called over her shoulder before he could speak:
"Mother! Tommy! Charles is here!"
Light footsteps pattered from the back of the house. The older mother figure and the young boy came hurrying into the doorway. Their faces mirrored Catherine's hopeful longing. That unguarded, optimistic glow only deepened Charles's guilt—he was here to disappoint them, after all.
He hesitated, meeting their expectant gazes with a leaden sense of remorse. Their simple faith in him pricked his conscience.
At that moment, Charles's illusions strangely ebbed away, letting him see them clearly—Mother Berg, Catherine, and little Tommy. The realization that he'd come to dash their hopes was a crushing weight.
"Um…" he began, voice tight, grip on his cane trembling. "I… I wanted to update you about searching for Michael."
All fell silent, eyes glued to him, hush so absolute it felt stifling.
"I do have a lead on who might be involved in his disappearance," he said, trying to choose the gentlest words. His voice wavered. "I'm working with the authorities to help find him in any way I can."
Though not the joyous news of "We've found him," the fact that there was progress at all eased their tension. He sensed them relaxing a fraction, relief flickering across their faces.
"Thank you," Catherine whispered, tears in her eyes. "Truly, thank you. We're so grateful you haven't given up on finding Michael."
Charles nodded, his own heart stabbed by guilt. "I promise I'll do everything I can," he said. A small lie, but it lodged bitterly in his throat.
A lie—even with good intentions—was still a lie. He regretted feeding them false hope, but he couldn't stand to extinguish the light in their eyes by admitting he could no longer continue. He couldn't bear to reveal how dire his own condition had become, or how uncertain the search truly was.
Once they finished talking, Charles stepped out, leaving them with faint hope intact. The hush as he boarded the carriage again was thick with tension. When the wheels resumed turning, the click-clack echo seemed to resound in a deep emptiness.
"I'm sorry," Charles muttered under his breath. "I'm a coward."
Seated across from him, Joseph caught that remark but said nothing. He understood. Telling Michael's family the harsh truth in his condition would have been agonizing, and Charles simply hadn't the heart to do so.
Then Charles asked softly, "Can we stop somewhere, so I can walk a bit? Clear my head?"
Though Joseph disliked leaving his friend alone, he saw the trembling in Charles's hands, the pallor of his face. "All right," he relented. "But I won't be far. Call if you need me."
In the afternoon sunlight, Charles found a battered wooden bench under a large tree near the roadside. Sitting down, he let the swirl of thoughts overtake him. Beyond the Berg family's plight, he remained haunted by that near brush with death. That monstrous sight he couldn't forget left him trembling inside.
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering how they'd almost failed to escape. Just a fraction of a second's oversight and he'd have died. Surviving the ordeal but now facing these lingering nightmares—the illusions that flickered at the edges of his awareness—unsettled him deeply. Cold sweat beaded on his temples, his face pale as chalk as he sat there, hands shaking. These symptoms didn't escape Joseph's notice as he watched Charles from a respectful distance. The tree's shadow stretched over them both.
Just then, Charles glanced up to see Joseph approaching, but the figure drawing near froze his blood. Joseph's face was twisted into a hideous grin, lips sewn from ear to ear with dark red thread, fresh blood seeping from every stitch.
Charles's entire body jolted with horror, heart hammering so loudly he feared it might burst. Again, illusions. The bright day turned cold in an instant.
The figure extended a hand toward him.
Charles thought it was time to continue their journey. Grasping his silver-headed cane for support, he pushed himself to his feet, and with his other hand, reached out to take the offered hand for assistance in standing.
In that moment, hearing footsteps behind him, Charles glimpsed another Joseph—the real one—rushing over.
"Charles? What are you doing?" the real Joseph called out, voice perplexed. "Who's that? Someone you know?"
Ice ran through Charles's veins. If there were two Josephs, then whose hand was he holding?
The hush that followed felt like a string stretched to its breaking point. A prickle of dread coursed through him as he realized something was terribly wrong. He jerked away from the false Joseph, but the figure yanked on his arm, forcibly pulling him forward as if to drag him into thin air.
A chill terror jabbed into Charles's chest. He looked down, seeing his own arm vanish up to the wrist, as though swallowed by emptiness.
"Don't move!" Joseph's shout echoed with urgent command. Charles could see genuine alarm in his friend's eyes as Joseph locked his gaze on the imposter still gripping Charles.
Time lurched. Everything else—birdsong, passing stray dogs—froze in place. The birds that had been in mid-flight hung suspended in the air before suddenly dropping to the ground. Joseph had unleashed his power, halting motion entirely around them. But in capturing the intruder, he'd also immobilized Charles, pinned in that precarious half state, part of him vanishing in the void.
Charles's pulse thundered, mind spinning in horror. That captured arm felt suspended in somewhere both warm and eerily dry, so different from the cool, damp air around him. This stark contrast only heightened his terror. It was as though he hovered on the boundary of two worlds.
Joseph stood rigid as a statue, unable to move his own body either. His face shone with sweat as he glared at the false Joseph-like figure, feeling its violent struggle against the stasis. He knew he couldn't hold this forever. The longer he tried, the greater the risk of the intruder breaking free—or of Charles being torn away completely, disappearing without a trace.
Heart pounding, Joseph trembled. "Charles," he spoke softly, though his body remained rigid under the strain. "Hang on. I'll— I'll help you, but you have to keep calm."
Charles swallowed hard, trying to steady his racing thoughts, but the fear was too tangible. "Joseph! Release your power!" he hollered, voice high and wavering, sweat streaming down his temples.
Joseph hesitated, wrestling with the risk. Finally, he relinquished his control. Instantly, the world resumed normal flow—birds flitted overhead, the stray dog barked once. Freed from stasis, Charles swung his cane in a desperate arc, striking the stranger who clutched his arm. The blow forced the figure to stagger back and let go.
Charles scrambled away, pulling his arm close. He double-checked the limb—relieved to see it was intact. Still, suspicion gnawed at him: whoever had seized him was not Joseph. The difference in manner was undeniable.
He caught his breath, remembering that illusions typically never spoke with perfect clarity or logic, mostly just faint voices or laughter. This time the figure addressed him with words, which was unusual, and it had allowed him to notice the difference.
Breathing in raggedly, Charles forced himself to stand upright again. And all Joseph could do was step to his side, the real Joseph, expression taut with concern. The illusions receded, but the reality of the danger remained.