2. Road Trip

It's an unseasonably warm day. It's already starting to feel hot and sticky - and promises to get worse, before it gets better. Cobb's Corners moves at an unhurried pace. Residents drift between storefronts. A cluster of old-timers hold court on benches by the Civil War Memorial, trading stories of days gone by.

The Gazette sits across the street from the memorial. It's a narrow two story building with three large windows overlooking the street. A brass plaque nailed to the front door reads Cobb’s Corners Gazette, Richard Wendell - Editor in Chief.

The bell above the door announces your entry.

Wendell looks up from his desk, studying the faces of the new arrivals - then recognizes Marcus and his eyes light up. "Well, well." He's on his feet before the door swings shut. "I wasn't sure if you'd actually come by." There's a hint of giddiness in his tone.

The office is a bit of a mess. Notes, pictures, and articles are strewn across the threadbare blue carpet as if a brawl had taken place here. The yellow plaster walls are smothered in disorderly layers of maps and newspaper pages.

Wendell sweeps a stack of files from a chair, gestures at it, appears to think better of it and remains standing himself - too excited to sit.

"So." He rubs his hands together. "What can I do for you?"

Wendell holds up a finger - wait - then crosses to the door. He checks the street, locks to door, then pulls the blind closed.

"Okay." He says in a low voice, returning to the group. "First off ..." He says - eyes fixed on Jocelyn. "I don't know anything about Indian burial grounds ... but I'm very intrigued. Maybe we can talk about that later."

He slowly scans from Jocelyn to Marcus, then to Clarissa. "Six months ago." He pauses, watching their reactions. "I was trying out a new emulsion I had created to take better photographs at night. While walking about town, I heard a peculiar sound coming from above."

He looks up as if hearing the sound again, searching the ceiling. "Looking up, I saw a fast-moving flying thing in the night sky."

Wendell goes quiet and continues to look up as if still watching the flying object. "It’s impossible to describe what I saw as I only caught a brief glimpse of it."

He lowers his eyes and scans the group with wide eyes. "What I did see was something ... unnatural. It gave me the shivers."

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple working visibly. "As it flew in front of the moon, I took a picture of it and then ran home."

He shakes his head, a look of deep regret crossing his face. "I was exhausted. I stuck the camera under my desk and fell sound asleep. Sometime before morning I awoke to the sound of the front door closing."

He pauses as if considering his next words.

His eyes find Marcus and he seems to gather the courage to continue. He points at the window. He holds his gaze on the blinds for a few seconds. "Looking up, I saw Deputy Cutter staring through that window."

His jaw tightens. "That's when I noticed the burning smell."

He sighs heavily and leans against the desk, crossing his arms. "The darkroom was in flames. I was barely able to put out the fire before it spread. The following morning, I went to the jail and confronted the deputy about the fire. Cutter made it clear that, 'Not only do you not have any evidence, who do you think people are gonna believe? Everyone knows you’re a liar and a troublemaker. If I hear any more of this rubbish, I promise you will not like what happens to you'."

He glances at Marcus. "I know this sounds crazy, but I really think this flying creature is involved in the disappearance of your friends."

"A rat?" He says turning and digging into a pile of papers nearby. "I don't think so, but could be. It was dark and I only caught a glimpse of it ..."

He pulls a sheet from the pile and holds it up. "Here it is!"

He inspects it carefully, then shrugs as he hands it over. "Not my best work."

Richard Wendell looks at Marcus's hand with confusion. "But, this could be the story of the century."

He looks up at Marcus with a pained expression. "This story could make my career - get me out of this town."

His expression shifts to anger. "I can't agree to that."