"Not in the apartment?! What do you mean not in the apartment, Mark?!" Charles cried, resisting the truth that was very obvious.

Anna wasn't home, indicating that she must have been abducted by Katy's murderer. Or worse, killed, just like her mother.

Charles was not ready to believe the latter. He settled down with a more acceptable theory, that she must be alive. At least, he hoped so.

Realizing, how close he was to losing his daughter too, he started looking for clues around the apartment.

Mark was relieved he didn't have to answer Charles' question, but the tension had just started. He knew he would have to be by his boss's side at his worst time. And, knowing Charles' skills, he was positive that they would be able to find the criminals.

But one question remained unanswered - 'why?'

Mark couldn't get around to the fact that who would want to hurt this kind man. Charles was a great person. His sole purpose of being in this profession was to help people out.

After almost an hour of thorough search through the apartment, they could not find any relevant clue.

Charles decided to proceed with the only clue he had - the knife used to murder Katy.

Charles sat by his wife's lifeless body, and slowly, turned her over, to get the knife out of her. As he did so, he silently commanded Mark to hand him his gloves.

Charles could almost hear his heart breaking into pieces within him, but nothing could be perceived from his face. With his professional side surfacing up, he pulled out the knife, holding the blood-stained handle in his gloved hands.

Mark provided him with a plastic bag, meant for the storage of such clues. Charles then put Katy back to her previous position. As he looked at her, his eyes brimmed up with tears. He threw his head back, trying to stop the stray drops out if his eyes.

Suddenly, something caught his sharp eyes. Something, like a..diary.

Shooting up from his position, he scrambled to find what he saw. And, there under the dining table, was, in fact, a diary.

He was so fast in his movements, that Mark would have missed it, if he wasn't gawking at Charles' every move.

Charles carefully picked up the fragile looking spiral diary. There was a childish writing on the cover, reading, "Whatever you do, do not open it"

A faint smile appeared on Charles' face as he was reminded of his daughter. Anna, too, had a diary like this. She and Katy used to share so many secrets together, whispering in each other's ears while he faked his annoyance.

As he studied the diary, a browning piece if paper fell out of it. He bent down and picked it up, scrutinizing it.

Opening it, he saw, that it had a doodle of some sort. It looked more like a symbol. It consisted of a spider shaped structure, mainly. A web was drawn around it. It was a fading piece of art, drawn with a fountain pen.

A pattern was drawn on the body of the spider, which resembled a cross. All of the details were neatly encircled.

"Mark? Come here, please," Charles  called out.

Mark scurried up to him, and stood obediently by his side. "What is it, Sir?" He asked peering, into the paper Charles was holding onto, curiously.

"That is what I would have asked you. Do you know anything about this symbol?" Charles asked.

Disappointed at himself, for not having any knowledge about it, he shook his head.

Charles nodded.

"C'mon. We need to go," he said, grabbing his jacket.

●○●○●

"How could you, Sir? You should have informed us first!" The policeman, exclaimed in annoyance.

"I beg you, Mr Bowman. This matter involves my family. I had to start as early as I could. I don't  have a minute to lose. My daughter is at stake, Sir. Please understand." Charles cried. Mark had never seen him act this way. He never loosed his composure. It was strange for both, Mark and the policemen in the station to see him acting this way.

Mr Bowman inhaled deeply, calming himself.

He said, "Fine. Do whatever you need to do. If any assistance is required, please do contact us. In the meanwhile, I would have to file this case into my files, as it involves a murder as well as an abduction. Please proceed with your plan, Mr Wicklow."

"Thank you, Sir! Thank you," Charles sighed.

"Mark, please file the case here, I would be in the city library." He informed and made his way towards the car. "Join me there, when you are done."

●○●○●

"Mom! Dad!," Little Anna shouted at the top of her lungs.

No answer.

She kept shouting until her throat was so sore, no sound could make its way out of her. The room was suffocating her. The four iron walls had no windows. A tiny hole in the top of the chamber, was the only inlet of air.

A tiny bed sat in a corner. The sheets smelled so foul, Anna guessed it must have belonged to the dog her neighbour had.

She cried without making any noise. She knew her father would come to save her. But why hasn't he come yet? Didn't he remember it was her birthday?

Why were these bad guys keeping her in this room. Her chest ached because of all the shouting and crying. She had cried so much for the past few hours, that no more tears came out of her eyes.

A loud click was heard, and the iron door slowly opened. Steely creeks filled the chamber, making Anna squirm.

A huge man stepped into the room. A tight, red  t-shirt clung onto him. His thick arms were covered with so many tattoos that his actual skin wasn't even visible. His shoulder length hair was secured in a masculine bun, behind his head. He was wearing a pair of khaki shorts along with running boots that squeaked against the floor.

"Hello, little Anna" he greeted, smiling at her. The innocent girl was intimidated by the man's appearance, yet, she replied with a wave of her tiny hands and said a fragile, "Hi!"

The man squirted to have a better look at her face. "Are you hungry?" He asked, in a thick, rough, but yet, somehow, friendly voice.

Little children have a different way of looking at the world. And just as you would expect of such innocent soul, they found the good in everyone.

It was no different in case of Anna. In reply to the man's question, she nodded, vigorously.

●○●○●

(23rd July'17)

©AmyParkins