Dozens of people were talking to each other at the same time, making the little police station a big fuss. Today was particularly busy. It had probably something to do with Adius's disappearance. Everyone seemed to have a say in the matter, even though half of the people always tried to avoid the Yorker's as much as possible.

Thomas was sitting on a wooden chair, standing against one of the four walls of the Home police station. Lately, he sat on this chair more often than he sat on his own couch. They could easily put a nametag on the simple wooden chair at the entrance of the station, saying: "This chair is property of Thomas Gonzalez, a grieving widower."

While waiting for any kind of information about this mystery serial killer, he watched the chaos unfold before him.

Officer Dunley, who was standing in the door opening of the archive room, shouted to no one in particular something about the printer that was out of ink. Another officer, Connor Richfield, was cackling at his desk to Moris, the cobbler. Thomas was pretty sure the man had been talking to the officer for over three hours. It made him almost curious about the subject of their conversation. Then there was Rio, the officer who was furiously typing on his computer, like he was already past his deadline.

Lastly there was Mario Hernandez, his best friend and detective in training, who was constantly running up and down from one desk in the main room to his own desk in the glass bowl office in front of the entrance. The office reminded Thomas of a fishbowl.

It was absolute madness, he thought. How could anyone work like this? He didn't understand. He was happy he wasn't part of the police force, he would've annoyed himself to death in a workplace like this. He always preferred the calmness of the fields or the serenity of the cobbling water. Then again, lately he preferred not to be alone all the time. Here people passed him, said hello, then looked like they didn't know what else to say, and moved on with their day. It wasn't perfect, but it was at least something.

Esmeralda had never needed that tranquillity, she came from the big city. They were different like that. Esmeralda was accustomed to big houses and lots of noise. Not that she had minded the change, she always seemed to have enjoyed her life in the countryside. She used to say that it made her forget about her old life. It was the only thing she ever said about her 'old' life.

She was quite mysterious when it came to her history. Thomas had always respected her boundaries. Even though he wanted to know, he could see how much stress it always caused when he asked for it. So, he had stopped asking.

His eyes fell on the big white board in the middle of the room, again. Seven pictures were taped on the board, their names written under it in a red marker. Couldn't they have at least used another colour, instead of that bloody red?

He had stared at the murder board for hours on end these last couple of weeks. He knew every detail of every picture. They were ranked in order of their missing date. On the far left was a photo of a girl with greasy blonde hair until right above her slender shoulders. Her face was just as gaunt-like as the rest of her body. Her name read: Nicole Erikson. Thomas remembered how she always smelled like she hadn't showered in weeks. Her indifferent way of talking when he started a small conversation when he bought his weekly journal at the kiosk on Monday.

Next to her was the second victim, Guido Voraz. His picture was crossed out as well. Thomas remembered him mostly from the many times his father carried Guido home, too drunk to walk properly. Apart from that, Guido never joined any activities and was barely seen in the streets. When he was seen, the middle aged man wore clothes two sizes too small, which made his bulky stomach visible between the buttons of his shirt.

The third photo made Thomas's heart clench in an unpleasant way. It felt like he couldn't breathe. The beautiful woman in front of him was his wife-to-be. The picture was one where she wore her favourite t-shirt. A loose white shirt that was a little see-through, which Thomas had always loved. It showed her riskier side.

He shook off that crawling ache in his chest, and focused on the next picture. That was the last one with a big red cross through it: Peter Quinn. He was the local bad boy and known thief. The youngster had sticky fingers when he saw something he liked. His picture was one taken in the police station after one of his arrests.

The other three photos were the still missing people; not yet corpses to be buried.

On the right was Adius Yorker, who had disappeared only the day before. The young boy's tight jaw and permanent frown between his thick eyebrows made him look much older than his childish and innocent looking messy short hair that was pointing towards everywhere.

Lastly, two girls about the same age were pinned under each other: Vanessa Delgado and Luna Devon.

Vanessa was a teenage girl Thomas had only seen from across the street. She never seemed to talk to anyone, for as far as the farmer remembered. One of the few people he didn't really know or talked to. Luna, on the other hand, he knew. He used to babysit the younger girl quite often after school. The mayor's daughter looked older than he remembered her. Her bright red hair was still the same and loosely draped behind her shoulder. Her locks were nicely put behind her ears, showing off her expensive earrings.

The girls had gone missing the same night almost a month ago. From what Thomas had heard, the two friends went hiking and never returned. Only blood was found at the supposed crime scene which made the police believe that animals had attacked the girls and pulled them back to their lair. Of course that's not the version of the story the parents got to hear, but the cold truth that Mario had told him.

Mario wasn't supposed to tell him, or anyone for that matter, all this closed information but the Latino knew that it kept his best friend's mind away from his dead fiancée. Thomas appreciated that. Mario had been better to him than he was for him.

A rugged man almost twice Thomas' size walked through the entrance of the police station. He had heavy leather boots on his feet with dark grey work trousers. His supposed white tank-top had a filthy brown and black colouring from the oil. His skin and hair looked as grungy as his tank-top. The only clean part of his body were his washed, calloused hands.

"Mr. Yorker, thank you for coming." Mario walked towards the man and shook his hand.

"Don't take too long, I can't leave the mechanic shop alone for too long. Got lots to do, the clients don't care about my missing son, only care about their piece of trash that I got to fix every time again and again," he grunted in an impolite manner.

Jacobi Yorker wasn't known for his friendliness and people skills, but he was the best mechanic this town ever had. People needed him, so they tolerated his rudeness.

Next to the buff man, a very small woman with very light blonde hair was standing. Her bright sapphire eyes were on perfect guard. They'd scanned every single person in the room before her husband had even opened his mouth. Mrs. Nela Yorker was a mystery to the whole town. No one had ever heard her speak since the day she came to live in the small town. No one knew if she was mute or just didn't speak out of principle.

She had perfect body language though, she was a woman that didn't need words to communicate with a person. Her expressive eyes and facial expressions were clear as day. Well, at least for the little amount of conversations that people had with her. She preferred to stay home while her husband worked at his workshop.

"This won't take long, I just need to ask you a few questions." Mario didn't seem fazed the slightest by his impoliteness.

"Are you accusing me of kidnapping my own son?" Mr. Yorkers was almost fuming. His face had turned red in anger.

"I am not, sir, but I do need to ask a few questions so we can get an idea of what happened. It will help with the ongoing investigation."

The young police novice was in his element. Thomas wouldn't have known he was still in training if he wasn't Mario's best friend.

The Yorkers sat down next to Mario's desktop, Jacobi still slightly boiling. He had a temper, that was for sure. The young Latino officer closed the door of the little interrogation room, but not before sending his best friend a look that said more than words could.

Thomas knew that look all too well: 'Go to work, Thomas. Don't sit here waiting all day long, it's a waste of time.'

Mario used to say it lots of times the days after Esmeralda's death, now the cop only put energy in that annoying look. Thomas sighed. He knew his best friend meant the best but how could he go on with his life when Esmeralda's was so brutally interrupted? She was part of his life. Now it only felt like he was spinning in the darkness, not seeing anything, not feeling anything and yet everything all at once. There was no ground under his feet, there was no light that showed him where he was, all there was, was chaos and that void he kept falling into.

He must've stood up, because next thing he knew, he was walking through the cobblestone streets. With his thoughts still scrambled up in his head, he made his way to Julio's bar on Main Street. From there, you could see the town square with the well at the centre of it, and the little church behind it. Esmeralda used to ask why they hadn't changed the well into a fountain yet, no one ever used it anyway. He never answered her, never gave her random questions much attention.

He sighed, shook his head and walked inside the bar. All he wanted now was to answer her random questions.

Julio's bar was small. With only five little round tables and four simple chairs around each one, the whole room was cramped to its maximum. In the back, there was a long bar with another five bar stools at the side. Julio, a dark skinned thirty-year-old with dark long curly hair, was washing glasses behind the countertop. He looked up at the jingle of the entrance bell.

"Una cerveza," Thomas called defeated, while he lifted his pinkie in the air.

Julio shook his head, but said nothing, only turned around to the fridge and pulled out the brown beer bottle.

"You want to talk?" He asked.

"Nope, just want to enjoy this beer."

Julio nodded, clearly suppressing a sigh, and went on with his work. Thomas let his shoulders drop while his eyes fell down at the beer cap, his mind drifting away at the tragedies of the past week.