I checked my watch, journal in one hand, lunch sack in the other.

Fuck, I'm late, I thought, as I stood before the lab entrance, the scream from the park still echoing in my skull. Then, now, and always.

Oh, and speaking of things happening now, another development on my fate, my fellow friends. Besides my disgusting, greasy sweat, it seems like my feet are becoming permanently numb. It started with my toes, and now it's reached my ankles. Hopefully, it's just my feet. We'll see. Thank god my fingers still work. Anyways, less on the now and more on the then.

With a sigh, I gripped the handle to the lab; a distinct chill ran down my spine as I entered. And—the room was quite more extensive than anticipated. The number of people as well. I expected seven to ten, but of course, to my fucking luck, there about thirty individuals. About ten innocent. About twenty evil.

Roundtables were scattered across the room, empty or populated with groups of two to five. A few of these groups stopped conversing to stare at yours truly, murmuring amongst themselves, and others, amongst their Whispers.

I scanned the crowd, finding the professor who was lecturing a group in the center of the room. My study also caught a glimpse of several individuals with bruised-colored lipstick. Remembering Samantha, my stomach churned, and I felt for my gun, searching for her; my eyes darted from table to table.

"Liam! Glad you could make it!" Professor Weber's voice caught my attention. He had already shuffled halfway across the room before our eyes met. Several team members followed closely behind him, like bees on a schedule. "I mean—you're a bit late," he scowled. "But— that isn't a problem." his frown switched back to his usual eerie, grin all the while the horrible shit stench still oozed from him. "You probably got just got lost."

I said nothing and continued my search. But—instead of Samantha, I discovered an abnormal intrigue. A detail missed before. There were tiny holes singed into the ground throughout the room, all traveling in pattern to the center. To the table, Professor Weber was lecturing the group. Which was when—

I saw it.

Felt. It. My fellow friends. Felt it!

I'll never forget my first glimpse of the beyond.

The book, with its petrifying beauty, like a siren calling a weary sailor.

It felt like a fantastical answer — one to any desire.

I mean...

Do you owe any debt? Gone. Who gives a shit about student loans when you can be rich?

Do you want to be forever talented? Easy. Be the next famous pop singer without even taking a lesson.

Do you want to remove someone you hate from this world? Yup!

Immortality? A possibility! Why not live forever!

Genocide? Fuck yes! Death to them all of the fucking pieces of shit!!!

World domination? CHILD'S! PLAY!!!

...

...

...

Sorry.

That—was just a fraction of what answers it can give. And what's even worse is I've seen answers that made all of the above seem— pathetic. Meaningless. Boring.

And that is terrifying. Fear led me to love, and perhaps it's what led me to save those — and do —.

Eh. Whatever. I'm not heroic...I could've saved more, but I failed them. But I won't fail you. You can do better than me. I merely beg of you to remember, humanity is beautiful. That's the one lesson this journey has taught me, that's for fucking damn sure and don't forget that. Even with how horrible it can be, it can be a fantastical realm. Because without humanity, we'd be nothing but a void. A meaningless, painless void.

I swallowed, ignored that feeling, and looked to the Professor, managing to lie to myself.

That isn't real. Just like what they're talking to isn't real. I repeated in my head. Over and over. And it worked. Then, but not now. Now? Never.

The book's presence lingered as I finally was able to speak. "Apologies. I got—distracted. But I brought a notepad and pen. Just as you asked. What can I start with?"

"Well, let's begin with introducing you to the woman in charge. Come. Follow me, my fellow friend," Professor Weber turned and beckoned. The eyes of his followers chilled me as we moved in sync to a table piled with dozens of scattered pages and documents. A pale man, appearing near my age, and an older woman with graying blonde hair with a notepad sat before us. And while the gentleman was one of the few that had bruised colored lipstick, like Samantha, the woman had a unique, potent, red lipstick. Like maroon or wine. Something like that. For all I know, it could've been blood. "This is Liam, did you want me to—."

"Has he been tested?" Her nasal voice pierced my ears. This was the moment I knew I'd hate this bitch. She scattered the pages around the table as Professor Weber shook his head. "Well, test him first then. Afterward, have him come to me".

"If he fails, do you wan-."

"If he fails, have him start him off with—," she paused to look at her clipboard, occasionally glancing at me. I looked around, disconcerted by everything. Trying to keep my anxiety at bay, I looked at the pile of scattered documents. After a couple of glances, a terrifying sentence stopped my eyes. Well, more of a part of a sentence. A phrase. A worry.

'14:20 is the optimal time for pick-up. Don't use too much chloroform this time. Alexand-'.

It hid beneath a pile of pages on the corner of the table. My eyes widened. Almost cursed aloud even. "If he fails, start him off with some reading," she told him. I looked up a the professor who nodded to her command and turned to leave. I, however, was in shock. Potential evidence about Lexi was within reach, and the only thing I could do was freeze. I mean I could have grabbed it and ran, but there were several students, a mad professor, a pale, skinny bastard, and a fucking bitch.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. Liam, follow me," Professor Weber frowned and turned. I joined, looking back to the pages.

He walked me across the room, his students and whispers emotionlessly stalking us. I looked towards the book once more, and then to the table with that odd sentence, my face began to swell with heat. I felt both calling for me. I felt confusion. I felt trouble.

"Eyes forward, Liam. I know how it is, to see it for the first time. The truth, it's hard to believe, but you don't want to draw too much attention to yourself on your first day". I obeyed. Gazing away from the calling. Away from answers. Away from questions.

"Truth?"

Professor Weber looked me dead in the eye. "You don't fool me, Mr. Turner. Everyone that has joined this project started as a non-believer. Me. My students. Chloe even".

"What?"

"You feel it, don't you? The book? The whispers? The questions, the answers. But—you also feel doubt."

"I—I don't know what I believe, honestly. I'm a see it to believe it type of guy," I looked around, felt cornered. My anxiety spiked. I took a deep breath.

"And being 'honest,' what do you see so far?" he asked.

"Something terrifying."

"Perfect, you're a lot less thick-skulled than I thought," he nodded. I looked him in the eyes, grateful for a reassuring response. "The truth is a scary thing, my fellow friend," he continued. "I'll be here to help you through it. Now, let's start with a simple test. What all do you know about cults?" He walked me over to an empty table in the corner of the room — secluded, like I am now.

"Well, besides the People's Temple, I know everything about the Manson family, Branch Davidians, Heaven's Gate and several others."

"No—no no. The Esoteric Order of Dagon, Cult of Cthulhu, Brotherhood of the Bla—".

"Wait," I chuckled. "Uh. Cthulhu? Isn't he—a fictional character? I thought this project was about non-fictional documents?" Professor Weber laughed with me; his smile grew wider. "Was—this the test?"

"A test you were expected to fail. Think of it as a pre-test before training".

"What?" I asked, he gestured to several books, written by several authors, but one more notably as H.P. Lovecraft, Robert Chambers, and Ambrose Bierce. "You're kidding. This is training?"

"Humor me, Mr. Turner. Worst case, I'll have you read several books, you'll amuse us, and get paid for your time," He carefully pulled out three books among the pile and handed them to me. "Here, read these three accounts."

"The Colour Out of Space? The Call of Cthulhu? And—The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath?"

"Yes," he gestured his students back to work, leaving us alone at the table. Alone in this corner of the room. "Thoughts before you begin?" he asked.

"This is fiction."

He snickered. "No."

"Uh—Yes?" I raised an eyebrow, glaring.

"Fiction, for now," he laughed. "Read all of these stories. Should take you past meal-time, hopefully before second break. Once you're done, go see Thompson and Chloe. They were the people we just met".

"You mean the bitch?" I murmured. He sighed.

"I would be careful, Mr. Turner. People here have better hearing than you think. Now, get to work, Mr. Turner. It took a lot of persuading to get you on the team".

"But—"

"But welcome to the project. You're going to have to trust me if you want to linger," Professor Weber looked at his watch, and then next to me. "Oh, and be careful, if you're late again, you'll be fired," He nodded, and exited without another word. I laughed at how ridiculous this place seemed.

And Instead of leaving the project, getting away from the ridiculous, I'd occasionally look at the book.

What if? Echoed, but was only slaughtered by my predisposition to a cynical, comforting perspective of realism. I looked down, never having read any weird fiction up to that point.

So—I read. Inquired. Learned.

Just like I said in chapter one, you should read, inquire, and learn too. $30. $30 for an omnibus.

****

Chloe called for first break a couple of hours into reading. Just started "The Call of Cthulhu," and I finished "The Colour Out of Space." It was a bit dry, but I must admit, it had a couple of exciting visuals.

****

Then lunch was called and quickly passed as I read. I finished The Call of Cthulhu. Worked on The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath next, the longest of the three. Can see where the cliche god-worshipping cult idea comes from. Kept looking over at the book, it's presence speaking louder than any group in the room. And it felt as if it was reading everyone in the room... I felt an odd comfort.

****

And Just before the second break, I finished the last tale. Was a lengthy story, weird too. Didn't understand most of the references, but it was enough for me to get a feel of what Lovecraft wrote about. What he dreamt about. What he knew about. I looked around, ready to continue with the night.

Everyone seemed still hard at work, all distracted, and strangely normal. I looked at the table I was previously shown, the question again taunting me. I stood up, and the eyes of humans did not watch this time, but I sure as hell still felt the eyes of many other things stare — fucking Whispers. Wasn't aware of it then, but I sure as hell am now. After several unnerving steps, I was back by the pale guy and the bitch.

"So, you must be Thompson and Chloe. Please, call me Liam." They looked at each other and then over their shoulders. Both of them scanned over the papers on the table before looking at me.

"Hello—Mr. Turner," Thompson smiled at me. "Professor Weber said you're a consultant, was it? Could you—please specify further?"

"Yeah. I'm usually a consultant for the police in the field of Psychology." They frowned at the mention of police. "Uh—otherwise, I also work as a private investigator."

"Hm. Okay," Chloe spoke, sharp as ever, and seemed to be sizing me up. She then scanned her clipboard, Thompson was looking with her, with anxiety. No, it was fear. In retrospect, it definitely was fear. And at the time, I thought it was safe to assume she was the cult leader, especially with how Professor Weber responded to her. My curious eyes glanced down while they were distracted, hoping to see if the page I saw earlier was still there. Which, to my luck, and to their dismay, it was.

'14:20 is the optimal time for pick-up. Don't use too much chloroform this time. Alexand-'.

She cleared her throat; I looked at her.

"Well, I guess I should give you the tour." She stood up, but after a single step, a thud from across the room caught everyone's attention, followed by students shrieking. I looked over and saw one of the students starting to have a seizure. "F-! Wait here," she shuffled away. Thompson stared towards the seizing girl. "Everything is fine Mr. Turner," I rolled my eyes.

I have to admit, Chloe's behavior was odd. It's not that she didn't seem evil or anything, it's just—most successful cult leaders have an intense amount of charisma. But she seemed to lack a sensible charm.

An unfortunate, but a prime example of what a cult leader would look like would be good old Adolf Hitler. He used charisma, fear, and targeted the weak-minded. All three together makes a concoction for a cult.

She, on the other hand, didn't seem to have that. Which made me wonder if she's like the secretary, who's the boss?

But that didn't matter though, as I looked down, I saw what I needed. As Thompson was distracted, I took the opportunity, and quietly and carefully slide out the paper, casually shoving it into my lunch sack.

Thompson turned to me only moments after my theft. Luckily not seeing a damn thing.

"Oh heavens. Not again," Thompson grabbed onto the necklace around his neck, a silver cross. I stared at the girl, who was seizing on the ground, they rolled her onto her side, and then—she puked a dark liquid, too far for me to be able to determine the color. It was either shade of black, green, or red.

"Are they going to—call someone?" I pulled out my phone, Thompson's eyes grew wide, and he shook his head holding his hand out.

"No—don't. It's fine. This type of stuff happens from time to time. Elizabeth will be fine. Please, just don't. Chloe will be upset if you do".

"Uh—Okay," I put my phone down. "What's happening?"

"She spoke too much to her whisper. The body goes into shock, and the brain overloads. The only way to help her is iridium".

"Iridium? Isn't that radioactive?" I took a step towards her to help, but Thompson placed his hand on my chest, holding me back... It felt like I was walking into a hand-shaped cement wall.

"Just—wait, Mr. Turner. Please. Everything will be fine I promise. She's safe. The toxicity we use of iridium is low enough where she'll be safe, the whispers and wanderer hate iridium," he looked at the girl, I as well. Chloe pushed everyone to the side and barked orders to the professor who brought her a green, floral box. Couldn't tell what all inside of it was, but after some rummaging around, she pulled out a syringe.

A couple of students handed her some rubbing alcohol and other first aid supplies. Chloe cleaned Elizabeth's arm and injected the liquid. And then—. Then I thought I heard a yell from their direction.

Not of a woman. Not of a man, but that of a thing. If a thing could screech, that is. I don't know how else to describe it to you. All I can remember was it gave me the goosebumps and a dreadful chill.

The rest of the students began to crowd around Elizabeth. I went to follow, but Thompson looked at me and shook his head fearfully.

"Alright alright, back off guys. Last break," Chloe shrieked, calm and casual. "Be back in twenty minutes." Mostly everyone went back to their tables as if nothing happened. Talking to each other about work or life. A couple left presumably for the bathroom or a smoke break. Thompson looked at me, then back to the body. "Take your last twenty, Mr. Turner."

"Okay? Are You sure she'll be fine?"

"Yes. All is good. We'll introduce you to your group when you return. Natalie, Xing-yu, and Chris will help you get started when we resume." Thompson gestured me to go to break; I looked at my table then to the exit.

I left, as inconspicuous as I could. Well, as inconspicuous as a paranoid guy could. But regardless, eyes were on me. On my steps. On my soul. I entered the hall and headed straight to the bathroom down at the far end of the complex. And to my luck, again, it was empty. As I accessed the stall, I pulled out the paper, realizing it was too dark to read.

I flipped open my phone to illuminate the text, expecting new information on Lexi. But when my eyes scanned the page.

What I read sickened me.

It was not new information on Lexi.

It was worse.

Much worse, my fellow friends.

Simply put, they were instructions...

To kidnap a girl...

Of the age of eleven...

In Alexandra, Minnesota...

After school...

Using chloroform and a van...

And her name was Angela Bolton.