The sterile white walls of the military clinic offered no warmth, just a lingering smell of disinfectant and paperwork. Scott stood at the front desk, fingers drumming the counter as a receptionist pulled up a file.
"Doctor Gibbs faxed in his resignation two months ago," she said flatly. "No notice, no forwarding contact. Just... gone."
Scott's eyes narrowed. "You have his home address?"
She slid it across the counter. "It's all we've got."
—
The door to Doctor Gibbs' house stood still and silent, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the porch. The place looked abandoned—windows drawn, mailbox overflowing, no signs of life.
Scott knocked. Nothing. Stephanie rang the bell. Still nothing.
They canvassed the neighborhood, showed his photo to nearby residents, even contacted his workplace again. No leads. No sightings. It was like the man had vanished into thin air.
Later that evening, Scott and Stephanie returned to the station, their energy taut and their patience thinning.
Inside the briefing room, the rest of the team stood waiting. Frank was hunched over his laptop, Ray sipping stale coffee by the whiteboard.
"You got anything?" Scott asked, rolling up his sleeves.
"Yes, sir," Ray said, stepping forward.
"We spoke with Damien's parents. He visited them two months ago. Drained their credit cards—maxed them out," he explained.
"His father was furious," Frank added. "Said he barely recognized him. According to his mother, Damien's personality completely unraveled after his wife and kids died."
"What the hell did he need that money for?" Stephanie asked, brows knitting.
"I checked Thomas Andrew's bank statements too," Frank said, swiveling his laptop around. "Account was cleaned out the same week. Two months ago."
Scott stood still, jaw clenched, lost in thought. Then he walked to the whiteboard, grabbed a marker, and began sketching a web of names and connections—people Damien Quinn had interacted with since his military dismissal.
One by one, he began erasing names. Crossed-out photos came off the board. Friends. Colleagues. Neighbors.
Until only one photo remained: a thin, bearded man with tired eyes—Doctor Gibbs.
"Who's this guy?" Ray asked.
Stephanie stepped in. "He was Damien's assigned psychiatrist after the incident. When we visited the military base, they told us Gibbs was the one who evaluated him right before his discharge."
"And now Gibbs has gone dark," Scott muttered.
"Cut ties with everyone," Ray added. "Even told his parents not to worry, said he was leaving for a long trip."
"I checked all national travel logs," Frank said, fingers dancing over his keyboard. "No flights. No passport activity. He hasn't left the country."
"We need to find him," Stephanie said, her tone steely.
"Either Damien killed him…" Scott began, eyes cold, "...or he's alive and locked up somewhere."
Stephanie looked up. "If Damien's recreating his family with these victims, then maybe—just maybe—they're still alive."
"Don't count on that," Scott said grimly. "To him, they're like avatars. If things don't go according to plan, he might just… reset the game. Kill them and start again."
Ray's stomach turned. "So how the hell do we find this guy?"
"Normally, a man like Damien would cling to a place that matters to him," Scott said, "but his home was destroyed in that fire. He's a ghost now."
Scott turned to Frank. "Go to the station where Thomas Andrew worked. Dig up patrol vehicle records—anything Damien used since the first disappearance. Track his GPS logs."
"If they're wiped?" Frank asked.
"You can recover it, right?" Scott said with a faint smirk.
Frank gave a mock salute. "With one hand tied behind my back."
Scott then turned to Ray. "You've got a different job. Pull security footage from every corner near Damien's old home. He might still be returning there. People like him... they linger."
"Yes, sir," Ray replied, already heading for the exit.
"Stephanie," Scott said, glancing her way, "I want you back at Doctor Gibbs' place. Look deeper. Neighbors, garbage, power records, anything out of place."
"What about you?" she asked.
"I'm going back to the military base," Scott said, grabbing his coat. "There's something we missed. There always is."
He looked at each of them with burning focus.
"We don't have time to waste. Move now."
"Yes, sir!" they echoed in unison, boots thudding against the station floor as they scattered like hunters chasing shadows.
Outside, the wind had picked up. The night ahead would not be kind.