These thoughts cascaded over Knox's consciousness, leaving him pondering the complexities of the universe. He was not foolish enough to think he could answer the deepest questions of philosophy, but only when he felt insignificant, like a speck of dust floating towards a light bulb that would vaporize it without an eye catching the act, did he truly understand himself. Being powerless was the ultimate strength, and his tangents of thought clarified his thinking.

Detective Knox was far away from reality as Lane returned, the pungent aroma of bitter coffee seeping through his cocoon and returning him to the moment. As his eyes focused, he could see Lane at his own desk, sipping the steaming liquid. Knox picked up his cup, slowly letting the first drops fall from the rim onto his tongue, savoring each one. He did this because he knew it was a rare treat, and he would soon have to drain the cup as though pumping his tank full of fuel, because time was never set aside for making sure they were taking care of themselves. Compared to the gravity of their work, their own health, mental and physical, was secondary.

“Knox, you were off in your own little world there again. Am I really such bad company?”

“You're ok . . . for another person.”

“We can't all be as charismatic and entertaining as you.”

“I'd settle for as quiet.”

“Now that we've gotten that out of our system, did your trip into the Twilight Zone while I was gone net us any results?”

“It just might have. I was thinking, when Hobbes describes being driven in circles, you would assume he's talking about the kidnappers being evasive, making sure he doesn't know where they're going, right?”

“Sounds right to me.”

“But what if that's not the case. This crazy city was built over the course of so many years that nothing about it makes any sense. There isn't a neat array of streets. There are sections around the old parts that loop in all sorts of insane ways, because that was all the land the government could take at the time.”

“You're thinking that he mistook a winding road for evasive action.”

“Exactly. There's one road that fits the bill almost exactly. A guy like Hobbes probably wouldn't have ever been on it before, since it leads straight into the heart of crud-town. It had to be unfamiliar to him.”

“If that's the case, we know what area he was headed into.”

“And we can narrow it down even further. I spent enough time working that part of town to know that none of the crews down there would be into this sort of thing. All we have to do is find the places that aren't under any of their control, and we'll be in business.”

“That's some awfully good detecting, partner.”

“Yeah. It's amazing how much can be done when you're not around to bug me.”

* * *

The city darkened as Detectives Knox and Lane drove deeper into its underbelly. As the city grew richer and more sophisticated, the old parts were tossed aside, left to rot in the shadows of the new towers erected as monuments to modernity's ego. These charred remnants of what the city used to be were breeding grounds for discontent and evil, with demons filling the vacuum left by the mass exodus. Few dared go further into the dark heart of the city than necessary, a segregation that served all sides well.

Detective Knox had spent much of his life on those streets, chasing down the specters that haunted the nights of the good people of the city. He had caught more than his share, but the supply was endless, and his desire for the job no longer burned. As long as he could take on the hydra of evil one head at a time, as long as he could solve the cases put before him, he was content with himself. Mental strength was required, but his will had not slipped, and he was unbowed by the depravity he had to witness.

“Have you spent much time in this part of town, Lane?”

“No, I can't say I have. Or that I want to.”

“It's a good education. This is where you learn if you have the stomach to admit who we really are.”

“You make it sound so charming.”

“It's a fact of life. Not everything we do is like in a mystery novel. Real life is ugly, messy, the sort of thing you wish you could forget. It infects your eyes, then it burrows into your heart. Eventually, you rot from the inside. That's the best-case scenario.”

“Do I even want to know what's worse?”

“Nope.”

“Good. So what do we know about this place?”

“According to my friend who still works this beat, there are only a handful of places that aren't under any control. Those are our likely sites, so we'll start with the one closest to the main road and branch out from there.”

“Something tells me whoever did this wouldn't want to go any further off the beaten path than they had to.”

“Precisely. You're catching on.”

The pair sat in silence the rest of the way, as the landscape grew filthier with each rotation of the tires. They were in a part of the city where car doors locked reflexively, where anyone walking down the street was viewed as a threat, where peace was a foreign concept. Detective Lane was not oblivious to the suffering that existed in his own city, but there had always remained enough of a separation to allow him to ignore what life was like in a world where death stalks you at every turn. Coming face to face with reality, however, he realized how naïve he had been.

The brakes bit in, bringing the car to a stop in a place it would rather drive straight through. Bouncing on loose springs, Detective Lane's head bobbed back and forth, as though nodding in endless reaffirmation. Knox was in no such state, with one foot already out the door, the stale air pouring in and overtaking the heat. Lane followed, gingerly, wary of letting his focus slip for even a second. Knox looked back at him, the glare in his eyes unmistakable.

“Stop being a wuss. Nothing's going to happen to us. No one around here would dare do anything to put this place back on our radar. It's like when you have a bee flying around your head. If you leave it alone, it'll leave you alone.”

“I always get stung.”

“That's because you're a schmuck. Just keep your mouth shut and follow me.”

Hinges hung by threads, the door held in place by the grip of dirt. Detective Knox pulled gently, and the door wobbled and almost fell on him. He pushed it aside, exposing the entrance to what could optimistically be called a building. The structure was failing, the cracks counted like the rings on a tree, telling the story of how long it had been since anyone considered it worth inhabiting.

Detective Lane swung his flashlight through the darkness, illuminating the way before he dared step inside. Knox had left him behind, venturing in, chuckling at the thought of his partner frozen in fear. Knox switched on his own light, looking into the folded corners of blackness. Nothing about the room looked out of place, if such a thing could be said about a crumbling remnant. Broken glass and bits of machinery filled the corners, dust and grime painting them all the same flaccid shade of invisible.

Detective Knox had seen enough, and spun around on his heel to leave, a habit he’d adopted as a youth, one that wore out his shoes in a way that made him appear an inch shorter than he really was. As he spun to a stop, his eyes were blinded by Lane's light, barely a foot from his face. Knox shielded himself, blinking hard to clear the ghosted image. Seeing ghosts there was likely enough but he did not need to add to the confusion.

“What are you shining that damn light in my eyes for?”

“Sorry, I thought you saw what I did.”

“What did you see?”

Knox turned around again, still blinded by Lane's light. The edges were hazy, and Knox could not see anything. Frustration tinged his voice as he spoke, a level of angst that Lane could see something he could not.