Chapter 2

The morning sun filtered through the blinds of Detective Ethan Hartley's office, casting a warm glow over the cluttered desk strewn with case files and half-empty coffee cups. With a weary sigh, he settled into his worn leather chair, the events of the previous night weighing heavily on his mind.

As he sifted through the mountain of paperwork before him, Hartley couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness. Each victim's face stared back at him from the pages of the case files, their silent pleas for justice echoing in the recesses of his mind.

But amid the chaos of the investigation, a nagging sense of doubt tugged at Hartley's conscience. Could he trust his own instincts, or was he merely chasing shadows in the darkness, a pawn in a game he could not hope to understand?

Lost in thought, Hartley barely noticed the soft knock on his office door, his gaze fixed on the labyrinth of clues that sprawled before him. It was only when his assistant, Sarah, cleared her throat that he looked up, startled from his reverie.

"Detective Hartley, there's someone here to see you," she said, her voice tinged with concern. "He says it's urgent."

Hartley nodded, pushing aside the stack of files as he rose to his feet. With a sense of foreboding, he followed Sarah out of the office and into the cramped hallway beyond.

Standing in the doorway, bathed in the harsh fluorescent light, was a man whose face Hartley recognized all too well. It was Thomas Drake, a fellow detective and longtime friend, his expression grave and troubled.

"Ethan, we need to talk," Drake said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hartley's heart sank as he met Drake's gaze, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Whatever he had to say, Hartley knew it would change everything. And as he braced himself for the revelation that awaited him, he couldn't help but wonder if the darkness that lurked within him was finally about to be exposed.

As Detective Ethan Hartley stared into the earnest eyes of his friend and colleague, Thomas Drake, a wave of apprehension washed over him. Drake's presence seemed to amplify the weight of the secrets lurking in the shadows, and Hartley braced himself for the revelations that awaited.

"We need to talk," Drake repeated, his voice barely a whisper, as if afraid of what lurked in the depths of the conversation.

With a silent nod, Hartley motioned for Drake to enter the office, closing the door behind them with a soft click. The room seemed to shrink around them, suffocating in its intimacy as they stood face to face.

"What is it, Thomas?" Hartley asked, his voice steady despite the turmoil roiling within him.

Drake hesitated, his gaze darting to the cluttered desk before him as if searching for the right words. "I've been doing some digging," he began, his voice low and measured. "And I think I may have found something... something about your parents."

A jolt of electricity shot through Hartley's veins at the mention of his parents, his pulse quickening with a mixture of anticipation and dread. For years, the truth behind their deaths had remained shrouded in mystery, a wound that refused to heal.

Drake reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a weathered envelope sealed with an official insignia. With trembling hands, he handed it to Hartley, who accepted it with a sense of trepidation.

Inside the envelope lay a collection of photographs, their edges yellowed with age, depicting scenes from his parents' past. Among them, Hartley glimpsed fragments of a life long forgotten—a smiling couple, a quaint family home, and moments of joy frozen in time.

But it was the final photograph that caught his breath—a faded image of his parents in their room with their faces etched with shock, captured in the final moments before tragedy struck. And as Hartley studied the photograph, a sense of unease settled over him, like a dark cloud looming on the horizon.

He realized that his parents was killed while they were sleeping and the Nightstalker might suddenly attack them that it made them shocked.

Drake cleared his throat, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air. "There's more," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Hartley turned his attention to the contents of the envelope once more. Among the photographs lay a collection of forensic reports and evidence logs, detailing the tools used in the brutal murder of his parents.

But as Hartley scanned the documents, a chill ran down his spine. Something wasn't right—there were inconsistencies, discrepancies that defied explanation. And though the truth may have been veiled for now, Hartley knew that uncovering it would require more than just surface-level investigation.

As he stared at the photographs and documents spread before him, Hartley realized that the key to unlocking the secrets of his parents' past lay buried within the depths of his own memories. And as he embarked on this perilous journey of self-discovery, he knew that the shadows of the past held the answers he sought, if only he had the courage to confront them.

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