Chris arrived at the police station, his steps heavy as if he were dragging mountains of secrets behind him. He headed straight for the "Archive Vault," a place smelling of decaying paper and forgotten justice. Just as his hand touched the doorknob, the silence was pierced by a police officer's commanding voice:
— "Sir Christopher! The Chief wants to see you in his office immediately."
Chris exhaled a muffled sigh of frustration and stepped away from the door that separated him from the secrets of the "Mortimer" family. He climbed the stairs toward the Chief's office. Upon entering, he found the Chief rising from behind his massive desk. With an exaggerated show of emotion, the Chief embraced him warmly, like a father fearing for his son.
— "How can you come to the station in this condition, my son?" the Chief asked in a worried tone, his eyes scanning Chris's pale face.
Chris replied steadily, despite the exhaustion gnawing at his body: "The work cannot wait, sir... Perhaps the hour I spend here will be the difference between a person's life and death."
The Chief shook his head with regret, patting his shoulder: "But your health is more important! In your current state, you are unable to help anyone, not even yourself. The officer told me you were about to enter the archives... what piques your curiosity there while you are on sick leave?"
Chris fixed his gaze on the Chief's eyes, answering with cautious calm: "I wanted to review the evidence gathered from yesterday's two cases."
The Chief raised his eyebrows in mock surprise: "If that's all, why exhaust yourself by going down to the vault? You could have simply asked the archivist to bring them to your office."
— "I wanted to verify some details myself... the eye does not see through intermediaries as it does in reality."
The Chief sighed, rubbing his face: "You are ill, Chris, and rest is a necessity for you now."
But Chris interrupted with firm persistence: "I will work on these cases, sir; I won't leave them to anyone else."
The Chief smiled faintly, his tone carrying a mix of admiration and warning: "You are as stubborn as your father... that spirit within you will never rest. Fine, go and take the files you want, but promise me... promise me you will take care of your health above all else."
— "I promise you that."
Before Chris could turn the handle to leave, the Chief called out to him once more in a deep voice: "Christopher... if you need anything, any support, I am here behind you always."
Chris turned with a mysterious smile that didn't reach his eyes and replied curtly: "I know that very well, sir."
Chris left the office, questions racing through his mind: Was the Chief's affection genuine or just a trap to find out what he had discovered? No, no... he is my father's close friend; he would never do anything to hurt me.
Chris returned to the archives, where the smell of old paper and dust filled his lungs like the scent of a delayed death. He opened the file labeled "Mortimer Family," and his eyes began to consume the lines with sharp focus. The papers spoke of a long history of "mysterious accidents," mines where dozens vanished, and bribes paid to close cases. One name was repeated in the margins in faint handwriting like a ghost: "John Dread."
As Chris was immersed in a report about a "mysterious disappearance" of miners in 1928, he felt a shadow move behind the tall wooden shelves. His limbs stiffened, and with his other hand, he slowly felt for the hilt of his weapon.
"Did you find what you were looking for, my friend?"
The voice was calm and familiar, but in this place and at this time, it sounded like the hiss of a snake. It was Barney, leaning against one of the iron cabinets, the meager light from the high window casting strange shadows across his face.
Chris replied calmly, slowly closing the file: "I was checking some old threads... what are you doing here, Barney?"
Barney approached with measured steps, a glint in his eyes Chris had never seen before: "The Chief is worried about you, and so am I... It seems you are searching in graves that their owners do not want disturbed." Then he lowered his voice to a whisper: "Chris, we are friends, right?"
Chris replied, "Yes," to which Barney responded: "Friends support each other, and that's why I'm going to help you. It seems you are looking into the Mortimer family affairs and that specific case."
He leaned in closer and whispered in a tone Chris wasn't used to, a tone heavy with dirty secrets:
— "I have information that could shake the very ground beneath your feet, Christopher... The disappearance of the workers in that cursed mine was no accident, as recorded in the reports. They were all kidnapped! The head of the Mortimer family used his influence to stifle the case in its cradle, turning free men into slaves to serve his greed underground."
Chris's eyes widened in shock, and he asked cautiously: "How did you come across these buried truths?"
Barney smiled enigmatically and replied curtly: "We all have our secret corridors, my friend... I extracted this information in my own way, and I am almost certain I know where they are being held now."
— "If you knew, why have you stayed silent all this time?"
Barney sighed deeply: "Because there are souls I want to protect, and standing against the Mortimer storm means certain death."
— "And if you're afraid of getting involved, why are you opening this black box for me now?"
— "Because I want to save them, but I don't want to be on the front lines. Wait for me in front of the police station; I will return to you with something that will change the rules of the game."
After thirty agonizing minutes of waiting, Barney returned with an old wooden box. He handed it to Chris and said in a strange tone: "Open this when you are alone... this box is the key to your goal."
Chris thanked him, bewildered, only for Barney to reply with words that seemed to carry two meanings: "No, it is I who should thank you... for you are the man who will lift this heavy burden off my shoulders."
Chris sped off on his bicycle through the quiet streets until he reached the abandoned factory. He descended into the secret hideout underground, where he found Edward standing like a madman, his eyes burning with anxiety:
— "What did you do? Did you save the children? Tell me they are okay!"
Chris replied exhaustedly: "I am on my way to save them, Edward... have patience."
Edward exploded in rage, shouting in Chris's face: "Patience?! You told me yesterday you would act, and here is the day passing and you haven't moved a muscle! What if they are hurt? What if they kill my daughter?"
At this, Chris lost his temper and shouted in a voice that shook the corners of the hideout: "I am doing my best! You are the last person to talk about action... You escaped that mine because others sacrificed their lives for you! You are just a man who excels at running away, and you can't do anything useful for anyone!"
A terrifying silence followed. Chris's words fell like artillery shells on Edward's shattered soul. Tears began to stream down his pale cheeks, and he whispered in a broken voice: "You're right... I am just a failure on two legs."
Chris felt a sharp sting of regret; he stepped closer and softened his tone: "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to break you, I just lost my temper. But look, I brought what will help us reach them."
Chris untied Edward and opened the box. The scent of old paper wafted out, revealing a detailed map of the gold mine owned by the Mortimer family, clearly showing the exact locations where the captives were being held inside.
Chris's eyes gleamed with decisive fire: "We move at midnight, in total secrecy. But for now... eat something. I don't want your daughter to see you this weak and say, 'Who is this skeleton claiming to be my father?'"
Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on Edward's face. They sat sharing a meal in the silence of preparation. As night fell and the world grew still, they geared up with their weapons and equipment and left the hideout toward the mine... where the storm awaited them.