It was a quiet morning in the Wheeler household. Adam Wheeler was sat on the couch, a desk on wheels positioned in front of him, working on some overnight paperwork that his job had saddled him with. It felt like something out of a fairytale, that quiet soaking into the entire house, into the foundation, nothing but the soft creak of various outdoor creatures. Marion was upstairs, sleeping in their bedroom, resting after a long day doing… whatever she does. He hasn't asked. He doesn't want to know, really.
The day was punctuated only with the soft noises of writing, the pen tapping across the desk set out in front of him so he can continue his work, illuminated by nothing but a light on the desk he's set out for this purpose. He continues to write, filling out the paperwork before him, and thinking about everything. It's been very hectic for him and Marion, but it's been nice. He enjoys the life that he's cultivated with her.
A knock echoes from their door. Two taps on the wood. Adam stretches a little, looking at the door, as if to ensure that it isn't a hallucination caused by late-night work over days and days, stacking up into sleep deprivation causing him to hear things. He stares for a moment, before looking back down and returning to his paperwork. Three taps on the wooden door. Louder. Harder. Adam grumbles to himself, standing. He walks to the window, peaking through the blinds for a moment. He catches a glimpse of… Three men. FBI uniforms. Guns drawn. He quickly closes the blinds. He only caught three, but he's quite sure it would be more. The Government never sends too few people to a sting like this.
He doesn't know what Marion does, but he damn well knows what she's warned him about: this exact scenario. He breathes heavily and thinks. They shouldn't know he's in the living room. Nobody caught him peeking through the blinds, to his knowledge, so he slowly starts to creep upstairs. He can let Marion know they're here, and not make it seem suspicious. The desk light could be explained very easily. A forgetful slip of the mind. He could make it upstairs, and they wouldn't question him. He makes it all the way up the stairs, almost to the closed bedroom door—
"FBI! WE HAVE A WARRANT. OPEN UP NOW." He can hear them yell, and he grits his teeth, freezing at their shouts. He reaches, slowly now, for the knob of the bedroom door. He places his hand on it—
CRACK. Wood splitting. The door being forced open. Adam grabs the doorknob, yanking the door open, and running in. The second it takes him to realize what he's seeing, it's already too late. He screams.
[♫]
U.I.U. Special Agent Daniel Lambert steps out of his car, a black fixer-upper in every manner of the word. When he had first gotten his promotion to Special Agent, the higher-ups were hoping to move him out of his little, for lack of better words, shitty car. Turns out that he was much too attached to it. He'd spent fifteen years of his life caring for it, and he wasn't especially keen on letting go now. He likes to think that's why he was promoted in the first place. He's got what he's heard described1 as a gentle touch, the need to see things through to the end.
There's been some buzz around HQ regarding the case that they'd assigned him to: The Wheeler Case. Five U.I.U. agents, fully surveyed exits, no hidden escape routes after a thorough sweep of the house— Yet she completely disappeared. Not a trace, not a fingerprint from her after 12:46 AM, April 8th, 2008. Not to mention the husband's current condition,2 which was not especially conducive to further investigation or understanding of what happened. Nothing out of the ordinary in the house from the reports he's read, other than a faint, musty smell. Everything else is spotless, not a chance of another figure in the house.
Agent Lambert supposes that's probably why he was called in. He was usually put onto cold cases, but the higher-ups must've figured they wanted his skills on this case early. Anomalous crimes or mysterious disappearances are much more likely to run cold than non-anomalous ones. He wasn't by any means one of their best agents, but he had a particular skill set, one befitting a case such as this.3
He walks up the driveway, the Wheeler Household4 was strangely abuzz, U.I.U. agents and yellow tape going up to secure the scene. Gawking, paranoid bystanders being shooed off by the local police force. Apparently, the mayor was going to be giving a speech, not at all unexpected in a scenario such as this, but Lambert couldn't help but hope that he was going to approach it delicately. Missing people are always taken poorly in a community. It doesn't matter the missing person's social standing, people don't like to think that they could be next. There'll be whispers of foul play the entire time, but all he could do to mitigate this was his job. He had to find what happened, to see if the panic was warranted or a false alarm, a step on a creaky floorboard by a mouse, not an intruder, so to speak.
There was apparently always the possibility that Marion Wheeler had escaped somehow, and this was a long con. The husband, however, would've been a confusing factor. From all the U.I.U.'s profiling on him, he's never been a part of his wife's actions. No history in acting either, for a role as intense as this.5 Lambert didn't think it was very likely. There wouldn't be a clear exit without an anomaly, and those almost always have some kind of detectible drawback to utilizing them.
He opens the door to the house, laying eyes upon his partner once more: U.I.U. Special Agent Luke Darwin. Luke was a good agent, for all his… flaws. He was, to put it simply, a hothead. He had a history of breaking departmental codes to complete cases. Damn good at his job, but he was insistent on his way. That's why he was assigned as Daniel's partner. Daniel was on the straight and narrow, careful to keep in line and keep those around him in line. He was good at it too. Daniel Lambert adjusts his blazer, nodding to his partner.
Darwin takes a step closer. "Nice for you to finally show up. Ready to find whatever the guys missed in their search?"
Lambert nods. "That's why we're here." He nudges Darwin, trying to lighten the mood a little. "So, what rooms are we gonna double over first? Did you check out any without me yet?"
Darwin scoffs. "I haven't left the living room. I know you'd have my head if I found something without you."
They nod, before walking up the stairs. Lambert comes across the chalk marking where Adam Wheeler collapsed, and the room where Marion Wheeler was last seen.
As they enter the room, musty and oddly full of dust, Agent Lambert notices a picture on the wall. Right across from the bed, so that someone laying down and facing forward could see it.
Lambert stared, deeper and deeper into the picture.
A light flickered on. Agent Lambert stared into it.
He reached for it, the radiance cutting deep into his soul. He smiled as he saw it. But he noticed something.
WHY DO YOU R _ _? asked the man from the corner.
But
Nothing
Spoke back.
The light snaps away from Daniel.
He is thrust into the pitch black.
There is nothing here.
As he floats in the pitch black.
He considers if there ever was anything beyond it.
Or if everything
Was tinted by it.
The shrieking chord of an unseen bird
snaps him back to reality. Lambert stares at the walls, yelling for his partner. Luke Darwin comes upstairs, putting a hand on Daniel's shoulder. Daniel pushes it off gently, as he points to a spot in the wall.
Luke questions this. "What's wrong?"
But Daniel can't answer. He can only point to what he now knows. What he's understood now in this thought. So Luke brushes his hand against the wall. He's never seen this happen to Lambert, but he's heard stories. It's supposedly what makes him one of the best detectives. His premonitions. It was almost eerie to see it happen in action.
He brushes his hand against Daniel's hair, before running downstairs and returning later. Daniel Lambert couldn't tell how long it took. But he was back eventually. And he hit where he was pointing. He hadn't stopped pointing. He couldn't stop pointing. He didn't want to lose it.
Luke smashes the hammer against the wall, until he can see into the insulation. Notes. Handwritten. He pulls them out of the wall, tossing them onto the ground. Marion Wheeler. Marion Wheeler. Marion Wheeler. All by her. Luke looked at the insulation now, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
Mold.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Class_room_in_the_dark.jpg
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Eastern_Barn_Owl_-_Tyto_javanica,_Pune,_India.jpg
