Trent wandered the streets, searching for any trace of her he could come across. Shadows played across the buildings beyond the warm glow of street lights. A siren howled in the distance as he waited for a car to pass before he crossed the street. He showed a photo of her on his phone to a couple exiting a bodega. "Sorry to bother you, but have you seen this girl?"
They looked, then shook their heads. "No, sorry."
He continued searching, wandering aimlessly. He had searched everywhere he could think of that she might have went. As well as the neighbourhoods around St. Sebastian's church and the youth refuge they'd been staying at. He remembered someone saying there was a punk squat on Taylor Street and decided to head there and check it out since it wasn't too far. Although punks weren't the type she usually hung out with, they might have seen her or know something. Trent made his way up the street, eerily quiet as the occasional vehicle passed, and he could only see two other people walking down the street.
Trent saw three men talking beside an alleyway as he approached, but paid no attention to them; his mind was on his girlfriend, who had disappeared two days ago without a word. Suddenly the three men had him surrounded.
One moved behind him wielding a baseball bat, while another held a nasty-looking knife.
The third chuckled and wrapped a steel chain around his fist. "Hey man! You're in the wrong neighbourhood, mother fucker," he said with a wicked smirk.
The one with the knife chuckled. "Give us your money, homey, and nobody gets hurt....probably," he chuckled again. "We'll see if you get lucky!"
Trent froze; his blood ran cold as fear gripped him. "Ugh....hey look guys, I don't want any trouble," he said, raising his hands.
"Too bad, bitch!" the guy with the baseball bat snarled. The three of them laughed.
Trent chuckled nervously. "Er, look, guys, I would give you everything I have, but the truth is I'm poor. I don't have any money on me, or anything of value really."
"Oh, well, that's too bad!" the guy with the chain around his fist said, punching his opposite palm. "I guess we'll just have to take what we can get, have our fun beating you to a bloody pulp and call it even," he said with a malevolent smirk.
Trent started to panic. These thugs were bad news. Predators who had found a tempting target and were determined to get something out of him. Even if it was just the sick joy of beating him senseless. "Please!" he begged, trying to back up, but feeling the presence of the guy with the baseball bat behind him edging closer.
"Hey!" A voice shouted, and everyone's attention flew to the sound as a man in his early thirties wearing a leather trench coat appeared behind the guy with the baseball bat. He barely had time to respond as the new arrival's fist smacked him right in the nose, shattering it with a sickening crack and a spray of blood as he dropped the bat and fell to the ground in a heap.
The guy with the knife stepped forwards. "Fuck off, buddy! You just made a big mistake!" he said, brandishing the knife as he prepared to attack.
The guy in the coat casually withdrew a 9mm glock and pointed it at him. "You've got two choices: either you can cut your losses and get out of here, or you can try me. I wouldn't recommend the latter," he warned, narrowing his eyes.
The two thugs stared for a second and then turned and fled.
Trent turned to the man in the coat and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks a lot!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was dead meat."
The guy nodded. "I'm certain you would've been." He put the gun away and pulled out something else, flashing a badge. "Detective Devin Gallows, NYPD," he stated. "You're very lucky I happened to be passing by."
Trent nodded in agreement. "I sure am, mister, thanks!"
"Any idea why those guys stopped you? Or was it just bad luck?" Gallows asked.
"Just my bad luck. I'm looking for my girlfriend, Stacy. We've been staying at a refuge nearby, and the other day she just….disappeared," Trent explained. "I've been searching everywhere for her."
Gallows raised an eyebrow. "Disappeared?"
"Yeah, as in one night she was there at the refuge. Then the next morning she was gone. No notes, no messages left with staff, nothing."
"I see," Gallows said, scratching his chin. "You don't think she ran off for some reason? Got an important message from home about some crisis and quickly left?"
Trent shook his head. "No! Stacy and I are both homeless, hence the refuge. Stacy doesn't have any family. Her mum died a few years ago, and her dad walked out on them when she was three," he explained. "All we've got in the world is each other. She wouldn't just leave me like that. I swear!" Trent insisted, his tone stressed and desperate.
"Okay, okay. Relax," Gallows replied. "I believe you. Have you gone and filed a missing person's report?"
"Oh course!" Trent exclaimed. "I'm not stupid, but I doubt much will come of it."
Gallows smirked. "I didn't think you were, but I gotta ask these things; not everyone thinks of the obvious in times of crisis. Why's that?"
"Because, people don't care about a couple of poor homeless kids," Trent replied, matter-of-fact.
Gallows bristled, not because he took it as an insult, but because he knew Trent was right. "I care, kid," he told him. "What's her surname? I'll have a look at the reports and look around, see if I can find anything."
"Dayton. Stacy Dayton."
Gallows nodded, filing the name away as he took a card out of his wallet and handed it to Trent. "Here's my card with my number. Give me a call tomorrow afternoon and I'll fill you in on what I find."
Trent took it. "Thanks, oh, and Detective Gallows?"
"Yeah?"
"Stacy isn't the only one who's gone missing. She's just the latest of half a dozen who've disappeared in the last month."
Gallows froze. "I think I had better come talk to some of the other kids," he said, with an expression of deep concern.
The next morning Gallows sat at the computer on his desk as he checked the database of missing persons' reports in the area over the past three months. "Look at this, Trent was right. Four kids from the refuge have been reported missing in the past month. His girlfriend Stacy and three others."
"I thought there were six kids who had gone missing," his partner Doyle commented.
Gallows nodded. "Yeah, but apparently no one cared enough to report them as missing. They had no friends or associates close enough to consider and go through with it."
"Then how do you know it's really six kids who've gone missing?" Doyle asked.
Gallows looked over at him. "A girl I spoke to at the refuge, Katie. She confirmed what Trent told me. Her story pretty much matched his, but with more detail, as she's been there a lot longer. Something is going on here, something big."
Doyle cracked his knuckles and took a sip of the coffee in front of him. "I dunno, Dev. They're homeless kids; many of them are runaways. It's not too much of a leap to come to the conclusion that they've run away again or simply moved on and didn't bother to tell anyone," he said with a shrug. "It's just an odd coincidence that it's happened a lot in the past month," he insisted.
Gallows frowned as he pondered it, staring at the computer screen. "Maybe," he admitted. "But maybe not. Both Katie and Trent insisted that people had just vanished, like they had up and left and left all their stuff behind. How many homeless kids would just up and leave what little they have behind?" he asked, his tone thoughtful. "No, something is going on here, I'm certain of it."
Detective Doyle sighed. "Look, I appreciate you want to look out for these kids. Hell, I do too; they're vulnerable, and the system has let them down. But we've got a double homicide to investigate, not to mention that murder and GTA. We're busy enough as it is, and we don't have time to chase down every situation we come across that looks suspicious. Especially when there's probably a very logical explanation." Doyle sighed again. "And let's face facts, they're teenagers. They're easily mistaken; they exaggerate things and sometimes outright lie," he insisted.
"Why would they lie about this?" Gallows asked.
Doyle shrugged. "Who knows? For attention? A prank? Just because they think it's cool?"
Gallows looked thoughtful. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed, not convinced.
Enid waved the tickets in front of Wednesday's face. "Look Wednesday! It's called 'The King In Yellow,' and it's a gothic fantasy! Just the thing we can both enjoy!" she beamed.
Wednesday's response was a non-committal grunt.
"Oh don't be a killjoy! You'll love it! Come on, I've already got the tickets!" Enid beamed, holding them out for Wednesday to inspect. "I got us some great seats!"
Wednesday studied the tickets and sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll get my coat. But if this turns out to be another poor imitation of a fairy tale romance, I'm leaving," she warned.
Enid cheered, and soon they were at the theatre weaving their way through the crowd as they made their way towards their seats, Enid cradling a huge drink and bucket of popcorn to her chest. Wednesday had to admit she was impressed with the seats Enid had purchased. They were central seats close to the stage with a good view of everything. Prime positions not easily obtained, especially for an opening night.
As the play wore on, Wednesday's sense of disillusionment grew with the passage of the minutes. The play seemed to be about a bunch of arrogant, rich aristocrats acting like arrogant, rich aristocrats. The only plot point of interest was the side plot of the character of Cassilda, a beautiful but vapid and dim-witted girl who was terrorised both physically and psychologically by many of the other characters. But even her torment grew stale and uninspired as the handsome lord who had previously claimed to love her now cruelly rejected and mocked Cassilda. Wednesday had a hand propped up under her chin on the arm of her seat, while on the other arm her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm as she gave a loud sigh of exasperation. Her initial attitude of cautious curiosity had quickly developed into bored contempt.
She heard a sniffle and a sob beside her, and she looked to see Enid in tears, utterly absorbed and enamoured with the performance.
Wednesday rolled her eyes and sighed again. The man beside her gave her a dirty sideways glance, which Wednesday returned with a glare of her own. He didn't dare comment or look her way again.
Enid blew her nose loudly as she sobbed, earning a few disproving looks from the people around them. Wednesday looked like she was ready to walk in front of traffic. It would be a less punishing and far less tedious fate. "Poor Cassilda! She's so kind and sweet to everyone, and they all just take advantage of her, yet she doesn't let that ruin her view of the world or the people in it. They don't deserve her!" Enid sobbed.
Wednesday thought if she rolled her eyes one more time they might get stuck like that, so she refrained. "Cassilda's an idiot," she retorted. "Her embrace of the role of victim, based on this foolish notion of being a damsel in distress, is exactly what contributes to her misfortune. The fact she hasn't realised there's no handsome prince coming to save her is both unrealistic, even the greatest simpleton would've realised this by now, and narratively bankrupt. The repetitive nature of her torment loses its impact and becomes tiresome quickly," Wednesday explained. "A fool who openly invites and plays a part in their own demise isn't worthy of pity. Cassilda is happy to live in a cage constructed of gilded thorns, merely for the fact it is gilded. Her vanity and material obsession are key to her own downfall."
Wednesday looked at her watch. The play had seemingly been going for hours, yet it showed no sign of coming to an end any time soon. She frowned. The play had been going for an hour and a half; she still had to endure another hour of this nonsense. She decided she would take an exceedingly long toilet break and went to stand when a line from the stage stopped her in her tracks. The line made mention of a facet of the occult she recognised, a random and unusual insertion into the script. She stayed out of curiosity to see if anything came of it.
By the end of the play the two friends would have two very different experiences from their current states. The play morphed quite suddenly but seamlessly from a dark, fantasy tale of court politics and relationships into a hellish Lovecraftian nightmare. Enid gaped in terror as the play took a dark turn from mundane evils of humanity and the abuse of a dimwitted lady of the court to a spectacle of horror, grotesque, monstrosity, cruelty and evil that made satanic gore horror films seem like child's play. Enid let out a frightened whimper as she glanced at Wednesday, who was now engrossed in the play. Her reaction was one of profound religious experience.
Gallows stood in front of her desk, his arms casually at his sides.
"To what do I owe this unexpected visit, Detective Gallows?" Wednesday asked. "It's been a while."
"I need your help. There's a youth shelter in the city where for the last month every so often some of them have been going missing. Just vanishing into thin air. They're there one evening, and the next they're gone, and all their stuff is left behind. Someone is kidnapping and taking them somewhere and I need your help to discover who, why, and most importantly where they're taking them," he explained.
Wednesday's expression did not change, but her gaze sharpened. The mention of a shelter, of missing youths, of a pattern, as she immediately began constructing a list of potential abductors and motivations. She opened a drawer in her desk and withdrew a pristine, black leather-bound notebook, flipping it open to a new page. Her fountain pen appeared in her hand with a seamless motion, as if by magic.
"Details. How many are missing? Over what precise time frame? Age range, gender, any common physical or behavioral characteristics prior to disappearance? Is there a pattern to the time of day? Weather conditions? Lunar phase? Who runs the shelter? Where does it get its funding?" Her questions came rapid-fire, her pen poised. "Why do you suspect supernatural involvement, rather than mundane trafficking or runaways?"
"A couple of nights ago I ran into this kid having some trouble with some local hoodlums. He told me he and his girlfriend were staying at the place, but one morning she was just....gone. He'd been looking everywhere for her and ended up in the wrong neighbourhood," Gallows explained. "He introduced me to another kid from there; she told me the same thing. Teenagers from there just mysteriously vanishing, leaving no trace and saying nothing to the friends they'd made."
The way her dark eyes studied him with that intense gaze made him feel nervous. It was that predatory look she gave people when she was studying them like a specimen to dissect. He cleared his throat and continued.
"Anyway, I don't know if it's anything supernatural or not. It might not be, but something strange is happening and no one is helping those kids. The local cops shrugged it off and said what you suggested; they just ran away. Even at my own precinct I couldn't find anything, and my partner insists they're probably just runaways. But this kid, Trent, he insists his girlfriend wouldn't just run off like that, so I'm inclined to believe him."
Wednesday listened, her pen moving in swift, precise movements. Trent. Girlfriend. Pattern of disappearances. Disbelief of authorities.
"The trust of a desperate individual is an unreliable indicator of truth, but their desperation often points to a truth authority ignores," she murmured, more to herself than to him. She looked up and closed the notebook. "I will investigate. The parameters are interesting. A pattern of disappearances with no physical evidence suggests either unnaturally efficient criminals... or something that leaves no conventional trace." She stood. "I require the shelter's address. The names and descriptions of the missing, and I will need to interview Trent and the other witness. Tonight." She paused and held his gaze. "This is a business transaction, Gallows. My standard retainer fee applies. Payment is required upon acceptance of the case."
"Sure, well, I can take you there now if you want," he offered, then smiled at her professionalism. "Of course, I wouldn't have expected anything else. I've already consulted the city's funding account for your services," he says, taking out his wallet and a wad of bills held together with a rubber band. "There's $3,000 for a down payment."
Wednesday's gaze dropped to the cash. She did not reach for the money immediately. "The $3,000 will suffice as a deposit. The remainder, plus any additional expenses incurred, will be due upon the resolution of the case." She plucked the bills from his hand.
"We will go to the shelter. I will observe and inquire. You will introduce me, but you will not interfere with my methods." Her tone brooked no argument. She moved to a coat rack, retrieving a long, black wool coat and slipping it on. "Your role is to ensure the witnesses are comfortable enough to speak to me. Your... charismatic affect seems to have achieved that already." She fastened the last button, her eyes meeting his. "Lead the way."
Wednesday fell into step beside him, her pace matching his as they emerged onto the nighttime street.
"You're making the most of that city contract," he said with a smirk.
She followed him to his car and waited for him to climb in the driver's seat and unlock the passenger door before she opened it and slid into the seat. She looked out the window as he drove. "The cost is not arbitrary. It accounts for my expertise, overhead, and the significant risk premium associated with clients who have a history of.... chaotic entanglements."
They soon arrived at the youth shelter, and he parked the car before they got out and approached the building. She stood on the sidewalk, adjusting her coat and surveying the premises as he led the way inside, looking for Trent and spotting him talking to another boy on a lounge in the large communal room. About a dozen kids were lounging around inside.
Gallows headed over to Trent and greeted him with a nod as Trent waved.
"Hi Devin!" he greeted the detective warmly. "Who's your friend?" he asked, looking at Wednesday.
"A business associate," Gallows replied. "We need to discuss the incident, but not here. We'll head to the diner down the street and talk there," Detective Gallows said, motioning for him to join them.
A youth worker came scampering over. "Hi guys, how can I help you?" she asked, cheerfully. "You're not supposed to just walk in; that's what our reception is for," she said, motioning to the unattended desk by the door.
Gallows nodded at her. "Sorry, we're here to collect Trent to take him out for dinner and discuss a work opportunity."
"Oh cool! A potential job? That's awesome, Trent!" She gushed. Then studied Wednesday. "Is he helping you as well?" she asked Wednesday. "You look like you've had a rough time lately, dear. You could certainly use some sun and fun!" she said, with a friendly smile.
Wednesday fixed the woman with an unblinking stare. The woman's relentless cheer was an assault on the senses. "I assure you, my pallor is congenital, not circumstantial," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth.
She looked to Trent, assessing him with a swift, analytical sweep. "I am Wednesday Addams. I investigate anomalies. Detective Gallows has engaged my services. The diner will provide a more controlled environment for discussion." Her eyes flicked back to the youth worker for a brief, withering moment before returning to Trent. "Gather any personal items you require. We depart now."
"Oh, right. Sure," Trent said with a nod as he stood. "Devin said he would be back with help," he added with a smile as Gallows patted him on the back and guided him to the door as they left the shelter and walked down the street towards the diner.
"So, how do you and Devin know each other?" Trent asked Wednesday as they entered the diner, and the detective motioned to an unoccupied booth towards the back.
Gallows took a seat across from Trent, moving in so Wednesday could sit beside him and interview Trent from across the table.
Wednesday slid into the booth. She placed her notebook on the table and took out her fountain pen. "Detective Gallows and I are occasional collaborators on specific types of criminal investigations. My expertise in certain areas makes me a valuable asset to the police department, but we are not here to discuss that," she replied. "We are here to discuss the disappearance of your girlfriend and the pattern of disappearances at the refuge." She opened the notebook. "Begin with her name. Her physical description. The date and time you last observed her. Your precise actions upon discovering her absence. Omit no detail, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. Any data point could be a variable."
"Her name's Stacy. I last saw her on Sunday night four days ago. She's an inch or two taller than you, with light brown hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. She's sixteen," Trent told Wednesday. "I slept in Monday morning, and when I awoke, she wasn't at the shelter. I asked around, and the lady you saw, Karen, told me Stacy had volunteered to do community work at St. Sebastian's church. A lot of us go do work at the church to help out with their soup kitchens and stuff for the homeless. It's a sort of mutual aid, community service thing. They help us out with food and shelter, and in return we help when they need people for soup kitchens, cleaning the church, giving out pamphlets and stuff," Trent explained. "Someone from the church will come down with a van to take volunteers and bring them back later, but Stacy didn't return with them. So I went looking for her."
Wednesday's pen moved swiftly. "St. Sebastian's Church. A consistent vector. The van and the organised volunteer work; it provides both opportunity and a veneer of legitimacy." She looked up, her gaze sharp. "Describe the individual who collects the volunteers. Appearance, demeanour, vehicle make and model. Does the same person always come? Is there a schedule, or is it random? Have you ever participated in this 'community work'?"
"Yeah, a guy named Christopher. He's the head of their Christian youth movement. He gives talks to the youth group and organises their activities and stuff. He supervises the volunteers with Jennifer, who I think is his girlfriend or something. It's a bit of both," Trent explains. "They come down on a schedule to collect volunteers for the services on Friday nights, Saturday and Sunday services. But they'll show up randomly, like on Monday, to get volunteers for chores and charity work. I did once, with the soup kitchen. Both Stacy and I did. I was uncomfortable because they kept trying to convert us. Always talking about how Jesus is blessing us and how we should open our hearts to him and stuff. Even though they insist it's not about trying to convert people, they still do it on the side. The van? I don't know. It's a large navy blue van."
Wednesday took notes. "The conversion attempts are a byproduct or secondary objective. Primary focus: the van and the unscheduled pickups." She leaned forward, her voice lowering. "These random collections. Did Stacy, or any of the other missing youths, ever express reluctance? Mention anything unusual about the tasks or mention anything strange? Any changes in behaviour before their disappearance? Increased piety, sudden interest in scripture, or conversely, new anxieties?"
Gallows chimed in. "I'd say the attempted conversions are a secondary, unintentional objective. Their charity work is typically all about the charity, but they're so passionate and enthusiastic about their religious beliefs they can't help but talk about how wonderful God and Jesus are," he suggested. "From my experience they don't even realise they're doing it half the time. Except for when, you know.... they intentionally are trying to convert you."
Trent nodded and looked from him to Wednesday as he spoke. "People from the church visit regularly, they run the shelter. They're friendly, but kinda pushy with the whole religion thing. While insisting they're not trying to convert us. They will often invite us to services and stuff, but I've never attended. Reluctance? Yeah. Sometimes people haven't wanted to do the volunteer work because how they can be pushy about religion, or for whatever reason. Like one time Bianca, who used to stay here, didn't want to go because she had bad period pain. They kinda pressured her into going anyway and will try to make you feel guilty and ungrateful if you don't," Trent explained.
He shook his head at Wednesday's other questions. "Not that I can remember." He thought about it. "Oh, I remember Jamal was upset about something. They wanted him to do some task somewhere, and he didn't want to do it. There was quite a fuss caused over it. But a couple of days later he disappeared."
A cold, analytical light shone in Wednesday's eyes. "Pressure. Coercion disguised as guilt. A pattern of resistance preceding disappearance." She made another swift notation. "Are either you or Stacy religious?"
"I'm not, but Stacy is. A foster family she stayed with for years got her into Jesus and everything. Christopher took a liking to her because she was already a believer. Why?"
Wednesday made a note of it. "I need to ascertain the selection criteria. Do you know if any of the others that went missing were religious?"
He shook his head.
Wednesday nodded. "This is not about runaway youths. This is a series of abductions." She turned to Gallows. "The church and its associated personnel are the locus. The van is the mechanism. We require surveillance on the shelter to identify the next collection." She looked back at Trent. "You will return to the shelter. You will behave normally. If you are approached for volunteer work, you will decline. Under no circumstances are you to enter that van." Her tone left no room for argument. "Your role is now to observe and report. Note the license plate of the van. Note the exact time of any visit. Note the names of any other youths they attempt to recruit." She closed her notebook with a decisive snap. "We are done here. Gallows, you will see Trent safely back. I will begin preliminary reconnaissance on St. Sebastian's." She slid out of the booth. "We will reconvene at my office in two hours."
They parted ways, Wednesday hailing a cab as Gallows escorted Trent back to the shelter, giving him some tips on laying low and collecting information along the way. "Like Wednesday said, take note of everything happening around you and document anything that may seem strange or out of place. If you remember anything, be sure to copy that down as well."
Instead of heading back to Wednesday's office, Gallows drove over to St. Sebastian's Church. There was still a good ninety minutes before they were supposed to meet back at her office, and he figured his presence would be more useful at the church. He walked around the area casually, spotting her sitting in the shadows of a park bench next to the church grounds. He approached her and sat beside her.
She noticed him approach with a sideways glance of annoyance but said nothing as he sat down.
"How's the surveillance going?" he asked. "I don't know what you hope to see here in the middle of the night."
Wednesday did not look at him. Her posture remained rigid, her eyes fixed on the darkened church across the street, its stained glass windows reflecting the sickly glow of a distant street light.
"Your assumption that investigation ceases with sunset is a predictable and limiting fallacy," she said, her voice a low monotone. "Nocturnal observation establishes baseline activity. Delivery schedules. Security patrol patterns. The comings and goings of late-night custodial staff or, more relevant, clergy with unconventional hours." She turned her head, her expression unreadable in the shadows. "You were instructed to return to the office. Your presence introduces an unnecessary variable. If you are seen, you risk alerting the subjects."
"I concluded a church would be quiet at these hours. Since you know, it's closed for business, but I stand corrected. There's plenty of things that could occur, however unlikely they may be," he agreed with a nod. "As for being seen. As far as anyone knows, we're just a couple out for a nighttime stroll."
Wednesday huffed but didn't comment. "I suspect any illicit activity will not be occurring within the church itself. A secondary location. Perhaps a parish hall, or more likely, a separate property entirely." She returned her gaze to the church. "The van was described as navy blue. Common. We require the license plate. We also require access to church records, rosters of volunteers, lists of staff, schedules and financial records."
"Did you try the parking lot behind the church? The van might be parked there if it's owned by the church," he suggested after a few minutes of silence. Then withdrew a small white case. "AirPod earbuds. They have Bluetooth and hence can be tracked via my phone to find them. It's a sort of GPS tracker. It will be useful to track the van's movements, but it'll only last a couple of days."
Wednesday's eyes narrowed, a spark of something akin to predatory interest glinting in their depths. She accepted the case, examining the earbuds with a critical, appreciative gaze. "A satisfactory solution. Common, easily overlooked if discovered." She handed it back to him. "The parking lot is a logical starting point. If the van is not present tonight, we will have to track its arrival during a scheduled pickup."
"Let's go take a look then, shall we?" Gallows said, standing as they took a walk around the park, making their way towards the back of the church. Sure enough, the van was parked in the car park, beside the rear entrance.
Wednesday's gaze locked onto the van. She stopped, merging into the shadows of a large oak tree. "That is the van. Position is advantageous. Close to the rear entrance for quick loading and minimal exposure."
She looked at him. "Now, while the perimeter is clear."
Gallows approached the van and took out a wire coat hanger he'd had in the back of the car, bending it out of shape as he slid it down the side of the window and lifted the latch on the lock. Opening the passenger door, he slid open the sliding door several feet and climbed into the back, hiding the AirPods securely underneath the front seat. He was soon beside Wednesday once more with his phone out, tracking the AirPods' position.
He showed her a little marker indicating the AirPods on the GPS as she nodded, and they returned to his car.
"As you said, we need to come up with a way to force their hand to ensure their van goes on its route, if it indeed plays a role in the disappearing youth," Gallows said, as he drove back to Wednesday's office.
"The plan is simple. I will visit the church and access their records with Enid as my distraction. She is proficient at making a nuisance of herself while I engage in more clandestine activities. Agnes will go undercover as a youth coming to the shelter. Inserting her into the refuge and having her volunteer at the church could lend us invaluable intelligence and hopefully lead to locating the missing youth," Wednesday said. "I will brief Agnes. This will also give us a second data stream from inside the vehicle. Your role shifts to command and coordination. You will monitor Agnes and the van. She will also be equipped with a GPS so we can track her movements. Once we learn the abducted teens location, we make plans for extraction," she explained.
He dropped Wednesday off back at her office and headed home with the understanding he would return at 10am the next morning.
Agnes entered the shelter and approached reception. She was dressed in some of the most ragged and oldest clothing she owned to look the part.
After waiting for a few minutes, one of the staff came over. "Hello there! How can I help you?" The woman, portly and older with a big, warm smile, asked.
"Hello. My name's Betty, Betty Bedlam, and I'm homeless. I was hoping by chance you had a spot available?"
The woman studied her. There was something about her bright green eyes, the way they seemed too large, and the small smirk she wore that made the petite redhead unsettling to maintain eye contact with. "Oh! Well, let me see," she said, turning to the computer. "We had a vacancy a couple of days ago, and let me check to….ah! You're in luck!"
Agnes beamed happily, her eyes shining with something akin to mischief. "Oh good! If that isn't suuu diddly ooper!"
"I'm going to need to see your ID," the woman said.
Agnes nodded. "Certainly!" and withdrew a fake ID from her pocket that she handed over.
The woman took it and looked it over. "Excellent! Welcome to Starlight Sanctuary, Betty! My name's Pat, and I'm the chief coordinator here. Let's go and get you settled in," she beamed kindly.
Agnes smiled. She imagined herself laughing maniacally as she declared, "You fool! I'm not Betty Bedlam at all! You've been duped by the mistress of disguise, Agnes DeMille!" Instead, she just smiled and said. "Oh happy days!"
Pat showed Agnes around the shelter. The administration desk, situated to one side, led into an office, and beyond it the space opened up into a large main room that served as a living and entertainment area. A cafeteria sat off to the right with a small commercial kitchen beyond. A doorway beside it indicated the way towards the bathrooms, while one on the opposite side led to the dormitories. Pat showed her into the girl's room, where double bunk beds for a dozen girls sat in two neat rows. The room wasn't huge to begin with, so there wasn't anything such as privacy.
Pat handed her a key and indicated her locker, where Agnes put her backpack and, following Pat's lead, followed her back out into the main room, where she was introduced to the other residents.
She looked around for one that met the description of Trent and spotted him talking to another boy as they watched several others playing a fighting game on Xbox.
"Hi!" she said, approaching him.
Trent looked at her and nodded. "Hey!" then went back to his conversation with the other boy that she had interrupted.
She frowned. "You know it's Thursday, but Wednesday is really my favourite day of the week. It seems we have a mutual friend who's quite the detective," she said.
He didn't get the hint and just frowned in confusion. "Uh huh. Cool," he said, his tone uninterested, as he turned his attention back to the TV.
Agnes grit her teeth in annoyance, suddenly lashing out and grabbing Trent by the collar as she pulled him down to eye level with her. "Look, buddy, time is of the essence, and I'm not messing around," she hissed. "So you're gonna shut ya yap, listen good, and do as I say, got it?"
Trent's look of surprise turned to one of fear. "Uh, o….okay!" He stammered.
"Gallows and Wednesday sent me undercover to help you, so you had better start being useful," Agnes scolded him.
A look of understanding came over Trent's face at Gallows' name. "Oh, right!" He said with a nod. "You're Wednesday's….agent."
"Yes indeedy," she replied cheerfully. "Now, how bout you help out with the investigation?"
At exactly 10am the bell on the office door dinged as Gallows entered. Enid looked up from her desk. "Hi, Dev!" she greeted him with a smile and energetic wave.
He smiled back at her. "Good morning Enid. Wednesday around?"
She nodded. "Of course! She's waiting for you in her office," she said, with a wink.
"Oh? Should I be scared or excited?"
She smirked. "Why not both? That way you've got all your bases covered."
He snorted. "Good advice considering the circumstances. Alright, well, I'll go see the boss. No doubt we'll be crossing paths again before this is over. See ya then!"
Enid smiled and waved in response, then pointed a finger up the stairs, her expression a theatrical look of grumpiness.
He smirked back at her and ascended the staircase.
Wednesday sat at her desk when he approached. "Good morning. Everything going ahead like we discussed?"
She looked up and nodded. "I briefed Agnes on her mission this morning. By now she has successfully infiltrated the shelter, made contact with Trent, and is conducting intelligence gathering via surveillance and subtly questioning the other residents."
She slid a device across her desk towards him. "You can monitor her position with this. She's equipped with a tracker in her pocket so we can trace her movements. I'm awaiting a message with an intelligence report, that I expect will come sometime late this afternoon. Meanwhile, you're to keep track of her and the van's positions and keep a close record of their movements."
He picked it up and nodded. "What if she runs into trouble?"
"Agnes is capable of looking after herself," Wednesday replied. "Her martial arts training, proficiency with melee weapons, and ability to turn invisible make her a lethal foe capable of a seamless escape if it becomes necessary."
"And your role?"
"Enid and I will be leaving to conduct our intelligence operation within the hour. By this afternoon I expect to have detailed information on St. Sebastian's church and whatever it is they are involved with. The information will serve to be utilised against them in any criminal proceedings and give us valuable information to use in locating the abducted youth."
"And once we find them?"
"We initiate evacuation procedures, by any means necessary," she said, her tone flat, but her eyes conveying a sense of eager anticipation.
Wednesday entered St Sebastian's Church and took a seat in one of the pews near the entrance to the administrative area. She played the role of the dutiful devotee, bowing her head and folding her hands in silent prayer among the dozen worshippers in attendance.
Exactly five minutes later Enid wandered into the church, looking around in awed fascination. The personality that entered wasn't Enid Sinclair; it was loud, painfully obnoxious, and horrifically entitled. "Oh...my…god!" She exclaimed, her voice booming in the cavernous church. "This place is like…amazing!" she said to herself. "It's so big and spacious! The perfect place to hold my big influencers ball!"
A few people looked up and frowned at her, but she ignored them, taking out her phone and pretending to make a call as she spoke loudly. "Oh! Claire! You won't believe it, but I found, like, the ultimate place to host my party!"
A disgruntled-looking nun rushed up to Enid and began chastising her.
Enid frowned. "Um, excuse me, sister? Do you have any idea who I am? I'm Sally St. Claire! I'm the new, big thing in online influencers, hun, and you're interfering with my party plans!" she said with an angry pout. Enid then proceeded to throw a tantrum, and another nun and an office worker had to come out to assist the flustered nun trying to calm Enid down.
With them distracted, Wednesday stood and marched into the administration office like she owned the place. She made a beeline for the computer, inserting a USB drive and copying everything in the documents folder onto it. While it was copying the files, she began searching for physical evidence, hard copies of records that might contain things the electronic ones didn't, plus files that might exist only in physical form. Like with everything she did, Wednesday's search was methodical, rapid, effective and efficient. She found copies of volunteer registers and schedule logs, flipping through pages and taking photos on her phone, documenting everything within the relevant time frame. Ten minutes after she had entered the office, Wednesday walked out, heading back through the church as she made for the exit. She spotted Enid, the nuns and staff member nearby, as two police officers were handcuffing Enid's hands behind her back.
Enid looked up at her as she passed. "Wednesday! Help!" Enid pleaded, her eyes full of panic.
Wednesday's eyes slid past Enid without a second glance as she walked right past. "Goodbye Sally," she said softly, as she walked out into the daylight and headed down the street to her car.
As soon as she shut the car door, she took out her phone and selected Gallows' number.
He answered after several rings. "Yeah?"
"Enid was arrested while providing a distraction at St. Sebastian's church," she said simply.
"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I'll go bail her out."
"Thank you." She hung up.
Agnes sat in an isolated corner of the room talking to the girl, Katie.
"I already told the detective what I know. I don't know anything about the disappearances," Katie insisted. "I didn't really know half of them. We share the same accommodation and are in similar circumstances, but that doesn't mean I'm friends with everyone."
Agnes nodded. "Sure, I understand that. But we need to figure out what the selection criteria is. How does one get selected for volunteer work and then vanish? Is it random? What is it they have in common? Trent says Stacy was a devout Christian. Do you know if any of the others were?"
Katie thought about it. "Florence, she was very religious. The type to wear a cross and say her prayers before bed. I think she was the first to go."
Agnes nodded, intrigued.
"And yeah, come to think of it, Jamal. He wasn't religious when he got here, but the whole pressure to convert thing. They got him pretty into it before he disappeared," Katie said.
Agnes stifled a grin. Three out of six abductees had been devout Christians. Believers who were well-behaved, willing and able to help volunteer. "Do you know when they'll be back to take volunteers over to the church?"
Katie nodded. "Yeah, tomorrow afternoon they'll come to get a few of us for Friday night's soup kitchen and church service. They get a load of homeless, addicts and poor people come in for dinner and coax as many of them as they can to stay for the sermon."
Agnes grinned with satisfaction. She retreated to the bathroom to send an update to Wednesday and then sauntered over to Pat and asked her if there were any chores she could do to help out. Agnes applied herself to her role, playing the dutiful and appreciative homeless girl as she completed various tasks. Later, she helped prepare dinner and helped clean the kitchen afterwards, all the while keeping a close watch on everything around her and listening for anything of interest.
The next day after lunch all the teenagers were gathered in the main room as they awaited a visit from the church's youth group coordinators to take volunteers for the kitchen and church service that night.
A man and woman in their late twenties entered and began their sales pitch. "Hi guys! I'm Chris!"
"And I'm Jennifer!"
"And we're here to see which of you today would like to come to the church and volunteer for our soup kitchen and service tonight!" Chris said, with way too much enthusiasm. "It's a lot of fun, and we also run youth group that you're welcome to take part in. It's a great way to give back to the community, help those in need, make new friends and begin an exciting relationship between yourself and a great guy named Jesus!" He beams.
Jennifer nods in agreement. "But hey! I know what you're thinking: Jesus? Church? That's lame, right? Well, you know what's not lame?"
"What, Jennifer?" Chris asked.
"Going to heaven!" she exclaimed. "Because the alternative is going to hell. And you know what's just not cool?"
"Lava?" Chris answers.
"Right!" She says with a laugh.
"And you guys know what has lots of lava?" Chris asked.
"Hell!" They both declare.
"Oh my god!" Agnes said softly to herself. "This is worse than I could've possibly imagined. Those poor kids, being subjected to this torture," she muttered. "I doubt even hell is this cruel."
Agnes braced herself, took a deep breath and summoned all the enthusiasm she could muster while she died inside. "Yay!" she cheered. "That sounds like a lot of fun! I love Jesus!" she practically shouted at them while she bounced on the spot.
"Oh ho! What's this? We have a fellow believer here with us today?" Chris asked.
"Yes, indeedy!" Agnes cried. "Jesus helped me to avoid the devil and his wickedness, like boys, alcohol, and...and...pixie sticks!"
"Ah ha! Oh well, then I suppose you'd be just dying to volunteer, right?" Chris asked, leaning down to her eye level and talking to her like she was a child.
Agnes pictured taking the pen out of his pocket and driving it into his throat. "I sure would!" she said with a big smile through gritted teeth. "It sounds like such awesome fun!"
Chris laughed. "Well, saddle up, partner!"
They then spent another ten minutes convincing a handful of other kids that it's something they should want to do.
Katie and Trent volunteered and joined Agnes. "You're going to rescue Stacy, Florence and the others. We want to help, if we can," Trent insisted.
Agnes nodded. "It's going to be dangerous. We don't even know what's happened to them yet, or where they are. But I won't try to stop you; I get it. Just don't do anything stupid and follow my lead," she insisted.
They both agreed, and soon the three of them and a few others were shuffled into the van and on their way to the church.
Enid, Wednesday and Gallows sat around the table in the briefing room as they watched the dot that indicated the van move from the church as it made its way through the streets, heading towards Starlight Sanctuary Youth Shelter. "Finally! This day has gone so damn slow just waiting for them to do something," Enid declared.
"Patience is a virtue. We still have to observe where the van goes once they've arrived at the church and select their prey," Wednesday replied. "Then we can commence planning the rescue mission."
The three of them watched in eager anticipation as the van made its return journey to the church, Agnes' tracker matching that of the van's AirPod passenger.
Several hours later, Wednesday and Gallows were browsing the church records when Enid let out a squeak.
"What happened?" Wednesday demanded, concern in her voice.
"Agnes' tracker, it just vanished," Enid replied. "Oh, I hope nothing bad has happened and she hasn't been caught....or worse."
Wednesday and Gallows rushed over, and they began going through possible explanations for the tracker's failure when the van began to move once more.
"Ah! She has destroyed the tracker because it was at risk of being discovered," Wednesday said, looking to Gallows. "Destroying the device is a signal to us that she has been selected and is currently in the van. She has destroyed it to avoid confusion over her position when the van begins its journey to the delivery point," she explained.
The three of them watched as the van moved through the city streets, heading north until it entered Scarsdale, a picturesque community north of the city complete with sprawling parks, golf courses, huge luxurious estates and home to many a wealthy family. As they watched the van pull into a property, Wednesday had her phone out and was tracking down the address. She studied it intently as her fingers moved over the screen, and after a minute she announced. "Ravencrest, ancestral home of the Vorlack family since 1751. The Vorlacks are private and largely shun public life, but they maintain a significant business in health and property insurance. Current home of the patriarch of the family, Alistair. The family initially made their fortune in mining shortly after coming to America in 1745." Dhe looked up at Enid and Gallows. "The Vorlack family has a long history of being practitioners of black magic, and Alistair is no exception. They've abducted eight teens and have brought them to Ravencrest tonight, the night of a blood moon. They intend to sacrifice the teens in a sacrificial ritual of some variety; I am certain of it. We must rescue them tonight and prevent the ritual from taking place."
Enid's eyes widened in shock. "Human sacrifice?" she echoed. "That's terrible!"
Wednesday addressed Gallows. "I need you to pull whatever strings you can, have a SWAT team and whatever else you'll need standing by to move in and take over once we've disrupted the ritual. Human law enforcement can't be trusted to deal with the supernatural, so we handle that ourselves while they conduct clean-up operations and deal with the teenagers," she instructed.
He nodded. "I'll inform Doyle and ensure everything is prepared." He showed her the laptop screen he had been looking at. "Do we have any idea where in the mansion they're being held? The house is heritage listed, so there's publicly available floor plans for us to learn the whole layout before we arrive," he said, motioning her over. The mansion was four storeys tall, not including a basement and sub-level. An elevator shaft ran up the centre of the building. Gallows pointed to it. "That's our entry point."
Wednesday leaned over his shoulder, her proximity a silent testament to the focus of the moment. Her eyes scanned the digital blueprints, missing nothing. "Heritage listings are a fatal oversight for those with clandestine operations," she noted. She tapped the screen, tracing a path. "The elevator shaft is optimal. Less frequented than stairs, it has maintenance access from the exterior. It will provide vertical mobility to all floors, including the basement and sub-level." She straightened, her mind already formulating the assault. "The ritual will require a space of significance—likely the original foundation or a room with specific architectural features conducive to their blasphemy. The basement, or possibly a sealed garden conservatory if it aligns with a celestial event. "The blood moon is waxing gibbous, nearing fullness. A potent time for sacrificial rituals."
She looked from the screen to Gallows. "The plan for exposure is twofold. First, we document everything. I will carry high-resolution micro-cameras. Second, we do not merely extract the captives. We trigger a contained, supernatural backlash. If they are channelling infernal power for gain, that power is anchored there. We locate the focus of their ritual—an altar, a bound entity or a cursed relic. And we destabilise it during their ceremony. The resulting… dissonance… will be impossible to conceal from authorities."
Their close proximity became apparent to them both as they realised how close they were as she looked back at him, her intense dark eyes studying him intently. They were close enough it was almost intimate. Wednesday did not pull back. In the focused intimacy of the strategy session, the inches between them felt charged, like the quiet moment before a lightning strike. Her dark eyes held his, and for a beat, the cold calculation was mingled with something else. She took a small, deliberate step back, breaking the proximity but not the intensity of her gaze as she continued. "Should Alistair Vorlack or his agents present a direct, immediate threat to the captives or ourselves, I am not opposed to... permanent incapacitation. The goal is cessation of their operations and their capture, leading to their prosecution. I am merely providing the state an opportunity to handle the administrative details."
"How are we going to know where they are?" Enid asked, "Like for sure?"
"Infra-red goggles will show us where the concentrations of people are. One will be the prison containing the teens to be sacrificed; the other will be Vorlack and his associates," Wednesday explained. "Our roles are clear. We infiltrate via the elevator shaft. We locate the ritual chamber. I will deploy counter-ritual measures and gather evidence. Gallows will provide physical security and neutralise any immediate threats. Enid will assist Agnes in escaping and freeing the captives. By the time the authorities arrive we will be making our retreat, leaving them to begin clean-up operations and cater to the teens," Wednesday said. "Agnes will likely be in the process of freeing herself by the time we arrive," she added, moving towards the door. "We move out in two hours. Ensure you are adequately prepared."
Wednesday was sitting behind the huge oak desk in her office, looking tiny in the huge chair, but every part the gothic queen as Gallows entered several hours later. "By the way, couldn't you find a bigger, more throne-like chair? This one is a tad wanting," he joked.
Wednesday looked up from where she was loading small, sinister-looking devices into a black satchel. She was dressed in head-to-toe matte black tactical gear, her braids pinned tightly against her head.
"The chair's dimensions are proportional to the desk, which was selected for its expansive workspace, not its ceremonial implications," she replied as she stood. "Your attempt at humour is noted and logged as an inefficient use of pre-mission cognitive bandwidth."
She handed him a small, flat case. "Wireless comms earpiece." She checked her watch. "Time to move out."
She led the way downstairs, collecting Enid on the way. Outside, a sleek, black SUV with tinted windows sat by the curb. Wednesday slid into the passenger seat as Enid scampered into the back and Gallows climbed in behind the wheel. "The drive is fifty-seven minutes. Use the time to place yourself into a state of optimal readiness." Wednesday said, buckling her seatbelt. "Cease all conversation. Begin mission compartmentalisation. Enid, review the floor plans. The service elevator access panel is on the east exterior wall. That is our point of entry."
Gallows turned the stereo on as the Metallica song For Whom the Bell Tolls blared from the speakers with the tolling of a church bell and the crushing opening riff and pounding drums.
Wednesday's eyes closed briefly, a pained expression crossing her features before settling into one of stoic endurance.
For the remainder of the drive, she sat in perfect, focused silence, occasionally making a notation in a small notebook, the outside world—and James Hetfield's growling vocals—completely shut out.
Gallows parked the van near Ravencrest, turned it off, and handed the keys to Enid before he climbed out, joining Wednesday as the two of them began the trek towards the mansion.
They found the main tender hatch to the elevator shaft, as Wednesday opened it, secured a rope around herself and clipped it onto the car cable. "I've only the one wench; you'll have to cling to me," she said flatly before adding. "Don't get any ideas."
He stepped forward and embraced her as instructed as they stood on the precipice of the shaft, hugging her around her middle as she did the same back. "Just don't decide to let me go and kick me off," he joked.
"Don't tempt me," she replied, gazing up at him, and then she fell backwards and they slid in a controlled descent to the bottom several floors below, their close proximity being something they were both well aware of.
The controlled fall into the darkness was a symphony of conflicting sensations. The rush of air, the bite of the cable through her gloves, the taut strength of his arms around her—it was all data, chaotic and overwhelming.
They touched down on the basement level with a soft thud. Wednesday unclipped the harness at once and stepped away, putting a foot of concrete between them. The air was thick with the smell of mildew, ozone, and something coppery beneath it all.
"Entry achieved. Proceeding to locate the ritual chamber." Wednesday drew a compact device from her satchel—a blend of a Geiger counter and a seismograph, its needle already twitching erratically. "Residual energy is dense, indicating the concentration of individuals sighted through the infrared goggles is Vorlak and his acolytes. This way."
She followed the needle's pull, leading them down a narrow, stone-lined corridor lit by flickering light bulbs. The sound of distant chanting, a low, monotonous drone, penetrated through the ancient walls. Wednesday's expression hardened. She looked back at Gallows, the ghost of their awkward proximity replaced by intense focus.
"They've begun the preliminary invocations. We are out of time for stealth. Be ready."
He nodded. "Lead the way," he said, walking beside and just behind her.
Wednesday moved with the lethal silence of a shadow. The device in her hand led them deeper into the sub-basement, the chanting growing louder, resolving into a dark, rhythmic, bestial tongue she didn't recognise. The corridor ended at a heavy, iron-banded door left ajar. A sliver of flickering firelight spilled out, along with the scent of incense and something else.
She held up a hand, signalling a halt. Peering through the crack, her eyes narrowed. The room beyond was a vast, circular chamber, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. In the centre, a stone altar stood upon a raised dais. Four terrified teenagers—Katie among them—were bound to ornate pillars surrounding it. Hooded figures moved in a slow, shuffling circle, their chant rising in intensity. At the far end, before a massive, grotesque statue of what resembled a ghoul, stood an older man in rich, dark robes: Alistair Vorlack.
Wednesday assessed the scene. She looked at Gallows, her voice a whisper in his ear. "Six acolytes, two armed guards by the main door. Vorlack is the focal point. The altar is the anchor. Enid, report."
A soft crackle in their earpieces. Enid's voice, tense, but clear said: "I'm at the van. There's two guards standing watch near the mansion entrance. I can take them, but it'll be noisy. Ready on your mark."
"Wait for Doyle and the SWAT team," he insisted. "There's no need for Enid to get involved."
"Agnes will no doubt be in the process of freeing herself and the teens," Wednesday countered. "If we can do so, it is prudent to eliminate any potential hazards. On my signal, neutralise the guards. I will disrupt the ritual at the altar. Enid, eliminate the exterior guards, secure the van, and standby for evacuation."
She took a cylindrical object from her bag. "This is a flash-bang infused with powdered silver and rowan ash. It will disorient and weaken any infernal tether, ready?"
He nodded.
Wednesday gave a final, sharp nod. "Enid, Go!"
A crackle came over the comm, and then a low, bestial growl followed by the receding thud of a large canine running.
Agnes appeared beside the guards like magic as they both froze in shock and turned in her direction. She was on them in an instant, kneeing one in the family jewels as he hunched over clutching at the wounded area as she drove her elbow into his temple, knocking him out cold.
The other guard, shocked, was slow to react. He swung his baton at Agnes as she dodged underneath it and kicked him in the side of the knee with the flat of her foot, an audible crack sounding as he fell to one knee and she finished him off with a roundhouse kick to the head.
Trent was already scrambling for the guard's keys as he grabbed them and unlocked the wine cellar door, holding it open as the other prisoners shuffled out.
Agnes considered the downed guards. "Normally I'm not one to kiss and tell, but in this case I'll allow an exception. Tell your friends about me," she said with a smirk, then followed the others out the door.
Wednesday held up a hand, counting down with her fingers.
Five.....four.....three, Wednesday's grip tightened on the cylinder as she wound back her arm. Two...One..... "Now!"
She threw the door wide and hurled the cylinder into the centre of the ritual circle. It detonated with a concussive burst of blinding white light and a cloud of shimmering particles. The chanting shattered into screams of pain and confusion. The red-robed acolytes stumbled back, half of them clutching at their eyes.
Wednesday was already moving, straight for the altar.
Gallows rushed the two startled guards, as they reached for their weapons.
The first and closest of the two guards rushed the detective as Gallows hit him with a punch to the face that shattered his nose with a spray of blood. He went down clutching at his face as the second swung at Gallows with a baton. Gallows dodged a swipe of his nightstick, grabbed his arm, and broke his forearm before kicking him in the stomach and chest in rapid succession, sending him hurtling across the room.
The acolytes began screaming as those injured by the flash-bang turned and fled, but the other three leapt on the defensive as they drew knives, and two of them charged Wednesday while the other ran at Gallows.
Alistair Vorlack screamed in rage as he ranted and raved. His shouts were answered by something bestial in the distance that bellowed back with calls of its own.
The blade swept at Gallows' middle before coming back around to swipe at his neck as he stepped away from the attack, crouched down, and grabbed an errant night stick and came up with it, swinging. He and the cultist engaged in a brief game of hack and parry before the acolyte stabbed at his chest as Gallows leapt aside from it and belted the cultist in the side of the head with the night stick, following it up with a wack to his ribs that dropped him to the floor.
The two cultists attacked Wednesday one after the other, working in tandem as she moved with lightning speed. She stepped back from a slash, dodged a hack, and sidestepped a stab before she retaliated. A lethal trio of kicks to the shoulder, stomach and a side kick to the solar plexus sent one of them reeling. The other more hesitant when witnessing the speed and furiosity of her attacks. The hesitation was a mistake. Wednesday leapt at the opportunity, and with a volley of strikes and a jab to the throat the remaining cultist went down, clutching at their throat, as they struggled to breathe.
Vorlack snarled in rage and raised a lethal-looking knife as he charged at Wednesday.
As Vorlack roared and lunged, she didn't flinch. She had anticipated the direct attack. As the lethally sharp ritual knife descended toward her, she twisted with viper-like grace, not away, but into the attack. Her free hand came up, not to block the blade, but to seize Vorlack's wrist in a grip of surprising, iron strength—a strength born of years of exacting physical discipline, not brute force. At the same time, her foot swept at the bloody chalk circle encircling the altar's base. Her boot scraped through the sigils with a screech that was more psychic than physical. The very air in the chamber shuddered. The leering ghoul statue seemed to pulse with a sickly, angry light.
"No!"Vorlack shrieked, his rage twisting into panic as he felt the ritual's power source fracture. The hold she had on his wrist forced the knife in his hand to tremble, its point inches from her throat. He stared into her eyes, black ice meeting fanatical fire. "You have no idea what you're interfering with!"
"Correct," Wednesday stated, her voice a frozen calm. "I am not interfering. I am terminating." Her knee came up in a sharp, vicious strike, not to his groin, but to the nerve cluster on the inside of his thigh. His leg buckled. She used his momentary imbalance to wrench his wrist violently sideways, sending the ritual knife clattering across the stone floor.
Agnes entered the room and helped free the other captives. She worked with quick, efficient movements, slicing through the remaining bonds and herding the dazed, terrified teenagers toward the exit, whispering urgent reassurances. The freed captives, seeing a clear path and their kidnappers neutralised, scrambled to follow her.
In the centre of the broken circle, Wednesday had Vorlack on his knees, his arm twisted painfully behind his back. The fractured ritual was bleeding energy, causing the few remaining candles to gutter and die. The statue's glow was now a weak, dying pulse.
With her free hand, Wednesday produced a small, high-resolution camera from a hidden pouch and systematically documented the scene: the desecrated altar, the monstrous statue, Alistair Vorlack's agonized face.
"It's over, Mr. Vorlack," she stated, her voice carrying in the sudden quiet. "The pact is broken. Your family's fortune will be forfeit, your legacy one of infamy. The authorities have already been alerted to a disturbance at this location involving kidnapped minors and evidence of attempted homicide."
She released him with a shove as Gallows took over and handcuffed the sulking occultist, stepping back smoothly as the distant, welcome sound of sirens began to pierce the night air. She looked at Gallows, her expression unreadable. "The primary objective is complete. The secondary objective… is in progress." She gestured to the camera. "We have approximately four minutes before this place is swarmed with law enforcement. We must move quickly." She then began searching the area and found what she was looking for soon enough. A tunnel, about two meters wide and the same high was dug into the earth around what resembled an ornate fireplace. Wednesday poked her head inside the hole and sniffed around.
"What is it?" Gallows asked.
"Ghouls," Wednesday said with a look of distaste.