Snippet #2701259

Clarkson was a small town and today was like any other. Schools began in six days. Already people were arriving to drop off their kids at the university. Children played in parks, enjoying the last few days of freedom before the routine of school began.

Boats were docked in the bay. Some were pleasure vessels and some were working ships. The bay itself was calm and smooth, a reflection of the bright summer day.

In the police station Muriel Henderson sat teary eyed at the officer’s desk. Her husband had gone off looking for pheasant and hadn’t come home in three days. The officer was writing notes on the report but he was flustered. Bob Henderson wasn’t the first person to go missing in Clarkson, just the most recent.

Over the last year a number of people had gone. Some came back, a little worse for wear and often with no memory. Some didn’t and it was assumed they simply took off for a new life. A few had been found dead. One was an apparent suicide and the other unsolved.

It had made things trickier for the officers in the somewhat quiet, picturesque town but they had so far managed to keep the public calm.

Right now, Officer Pricard was doing that with Muriel. He was talking as soothingly as he could while getting all he could from her.

At the university the campus was bustling. Tours were showing new students around. Some were looking to find their classes, prep for the first day.

In their offices professors were settling in and preparing for the new term. Abegail was in a new office, something that bothered her more than it should. An upgrade, nicer view and bigger window. A private bathroom too. Yet the red headed Irish woman was grumbling to herself as she put books on a shelf. She was a creature of habit, tradition and routine. This move had not been her idea.

In a dark room, away from the summer day a young man sat, a book in front of him and blade in hand. He had work to do.