It's morning at Birchwood University. At the villa, Rob is already up, earlier than Victor and Grant, sifting through the rubble, running his fingers along the tiles and walls in the other rooms, searching for any sign of a secret passage.
Of course he's aware that Victor and Grant have already searched the house for this very secret passage, but his deductive nature won't be put to rest unless he searches for himself.
Abruptly, his phone rings; it's a call from Jim.
---Picks up---
Rob: Hey Jim, what's up?"
Jim: Hey Rob, how are you doing?
Rob: Gotten myself wrapped in something crazy, actually; there's another monster in Birchwood.
Jim: What? Any Victims?
Rob looked around causiously to confirm that the others weren't listening in.
Rob: Yeah, five students at Birchwood University are dead. Actually, you know about this case; Victor is working on it.
Jim: The missing student case? Why haven't I been informed that they're dead?
Rob: It's a long story, and I'd rather not say it on the phone; I'll text you the explanation. Just know I have a hunch that it might be linked to SoulWhisper and the gravedigger somehow.
Jim: Does Victor know they were killed by a moster?
Rob: No, they believe it's a serial killer's first kill.
Jim: They?
Rob: I'll explain everything in the text; don't worry.
Jim: Fine, anyways, I checked all the documents and evidence related to SoulWhisper; nothing even remotely strange; it looks like Uche wasn't telling you the entire truth.
Rob: If that's the case, then maybe. But I don't get it; what reason would he have to lie about it?
Jim: I'm not sure, but it looks like you two might need to have another chat about it.
Rob: Hmmm.
Jim: Speaking of Uche, how's he doing?
Rob: How should I know that?
Jim: You haven't met with him yet? Yesterday he called me asking for your address; he sounded urgent.
Rob: Really? Well, I've been at the university since yesterday; I didn't go home.
Jim: Oh? Well, you should know, he was sounding strange when he spoke to me on the phone.
Rob: Strange in what way?
Jim: Well, the way his voice sounded, the way he spoke about his wife—I've never heard him sound like that before; he sounded like he was sorry about something. I assumed he asked for your address to try and make amends with you.
Rob became slightly exasperated.
Rob: Is that so? Well, I'm unavailable right now; I'll go see him when I clear things up here.
Jim: Ok then, good bye.
Rob: Bye, Jim.
Victor steps out of his room into the wreckage of a living room at the same moment Rob was placing his phone back in his pocket
"Morning cuz." Victor greeted.
"Oh, hey Vic, morning." Rob replied.
"What are you doing?" Victor asked.
"Looking around the house for any signs of renovation." He replied.
"Wanna confirm for yourself, huh?"
"Yeah," Rob continued to look through the wreckage. "What's the plan for today?" He asked.
"We'll head back to campus. You'll do what you came here for—gather information on the gravedigger—while Grant and I dig deeper into the information about this building and talk to more people who knew the students. Even if Julian renovated it in secret, someone had to do the work. There had to be workers, records—someone must have heard something."
"Yeah, I agree," Rob replied.
Grant emerged from his room, and they all got ready before heading to campus in Victor's car.
As they arrived, Rob asked them to drop him off at Sawyer's office before he stepped out. He wanted to ask Sawyer questions about Vincent Ramirez and Benjamin Lawson—the mathematics professor who died in Birchwood, whose body was among those stolen by the gravedigger. He figured if he told Sawyer it was about the missing students, he might grant him access to some student and staff records.
As he stepped out of the vehicle, he waved goodbye. Victor waved back, but Grant didn't.
Rob walked into the building and approached the receptionist. She wore a neatly pressed white button-up blouse tucked into a high-waisted navy pencil skirt that fell just below her knees. On her waist clenched a slim black belt, adding a touch of refinement.
"Morning," he greeted.
"Good morning. How can I help you?"
"I'm one of the detectives working on the missing students case. Is Mr. Sawyer around?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, no. He's not in his office right now."
"Do you know what time he'll be back?"
"He's a busy man; I'm not exactly sure."
"Oh, okay."
Rob paused for a moment before speaking again. "Hey, so, I'm looking for information on a former student and a staff member."
"Oh? Do you need me to contact them for you?"
"Actually, the student dropped out years ago, and both of them are deceased. Their names are Vincent Ramirez and Benjamin Lawson."
"Can I see your ID, please?" the receptionist asked, suddenly remembering protocol.
"Oh, sure."
Rob didn't have one. Explaining that he was a private detective brought in by a police officer friend would be too much of a hassle, so he used his powers to create the illusion of a police badge.
Please don't ask to touch it, he pleaded in his mind.
The receptionist nodded without reaching for the illusionary badge. Rob let out a quiet sigh of relief.
"If you're looking for information on a student, the registrar's office and the student affairs and counseling office would be good places to check. And if you need details on a staff member, HR would be a good start. Mr. Sawyer told me to grant you access to anything you need," the receptionist said.
"And where are those offices?" Rob asked.
"Right this way, sir." The receptionist stood up and led the way down one of the corridors. She turned a corner, revealing a door with the title plate 'Registrar's office.' She knocked and the voice of an old woman called out, "Come in."
They walked in, revealing a compact, slightly cluttered but yet still organized room. The walls were lined with filling cabinets, some with sticky notes and labels peeling off; there was a desk with an aging computer on it; piled on that desk were stacks of papers and binders; there was a waiting bench near the door; and the room gave off the smell of old paper and ink.
On one of the desks was an old lady with gray fizzy hair pulled in a tight bun. She wore small, thin glasses, perched on the edge of her nose, and an oudated dress with a brooch that might have been styled years ago.
She stared at them disapprovingly before she spoke. "Yes, how can I help you?
"Good morning, Mrs. Beatrice." The receptionist greeted respectfully with a curtsy. "This is a police detective working on the missing students case. He's here looking for information on a former dropout."
Beatrice's stern gaze studied Rob for a moment. "What year did this student withdraw?" she asked.
"March 2009," Rob replied.
Beatrice continued typing on her computer. "Well, help yourself. The records from the 2000s are over there," she said, pointing toward a section of cabinets. "Though I doubt you'll find anything useful."
Rob and the receptionist began searching. Beatrice ignored them as they sifted through files in various cabinets and shelves, but it quickly became clear they weren't having much luck finding anything on Vincent.
"2009 was a long time ago. I'd give up now if I were you—it'll save you the effort," Beatrice remarked.
But Rob persisted.
After a while, the receptionist sighed. "I should get back to my desk," she said, giving up. "Come find me when you're done, and I'll take you to HR so you can check for information on that lecturer." With that, she exited the office.
Rob didn't respond, only nodding as he remained focused on his search. Beatrice, despite her disapproving expression, took a moment to admire his persistence.
He scoured every cabinet and shelf labeled for the 2000s, but still, Vincent's records were nowhere to be found.
"I told you—you wouldn't find anything," Beatrice said.
"Thank you for your help," Rob replied politely and was about to leave when—
"Wait."
Beatrice stopped him. She stood up from her desk and shuffled over to a corner, pulling out an old, dusty box filled with files and records.
"Maybe you'll find something here."
Rob walked over and began sifting through the box, carefully checking each file. By the fifth one, a relieved smile spread across his face.
There it was—a worn, dusty file labeled Vincent Ramire with all his details, a bold red stamp reading WITHDRAWN across the front.
"Found it. Thank you, ma'am," Rob said gratefully.
The woman nodded and returned to her seat. "Sit over there and look through it," she instructed, gesturing to the waiting bench before resuming her work.
Rob sat down and began studying the document.
'Vincent Ramirez, student ID: 05-59423.'
He paused, his thoughts momentarily disrupted as he processed what he had just read. His eyes widened.
'59423! That's the number I got from adding the second digits of all the victims' ages...'
He continued reading.
'Department: School of Social Sciences—Parapsychology Research Division
Date of Enrollment: 2005
Enrollment Status: WITHDRAWN
Last Recorded Activity: Research Project—"Dimensional Theory and Non-Human Entities".'
Rob raised an eyebrow. That sounds interesting...
'Faculty Supervisor: Professor Harold Voss'
He lifted his head and turned to Mrs. Beatrice.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Do you know where I can find a Professor Harold Voss?"
Beatrice glanced up briefly. "Harold is no longer a professor here. The faculty he was in charge of was discontinued years ago."
"Parapsychology was discontinued? Why?" Rob asked.
Beatrice simply pointed at the folder in his hands.
"Oh. Right." Rob muttered and continued reading.
At the bottom of the page, there were handwritten notes:
'Repeated Visits to Guidance Counselor's Office: Student reported disturbing dreams and an unusual obsession with the supernatural.'
Rob tensed. Dreams—like Uncle Uche said he had...
'Final research topic unapproved due to ethical concerns. The student voluntarily withdrew from the program. The parapsychology program was later discontinued due to a lack of scientific credibility.'
He flipped to the next page.
Academic Records
Rob skimmed through the section. Vincent had been an A-class student, excelling in cognitive science, mythology, folklore, and dream analysis. By his second year, his grades had slipped slightly, but he remained strong—his research, however, became increasingly unusual. By his third year, he had several incomplete courses and withdrew before his final year.
Another page.
'Research Contributions:
"The Role of Lucid Dreaming in Perceiving Other Realities"
"Genetic Memory and Residual Consciousness"
Final, incomplete paper: "Dimensional Theory and Non-Human Entities"—unapproved by faculty.
Supervisor's Notes:
Vincent is an exceptional thinker but is becoming increasingly obsessed with his theories.
Refuses to accept faculty guidance; he is convinced he is onto something groundbreaking.
Expresses paranoia, talks of voices and visions. Recommending counseling.'
Rob flipped to the next page.
'Guidance Counselor Records: Multiple visits recorded (2007-2009).
Notes from the counselor:
Vincent describes recurring dreams of demons. Claims he sees them even while awake.
Speaks of another world separate from ours.
Became agitated when asked if he was sleeping well.
Convinced that something is calling him.
Last Visit (March 2009): Warned that his mental state was deteriorating. The student became defensive and stopped attending sessions.'
Rob flipped again.
'Disciplinary Report'
He skimmed through it. Surprisingly, Vincent had not been a troublesome student. In fact, his only offense had been conducting unauthorized research.
Another page.
'Extracurricular Activities: Member of Club ShadowSeekers
Position: Founder & President'
Rob's eyes widened. 'Vincent founded ShadowSeekers? So he actually is tied to the dead students somehow…'
Club Focus: Paranormal research, supernatural discussions
Active Years: 2006-2008
So the club remained active even after his withdrawal... and was only discontinued recently.'
Rob flipped to the next page, revealing a newer-looking document stapled on top of the older pages. It bore the Birchwood Police Department logo.
'Police Report:
Vincent founded a small cult after dropping out, claiming to speak to the dead. He was a hard one to catch—he always seemed to slip past us. He was eventually found in a hideout in the woods and was shot dead during a confrontation. Case closed. No further investigation.'
That was the last page. Rob closed the file, sitting still for a moment, trying to piece everything together.
Quietly, he stood up and returned the file to Mrs. Beatrice. "Thank you." He spoke politely before walking out of her office.
As he strolled through the corridor, lost in thought, he eventually made his way to the reception and placed his hand on the desk.
"Oh, you're done?" The receptionist showed him to the Human Resources Office. He didn't find anything useful there, only what he already knew: Benjamin Lawson was a mathematics teacher who died of a heart attack. 'No connection to Vincent or the dead students apart from being one of the bodies the grave digger took.'
"The Student Affairs and Counseling office is actually a bit of a distance from here." The receptionist gave him the directions.
"Thank you." Rob thanked her and walked out of the building. He stood in the parking lot, his mind racing, trying to understand the information he had just found out. The wind blew against him, his coat flowing in the air.
Just then, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out to check, and he noticed he had messages from Norra.