The sight of car lights was a rarity for the flyover town of Willows Brake. With a population of only a few hundred, it was shocking that the place was even listed on any maps of Kentucky. After all, there wasn't much to find there. With some luck and a bit of accuracy, one could probably spit clear across the glorified trailer park with ease. Some residents might've even tried doing such a feat purely out of boredom. It wouldn't be very surprising if they succeeded.
The 1985 Dodge Diplomat speeding towards the town from Sideview Road stood out like a sore thumb, even at five in the morning. The dense, muggy air and the lack of light made it feel as if nightfall had never left, but that wasn't really the case. Rain from the night before glistened and clung desperately to the blades of grass below, giving the world a crystalline edge whenever the headlights sped by. With all things considered, this would've been the perfect time to whisper of tall-tales and spooky stories. The types of fiction that could make any campfire fall tense with anticipation.
Jakob Reigen wished there were some campfire stories to tell. Anything that could breach the overbearing silence that festered inside the vehicle.
Instead, all of the four passengers quietly sat, each presumably fixated with their own thoughts and concerns. The driver and passenger, both of which were wearing their standard MTF uniforms, weren't much for conversation. Strict to the rule-of-law, they couldn't even be bothered to tune into the local radio station. "Work not pleasure," or whatever the old mantra was. The sons of bitches.
Sitting in the back seats, Reigen and his colleague Ethel Clarice sat on opposing sides, each looking out towards the trees and woodland that surrounded them. Although Reigen couldn't exactly tell what thoughts she had coursing through her mind, he knew that she was more-than-likely nervous. It wasn't necessarily surprising—this would be her first real assignment on the field. Of course, there wouldn't be any significant threats out in this ghost town. Fortunately, the Foundation saved the gigantic telepathic eels and unstoppable death trains for the agents who knew what the fuck they were doing. Still, that didn't invalidate the Junior Researcher's worries.
Reigen tore his eyes away from his window, opting to instead look down towards the stack of files in his hands. There really wasn't much of a point to try and look outside anyway. The condensation clinging to the glass was much too thick for anyone to look through and Reigen was certainly no exception to that. In reality, he just wanted to keep his mind off the job-at-hand. It brought him some comfort from his growing uncertainty as the deafening silence lingered.
The ice finally caved after awhile. And, much to Reigens shock, it was all thanks to Clarice. He'd have to remind himself to applaud her for that later.
"Kalvin Collins. That's the guy, right?"
Reigen turned his head towards her. She had that strange glint in her eye, the type of spark that you only get when you're ready for something to happen. He was glad, for a moment she seemed much less anxious and more enthused about the situation. Progress is progress, after all.
Reigen cleared his throat, "That's him, yeah. Big on photography and all that. A big user on a lot of online forums too."
He wasn't just a nerd, either. A prolific journalist and a self-assured paranormal investigator, the guy practically devoured conspiracy theories. It was rather unfortunate that he was later found dead in his home, for reasons that still eluded the Foundation. Apparently, the neighbors didn't even have time to reach their phones before they saw the poor fellow burst into flames at his desk.
Even stranger still that this had been the fourth inexplicable death caused by a sudden burst of flames.
Clarice leaned backward in her seat, clearly stuck in thought. "Huh. Sounds like there's something here for us. Weren't all the others also some sort of photographers or whatever?" she inquired. Reigen merely nodded. "Something like that, sure."
The Diplomat began to slow, turning left at a flashing stop sign. They were getting close to their destination: the home of Kalvin Collins himself.
Clarice peered her head over the passenger seat, trying to get a glimpse of Willows Brake. "Well," she began, "What do you think of all this? Surely you've noticed something fishy by now."
Reigen blinked. That was a good question, one he wasn't really expecting from his "partner-in-crime." It took him a second to gather his thoughts, shuffling through the stack of files in his grasp. After a moment, he turned back towards his window.
"Not sure. Is there a connection? Maybe. Are we about to find out? Who fucking knows."
Why do so many "paranormal investigators" have to live in such filthy places?
For whatever reason, that was the question lingering inside Reigen as he and Clarice stepped into the living room of Kalvin Collin's home. It was oddly generic for a living space—minus the garbage and piles of dirty clothes that had been strewn along the floor. The dark-blue paint of the walls was beginning to peel, with noticeable bubbles forming in the ceiling above. Apparently, residents of Willows Brake weren't aware of the godsend that were "handymen." How awful.
Clarice took another step further into the garbage heap, her head swiveling like a broken vinyl record player. She paused, looking back at Reigen with a curious expression on her face, "Why did you tell the guards to wait outside?"
Reigen smiled, "Can you think of any reason why they should be in here?"
"Several, yeah." She retorted.
Reigen sighed, stepping in front of Clarice in order to fully gather the home. It was a small, cozy place. All of the other rooms were connected back into this single area—making navigation much easier. Well, it would've been easier if not for the landmines that the previous resident generously left behind before their ultimate demise. Reigen did his best to watch out for those.
"They're handling the police outside. All of this is well beyond their pay-grade anyway. And, on the bright side, we can use this as like, a bonding moment."
Clarice snorted as the two made their way inside the master bedroom. Akin to the living area, this was an equally awful place to be in. Saying that a tornado had come in would've been understating things. The place look liked it had been ransacked by a bunch of Christmas elves high on crack cocaine.
Reigen almost didn't notice the scorch marks along the floor and desk. Snapping himself back to reality, he also spotted the personal computer that had been left on. As he approached, Clarice tapped a button on the keyboard, shaking the machine awake from its technological slumber. As it flashed on, a series of pop-up windows greeted the two like annoying TV ads. Reigen couldn't even be bothered to see what the windows were, they were much too bright for his eyes. Apparently "readability" wasn't a problem for computer nerds.
Clarice looked towards Reigen in apparent confusion, seemingly unaffected by the brilliant glare that the monitor emanated. "Not surprising. Just a bunch of forum posts."
Reigen nodded. Taking another passing glance at Kalvin's bedroom, it was clear that this was going to be the only piece of evidence that they could gather. Everything else had either been snagged by police officers or buried under layers of trash.
"Should we take it?" asked Clarice, still looking towards Reigen for confirmation. He simply shrugged in response.
Reigen took a step towards the PC, reaching at it to begin unplugging the wires and cords that connected it all together. "I mean, yeah. We're apart of the Foundation after all, Ethel. Go ahead and snag it, I'll report the claim to the guys out front."
"Are you sure?"
Reigen simply laughed. "I know it's your first time, but are you seriously doubting me? Yes, take it. Besides, what's the worst that can happen?"
