Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #11 February 2015 | Page 60

lab calling.
“Hey, boss, I believe we have something for you,” I
hear one of the technicians say as I pick the call up,
and I can’t help but be surprised. The lab always
texts. Even this phrase—I’m so used to seeing this as
a message it feels alien to my ears.
“Don’t tell me the last corpse has come back to life
and told you everything,” I joke. I don’t feel anything
about the news. It’s a void. I know I should feel happy about a breakthrough, and I don’t. The case has
drained me.
I hear several voices laugh on the background; I
must be on speaker.
“No, actually, we thought we’d go through the clothes
again. For any trace at all. And what do you know,
the analysis of soil from the shoes shows all victims
were at one place before they died.”
“And you are certain of this how?” I am still sarcastic. It feels a lot like a staged prank.
There is chatter of the background again, I can’t
make out any words, but they are obviously excited
about whatever they’ve found. They feel all the emotions that I don’t.
“Mostly because there is only one place in town with
this much cement. While all victims were found near
their residences there is still enough cement residue
on their soles to infer they had been there within
their last twenty-four hours.”
“Maybe they were around different piles of cement.”
Now I’m sceptical. The answer can’t be so simple.
They can’t be telling me after two weeks of nothing
that there is an entirely plausible connection. The
deserted cement factory on the outskirts of the city.
A dream place of drug addicts, bums, and juvenile
delinquents. Which none of the victims on the case
were, by the way.
“No construction sites of that size in town,” I am told

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helpfully, but I already know that. I am just grasping
at the straws.
“Hold onto that analysis result. I’m going to the factory,” I say decisively, giving up. It’s a lead, and I’m
following the protocol. The department is breathing
down my neck anyway. They want evidence—I’ll give
them evidence. “If I find the crime scene, you’ll be
the first to know. After backup.”
I switch my computer off without saving the report;
it’s getting more and more outdated as the minutes
pass. I finally start believing in what I’m told. It’s an
urgency deep inside me that makes me move quickly
to the exit, down the stairs, and into the parking lot
for a patrol car. I barely feel the rain that’s become
much stronger in the last five minutes. I feel the
drops slide behind my collar, but it’s as if they disappear there. They aren’t cold or wet. They just tickle
my neck a little.
The traffic is rather busy. It’s right past the time
when everybody returns home from work, and
there still are many people driving. Thankfully, the
fact that I’m driving a patrol car helps me avoid the
heaviest traffic jams.
The abandoned factory is just a couple kilometers
out of town. The massive building stands alone,
covered in shrubbery and graffiti. It might not be the
biggest there is, but it’s still impressive. I park the car
next to what looks like the main part of the building
and get out, switching on my flashlight. The headlights go off, and the darkness envelopes me except
for a circle of light, dancing off the walls as I move
my hand.
As I enter the building, it feels as if I enter a different
reality. The place completely isolates me from the
rest of the world. My steps sound like thunder in the
vacuumed silence of the rooms. Something crunches
under my feet—it’s debris, fallen from the ceiling or
left from the old furniture that once stood here.
I recognise the place for the offices that used to
manage the factory. There are still several tables left