Gangs’ war of 1998, the inflow of opiates of 2009, the city’s administration of 2010-2013 were the top three worst periods for the Greyston City’s police department. Detective Hernandez was a veteran of the two of them and shared this general agreement.

Now his seasoned gut was expecting September 5 of 2018 to reach top position by the evening news.

The things had gone the wrong way starting from a certain 911 morning call. “My son’s disappeared right in from of me!” the hysterical voice screamed right in the ear of the poor green soul on the phone. The address then was recorded, and a patrol car was directed to it. Even a door was knocked out. Police officers found inside a frightened old woman long off her meds who couldn’t even remember the call.

The rookie got his deserved thrashing; the department instantly came up with jokes for the unfortunate patrol officers, end of the story.

Jokes livened up after a similar call at 3 p.m. Then the line got overloaded in seconds and all hell broke loose.

Greyston suddenly missed a substantial chunk of its population. For the reasons not as ‘chronic’ as, say, terrorism, no. Hundreds of people were spirited away. The first time Hernandez heard this theory he found it less crazy than his partner’s gigantic flash mob version only by a single step.

“You’re certain that the disappeared students and the professor demonstrated supernatural powers?” He repeated this question God knows what time. Between him and his partner, unfortunately, detective Hernandez, an average built man with bronze skin, thick eyebrows and kind oval face, was more liked by witnesses. So he was doing the asking most of the time.

“I recorded the whole thing from start to finish,” a young blonde girl answered proudly and flashed her smartphone.

“Admirable.” The detective smiled as if the police didn’t have a ton of these videos already. “I will ask. After you give me your statement.”

“Fine.” She drew a bored sigh with eyes sparkling. “First the disappearies acted weird, like seeing or hearing things. Thought it was some hoax so I turned on my Mikky’s camera to shoot ev-e-ry-thing.”

Named her sp, detective Hernandez wrote down in his notebook, doubting the nature of this particular student’s affiliation with Forline University. The rest of her story though fell well in line with a dozen he had already recorded. Need to run this thoroughly, he reminded himself.

“Thank you for cooperation. We will need this video recording.”

“Of course! Happy to serve the police!”

The girl walked away, laughing. Hernandez scratched his short-haired head with a pen and envied her simple-mindedness for a second.

“Next will be you…”

"Detective. For a word."

The man shuddered, recognizing the soft yet strong tenor.

“Deputy chief. Yes.”

Mechanically, Hernandez followed the dark-haired woman away from the crowd. Not because he was unwilling, but because he felt unreasonable guilt and couldn't do anything about himself. It was Greyston Island, their borough. Forlon University was in his police station's precinct. Somehow, by twisted logic, it made it all his, everyone's fault.

"Fredo. Tell me everything."

The man analyzed what he saw. Emilia Branson seemed calm, dreadfully so. Twenty years ago, when Hernandez served his first year as a detective, she already was his sergeant. Now, she was deputy chief of the Greyston Island police borough. Rumors were she was going for mayor election in two years, all despite this slender woman looking just like an average office lady in her suit. Ambitions were hidden in her eyes emitting confidence and authority that no one could simply ignore.

"It's not much, Serg."

Only she looked older.

"Do you know how many children of cops are missing?" Grey eyes oversaw him for a moment. "We have eleven trainees vanishing from their courses, testimonies of two young police officers doing the same and another three have yet to report in. But everyone reached their families first. You did too, Fredo."

She didn't ask, she stated, and the detective kept silent. This was an answer enough.

"Only one close family member is missing. What are the odds? But she said she is ok. I believe she had her reasons. That is why I've done my job fine. Impartially. It's always numbers from my 30,000 feet height, Fredo, statistic. The initial phase is over and I want to know about my daughter's last moments so I landed. Tell me what you were answered and who I must talk to."