The sky, stretched out over East Springfield, was taking on more and more intense shades of red, orange, and yellow, which merged into a distinct, fiery mantle enveloping the slowly setting sun. The hustle and bustle of the street gradually quieted, and the building across from the cemetery sunk into the shadows of the tall trees, seeming even more gloomy and expressionless than in the daytime. On the fourth floor of this building there was an investigation office, the interior of which did not in any way encourage potential clients to entrust their private matters to the person responsible for the disorder and chaos present in almost every corner of the room. The wooden floor of the room was covered with papers of various sorts, from old archival records to documents requiring immediate examination. The entire left wall was obscured in half its height by metal gray shelves, whose questionable-quality surfaces were bent under the weight of files, books, figurines and photos. The right wall was covered with black wallpaper full of faded roses, most of which was disappearing under a corkboard with incomprehensible paper notes, carelessly pinned one on top of the other. This original decoration was completed by an old, white closet with peeling paint and a massive desk of unidentified color standing just under the window opposite the door. This desk has apparently gone through a lot in its short life, as one leg was supported by thick encyclopedias, a stain of ink adorned the entire side, and an uneven, in places rubbed table-top forced the user to carefully place any objects on its surface.

A loud, resolute knock snatched a young man from his sleep, who, under the influence of an excess of extremely absorbing investigative cases, fell into a nap on a hard chair.

– Torres, are you there?

From inside the room, a slight rustling of a chair and the crumpling of a piece of paper could be heard, after which the door swung open with a loud groan and, for a short moment, only a glint of a brown iris could be seen in the crack.

– I haven't escaped yet...

The older man pushed lightly on the wooden surface while Raziel Torres moved to the side, with weary eyes watching the cautious steps of his boss, Joseph Perrie. Torres was a 23-year-old detective whose passion was the most convoluted cases that the FBI's highest-ranked ones did not despise. Unfortunately, due to his perpetual inquisitiveness and innate perfectionism, which did not extend beyond the mind, he was usually given non-urgent cases that did not require quick, decisive action. Torres was seen by many as an attractive, stubborn young man with smart eyesight and Asian beauty. His blonde hair was rarely sensibly arranged, but this feature was adding a mysterious charm to the man. He was not very tall, and because of his meager diet (usually consisting of soup, noodles and coffee) Torres seemed vulnerable to being broken by any gust of wind.

– Will you ever get your head around this mess... – sighed Perrie, kicking the stack of letters and sealed papers under the desk.

– It's been worse... – Raziel muttered, opening the operable part of the window and lighting a thin cigarette at the same time. The glow of the lighter's flame drifted briefly across the young man's face and something told Joseph that Torres didn’t mean any physical space. Perrie turned back to the lost in thoughts blond man, on whose face impatience was mingling with forced indifference.

– I have a proposition for you Torres. Objectively, not to be rejected – Joseph extended a slightly wrinkled hand towards Raziel, whose eyes lit up slightly, then dimmed as the puff of smoke disappeared.

– If this is another case of missing from twenty years ago, I can already tell you where to look – the man rubbed a hand over his tired eyes, whose state demanded a long walk among natural light and greenery. Their feline shape usually attracted the attention of interlocutors who, influenced by the intensity of Torres' gaze, were ready to reveal any information of his interest. The young detective seemed unaware of this extraordinary power or usually did not let it show. At the sight of the sealed letter, however, his gaze jumped quickly to the gray-haired man's face, and the concentration in the depths of the chocolate eyes showed a willingness to use any power of persuasion they might possess.

– I don't know if you've thought this over, boss, but the contents of this envelope may end up just like the contents of all the previous ones - Raziel glanced at the littered floor and gazed again into the grey, clouded irises, as if with a silent request for something Pierre was deeply aware of. The man smiled slightly, then efficiently tore open the envelope and carelessly threw its contents on the stained desk.

– Let me know when you've made up your mind – Joseph turned toward the door, unhurriedly taking his steps toward the exit. Just as he was reaching for the handle, he heard a sudden swish behind him and was immediately interrupted by the figure of the detective, whose excited look was a nice contrast to his pale complexion and the dark circles under his eyes. In Raziel’s fist, clenched tightly, there were scraps of a crumpled document that had rested moments before on the desk beneath the window, and his other hand gripped the handle of the shabby door tightly, blocking any escape route for his only chance.

– I can't do this alone, I need someone to help me – Raziel watched with tension as Joseph stepped back slightly, reached into the inside pocket of his faded grey jacket and handed him a small card, on which next to the carelessly scribbled numbers was the name of the private detective who had once worked in the same building where the 23-year-old now spent almost every day and most of the nights.

– Ruth has already agreed, make an appointment with her at the port tomorrow, I'll get you a transport – Joseph watched with satisfaction the sudden wave of emotion that flashed across the younger man's face in a split second, then he efficiently pushed the living block out of the way and walked lightly out of the room. Raziel stared for a moment at the dark curtain, which was moving slightly each time a gust of wind came in through the tilted window and embraced with its cold arms the figure suspended in place. This state of mind did not last long, however, as an instant, even painfully stinging thought passed through the Blond's consciousness, causing the young man to move suddenly, and after a brief moment he caught up with his boss and blocked his path again, this time immediately moving on to the question.

– Why didn't you entrust this to the people on the third floor?

Pierre became confused at this sudden question, involuntarily reaching his hand to his neck to rub it three times in his customary subconscious sign of embarrassment.

– I know perfectly well how insightful and thorough you are in your work, so I thought...

– That this job doesn't require making quick, sudden decisions and is perfect for someone who has screwed up three such actions in a row?

Joseph looked away, staring now into the depths of the dark corridor, whose only illumination was a lamp suspended above a faded painting of Starry Night. After a moment, however, his sharp gaze rested on the determined, tense man and he decided not to deceive his subordinate with unnecessary lies.

– I chose you because no one else was willing to accept the task. Mark and Julie are involved in another case, and Alex says he'd sooner go looking for a corpse at the bottom of the ocean than sail to this island. Besides – Joseph put his hand gently on the shoulder of the young detective, who only at that moment realized how tightly he had tensed all his muscles – I know you and your ambitions Torres, I know how much you need freshness in your monotonous work. However, if you don't want to deal with this investigation, then...

– What time? – Raziel fixed his gaze on a point above his superior's head, and as he involuntarily looked at his face, he saw a faint smile of satisfaction, slightly deepening the wrinkles under the older man's eyes.

– Six o'clock in the morning is best, but you'll have to give notice of that....

– Yes, I know, Ruth Murphy.

Pierre laughed quietly, patted Torres on the shoulder, and directed his steps toward the steep staircase. Raziel stayed still for a long moment, brushing the thin paper gently in his hand, then returned back to the study, wondering how the hell he was supposed to get up at four in the morning when the watch on his wrist already indicated eleven o'clock in the evening and the road to Bond Street was not the shortest.

***

The massive clock on the steeple of the wooden church read 4:40 a.m. when a young man with dispelled blond hair, a white shirt half buttoned and a tie over his shoulder ran out into the foggy, quiet street filled with carelessly parked vehicles and tall roadside trees. Focused on the red car, his gaze was momentarily distracted as his right hand shoved into the pocket of his black pants, searching its nooks and crannies with increasing speed and impatience, requiring the assistance of yet another sense. When, finally, the keys to the rusty machine (miraculously in working order) were extracted, the other hand instantly began working on opening the jammed, eternally un-oiled wicket. The success of these efforts was muttered by a briefcase falling to the ground, which slipped deftly from under the young man's arm and, as he bent down, a bundle of curses escaped from his rosy lips as the briefcase was followed by a dark tie.

– Fuck! Shitty, useless piece of goddamn... – a sudden, sharp pain in his knee forced Torres to stop his sublime speech and lean against the decayed wooden fence. Raziel clenched his teeth tightly and moved with determination towards the car, limping, hoping that the rest of today would turn out much better than it had started. As the detective sat behind the wheel, he tossed his stained briefcase into the passenger seat and took one last look around his terrace, wondering for a moment if he should call Pierre to share the tragic news of the sudden apocalypse in his own backyard and spend the day watching crime documentaries. That thought, however tempting, left his mind the moment the church clock indicated 4:57 a.m., and any scenarios of perfect excuses were replaced by adrenaline at the thought of traveling to the island of Lake Erie where he was to spend several long, busy hours.

The road to the rendezvous point proved to be quite pleasant, as the traffic was negligible at this hour and the sun was not yet burning the skin, emerging only laboriously from behind the horizon. Raziel was convinced that the routine check of the Black Asylum had been entrusted to him for a reason other than the one Pierre had so scantily presented to him the previous evening, or rather, he fervently hoped that it had been. He did not intend, however, to dwell long on the motives of his boss, as he decided to make the most of this business trip, desiring to polish all the skills he had learned while in the profession for three years.

After forty minutes of leisurely driving, the detective saw the outline of a sandy shoreline, slipping smoothly under the surface of Lake Erie, which now shimmered in the glare of the sun making its way through thick clouds. Raziel began to notice more details of the relaxing scenery as he approached the destination. A hole in the pier, three white-painted boats, and one alone figure standing on the sand near the wooden steps caught his attention the most. Torres parked the car on a gravel-strewn lot that mimicked a narrow parking lot for tourists and unhurriedly got out, focusing on the woman waving enthusiastically.

– Hey! Over here! – his ears were reached by a melodic voice of the short brunette, whose sunglasses and pink sweater wrapped around her hip gave off rather nonchalant and informal look. After being greeted by a beaming and energetic Ruth, Torres felt embarrassed by his incongruous formal attire, although he knew very well that it was not his clothes that were incongruous in this situation.

– I hope you have more... appropriate clothes with you – Torres measured the woman's figure with a critical eye. Black boots, beige khaki pants, and a white shirt filled the young man with hope that the woman was at least somewhat professional. Murphy, on the other hand, analyzed Torres' words and lowered her gaze to her outfit in confusion, then snorted with amusement and returned her gaze to the confused 23-year-old.

– I completely forgot! I was going to take it off in the car, but I was too cold down there because of the chill wind – the woman patted Raziel on the shoulder with a smile and turned on her heel, heading for the small Fiat whose color blended perfectly with her pants. Torres tried not to show any expression of shock or embarrassment, repeating to himself in his mind that he had to get through the whole day with Murphy. After the woman returned to him dressed in a black coat and without her glasses, the young detective exhaled deeply and walked briskly to the pier, careful to watch for dangerously moving planks. When they reached the halfway point of the wooden structure, a gray-haired gentleman in spectacles and sailor's garb jumped out of the last boat, greeting them by shaking two fingers. After such a peculiar exchange of greetings, the whole group climbed onto the unstable deck and together they set off towards the island clearly outlined in the distance.

– Pierre told me that both of you are going to the island by command, but I need to know how long it will take - the old man nodded at the watch loosely resting on his bony wrist - I've been paid in advance for the return journey, but I won't stay by the shore all day, otherwise they’ll catch me and lock me up – a hoarse laugh irritated Torres' ears, while Ruth smiled pleasantly and threw in a light tone:

– Eh, more than three or four hours certainly not, after all, how many facilities can belong to this institution....

– More than you think, miss – the blue eyes focused on the black pupils of the woman, who, under the intensity of a serious look, looked away, grunted slightly and asked a question, trying to keep her tone of voice steady:

– On what occasions do you sail to the island?

Raziel found the question interesting enough to take out his notepad and pencil in one movement and stare impatiently at the older man. This time the old man got confused by the intensive cat's eyes staring at him and decided to tell the two interested people about his work.

– Ah yes, you see, I get various orders here. Sometimes there's a madman wrapped in a white cloth whom I help to seat down with usually two employees of... of this place and I transport people. Other times I get paid to deliver strange, heavy packages, and once... – here the sailor fell silent for a long moment while Raziel and Ruth exchanged quick, curious glances.

–... and once? – Ruth showed the old man with an encouraging gesture to continue. He leaned over to the two detectives sitting opposite him and whispered in a low voice:

– And once I was paid a large sum of money to transport a single metal box. Just as they usually didn't tell me anything about the goods I was transporting, this time a man in a similarly long black coat as you have now, miss, warned me not to open the crate under any circumstances - the man leaned in even further so that he now had to point his gaze slightly upwards to shift his attention from one strained face to another.

– And as I swam and the waves were quite strong, the gentle sound of glass bottles bumping against each other began to come from this metal box. Clink, clink... clink – the old man's voice became quieter and quieter, then there was a heavy silence, and after a moment a sharp, snoring sound again pricked the ears of the tense listeners. The man straightened up with a laugh, then turned his back to them and began to hum a tune known only to himself. The other two exchanged quick glances again, this time full of concern and fueled curiosity. But before either of the detectives could ask about the mysterious box, something else caught their attention.

– We're almost there! – the sailor shouted cheerfully, pointing his finger at the outline of the tall tower, which was growing larger and sharper than Raziel would have liked. For he did not know if he was as ready for action yet as he had been during the car ride to the vast lake, but he could no longer see a way back. He had to complete the task he had been given, and he was going to do it with as much thoroughness as he could afford.

– Wow – Ruth sat breathless with her lips parted apart as she watched the cliff wall approaching them, with a steep marble staircase leading to the top. Raziel was mentally preparing himself to fight his innate fear of heights, but after a while he noticed the metal handrails on either side of the steps, at the sight of which he exhaled a sigh of relief and began to wonder instead how stable these handrails were.

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– Ladies first – the young man said in a low voice, staring into the rather large gap between the boat and the mainland after the old sailor had sailed up to the "most stable ground," as he called it with unusual assurance in his voice. Ruth looked at him in disbelief, then sighed heavily and jumped out of the boat. Her even landing gave encouragement to Torres, who, after a moment's hesitation, did likewise, and after a while they were both standing at the first step of the stairs and saying goodbye to their carrier.

– So, ready to get to work? – Murphy asked the pale Raziel with a smile; his dark eyes were reflecting the turquoise water of the lake next to him, the depths of which could frighten many experienced swimmers.

– Like never.

The path to the top proved to be more challenging than Raziel had estimated only minutes before. The cracked rocks seemed to crumble at the lightest touch, and each step made the young detective nauseous and dizzy, forcing him to concentrate even more on his movements. Part of this was due to the increasingly clear vision of falling into the depths of the lake below, but just as much it was due to the constant pain in his right knee. Raziel knew he shouldn't put too much strain on that joint, but what were a few steps to climb when faced with the mission at hand? The thought hadn't left his mind for quite some time, a source of motivation of sorts, but when Ruth turned her attention to the distant sounds of the storm and the drops of water increasingly obscuring her view, the 23-year-old was close to giving up all hope.

– Maybe we should come back here another day? – the brunette's strong voice broke through the wall of rain as Raziel struggled to find the driest surface of the cliff face, his only support after the wet railing had proved to be more dangerous than the slippery marble steps.

– No need for that, we're almost there.

The man stopped carefully, squinting his eyes and staring at the distant point with maximum concentration. He was surprised to find that his words could be quite close to the truth, so after a while he moved forward again, almost jumping over water puddles formed in the hollows of the bright surface.

– Let's just say I believe you! – Ruth shouted in the direction of her partner, whose back covered everything that was happening above, while allowing the woman to focus on the short distance she had to follow Raziel.

– See! The last two ste~

A loud groan of pain and surprise cut through the harsh air as the man's figure contorted violently and his pale hands began to slice through the air, desperately searching for any anchor point that might keep their owner from losing his balance completely. Raziel was losing control of his slipping body, caused by a severe wave of acute pain that had been announcing the arrival for several long, nagging hours by now. Down below, at the sight of her partner's futile efforts, the image of two bodies inertly rolling down the marble steps paralyzed Ruth's mind, whose dilated eyes seemed to overlap with a misty, thick coating, and the desire for immediate escape filled her every sense. When the sudden desire to jump into the lake caused all the woman's muscles to tense instantly, the younger detective clenched both fists on the stair railing with the last of his strength, and the black, wet boots began to slide inertly downward to the accompaniment of sharp curses thrown out through teeth clenched in exertion.

The faint hope of getting out of this problematic position melted away with the next hard wall of rain, and the blond man, losing strength, began to make a decision about the complete release of the handrail and handing over the further developments of events to the fate's mercy. Raziel lowered his head, searched the frightened eyes and was about to nod at the brunette in a gesture of silent warning when a sudden flash of light burst into his consciousness, followed by a deep voice in which amusement blended with curiosity:

– Rough day, huh?

Raziel used the last reserves of energy to direct his gaze towards the source of the mysterious voice, while Ruth abruptly turned her head towards the outline of three tall figures standing just at the edge of the cliff.

– Hey! Help! – the woman began waving toward the strangers, covering her eyes from blinding, intense light passed seamlessly from her figure to Raziel, who was barely able to maintain his position. After a brief moment, two ropes were thrown down the rough wall, one of which luckily landed within reach of Raziel's free arm, whose left hand had long since given up in the struggle to keep the slippery handrail in grab. After grasping the ropes, only the legs of the helpless detectives could push off the surface they encountered, and the resulting breakout force significantly accelerated their transport to the top. Once both were on safe ground, all three men, without much sign of fatigue after such a demanding effort, presented themselves as patrol of the entrance gate to the asylum's area.

– So can you take us any further? – Raziel tried to keep the remnants of his dignity by putting on the most professional attitude he could, which the heavy breathing and shaking shoulders did not help with in any way. Ruth seemed to be in better condition; the woman merely pushed her wet hair back, covered her eyes with steady hand and began to stare intensely at the tall gate secured with chains and a massive padlock.

– Private Investigator Ruth Murphy – brunette slid drenched piece of cloth with a silver engraved mark under the spotlight without taking her eyes off the undefined point behind the metal bars - and this is...– Raziel Torres, Criminal Intelligence Center – the piece of silver engraving flashed again in a bright streak, at which one of the uniformed men turned to his companions and began to articulate words in a language not entirely understood by the other two, pointing once at Raziel and then at the locked gate.

– I understand that procedures are important, but we need to inspect all of your subordinate facilities on this island and we would like to do that before midnight – the blond man tried to keep his sarcastic tone in check, but fatigue, annoyance and nervousness before what awaited them were not conducive to his self-control. The man's intuition used to be activated very often when working out the motives of betrayed partners or locating missing, quarter-century-old bodies, and usually combining all the subconscious hints and threads into a logical, coherent whole came without much difficulty. In this situation, on the other hand, he encountered a certain blockage between what he saw and what he felt, completely unable to separate his suppositions from facts and rationality from imagination. This condition had persisted since his conversation with Joseph, and Raziel sincerely hoped that it was due to the mere fact of having a new and significant assignment, rather than his lack of experience.

– Follow me – said the man dryly, and after passing the information to his silent companions, he took a bundle of keys from his leather belt and began to unwind the thick iron chains holding the gate together. Ruth assumed a wary posture, placing her hand on the bulge in the cloak where — as Raziel guessed — the firearm was, and together they followed the three guards.

– You can wait here – the same man pointed them to a covered area, connected to a small wooden shed, and then went inside, leaving the detectives under observation of his colleagues. Raziel tried not to show undue curiosity about what was going on inside, but the small, unglazed window seemed to invite his anxious gaze to analyze the bright interior. Ruth walked past him and stood off to the side without changing the position of her right arm even a millimeter, scanning her surroundings with an investigative eye.

– Ruth, how much time do we have allocated for this visit? – Raziel gently turned to face his partner so that his back was placed towards the two guards and reached out to touch the wrist of the woman, who did not take her eyes off the high, spiked fence and the stone-paved path that stretched down the bushy slope.

– Hm? – the brunette muttered inquiringly, wanting this time to focus on the question posed to her, but Raziel had already gotten what he wanted, so he unhurriedly looked at the soaked watch whose hands had stopped at 7:20 probably about half an hour earlier.

– Never mind, I already know – the man turned once more, standing sideways to the watching partner, retracted his three middle fingers and smoothly raised his hand to scratch behind his ear with his thumb. At first Ruth seemed extremely confused and concerned about the younger man's behavior, but when he made a slight movement towards the wooden structure, the woman quickly understood what was going on and, laughing in her heart at the overcautiousness of her less experienced colleague, casually looked through the window to her right. All she had time to see was the man putting down a black phone and heading for the tattered, low-hanging door.

– Don't worry, they won't eat us – she smiled at the stunned Raziel, whose every sense was screaming for maintaining precautions from the moment he had stepped through the metal gates. It seemed to him that Ruth cared about the same thing, at least that was what he inferred from her earlier behavior, but she was now more preoccupied with admiring the view than with an actual danger that their unexpected saviors might have turned out to be.

– It's all right, we'll take you to the main building – a calm, deep tone interrupted Raziel's inner monologue and, shaking off his momentary state of limbo, he followed the other four towards something that, he was more than sure, would get them nowhere in one piece.

The clatter of horses' hooves regularly echoing off the stone floor lulled the weary man to sleep with a soft melody, his eyelids growing heavier with each shake of the wooden carriage. The guard driving the horses occasionally spoke to his companions in a language Raziel recognized as Russian, while they exchanged brief remarks and gestures of little meaning to the detectives. Ruth, seated to the blond man's right, was tinkering with her watch with concentration, regularly wiping her face of the water droplets flowing lazily from her drenched hair. Raziel was sure that by the time they got there to finally do some actual work, they would both be sick of the trip. The dryness in their throats grew more and more troublesome, and the passing fields and meadows seemed never ending in their vast, rolling form.

– Do you happen to have any water? – the blond man focused his dark irises on one of the tall figures, whose sharp gaze measured his face judgmentally, then a pale, battered hand slid out of a window to his right. A firm tone ran forward to the coachman's place, whence, after a short moment, a small white bottle was handed to the outstretched arm. The guard pulled it efficiently inside and wordlessly handed it to Raziel, who felt slightly offended by the lack of any contact from the stranger. However, he accepted the bottle with a nod and, having quenched his thirst, passed the rest of the contents to the woman, whose focus shifted to the white, sloshing object in the blink of an eye.

– Are you sure it's not poisoned? – Ruth didn't touch the bottle, staring intensely into the cat-like eyes, whose pupils widened considerably and the hand holding the water quickly found its way under the detective's nose, prepared for the worst-case scenario. Ruth, however, merely laughed and snatched the bottle from the concerned Raziel, then took several deep sips. The uniformed man's watchful gaze, meanwhile, drilled into the body and soul of the Blond who had earlier dared to question the suitability of the local merchandise. The detective ignored the chilling gesture, however, as the few drops of water refreshed his mind enough to turn his attention to the colorful farmlands, fruit orchards, and pastures that lined both sides of the road.

– Damn...

– You need help? – Raziel gestured towards the brunette's wrist, but this one only shook her head and moved away, intent on dealing with the problem herself. The rest of their journey passed in silence, and when the carriage finally stopped, only the first few steps leading upwards could be seen from the small window.

– Oh, are we there yet? – the woman raised her gaze to the opening door, whose loud creaking caused an unpleasant shiver along the body.

– Apparently... – Raziel looked skeptically at the cobbled stones beneath the wheels of the carriage and then stepped carefully outside, greeted by strong gusts of wind and drops of waning rain.

– Welcome to the Black Asylum. My name is Nicholas Derico, the hospital's chief superintendent – a pale, slender hand slid out from under the sleeve of a white doctor's gown in anticipation of Raziel, whose gaze traveled unhurriedly from dark elegant shoes to mesmerizing blue eyes. Grasping the black-haired man's hand, the detective felt a strong electric pulse across the length of his right arm, and as his gaze involuntarily slid lower, he noticed a faint smile that seemed informally friendly to Raziel.

– Pleased to meet you, we hope we won't take up much of your time – Ruth smiled warmly, then habitually reached into her coat pocket, but Derico stopped her hand with a gentle movement and turned towards the silent guards standing near the entrance.

– No need, I trust their competence. My staff would not allow people with impure intentions to enter our premises – the doctor took a few steps towards the high double doors, but just as he was about to grab the massive handle, his head tilted slightly and his gaze darted over his shoulder landing for a split second on the bulge marking the brunette's hips.

– For the safety of our patients and staff, however, I would ask that you leave any work tools with these gentlemen – Derico indicated with a slight motion to the uniformed men, who took a few steps to cover the distance separating them from the investigators who were displeased with this order. As Raziel was completely stripped of his only source of a sense of control, and Ruth was handing over her entire inventory with a distrustful expression on her face, the doctor smiled at them once more, then opened the heavy door wide and gestured for the two to enter.

Raziel stepped across the threshold with a confident, determined stride, but a sudden assault on his heightened senses forced the man to take two steps back and bump into his still-moving partner. The faint stench of chemicals mixed with the smell of a basement that hadn't been ventilated in years hit Raziel's senses brutally, and as his vision adjusted to the gloom of the barely lit hallway, he realized that Ruth's proposal of a few hours ago had been a wonderful, missed opportunity. The narrow space seemed to suffocate in its own form, the row of wooden chairs on either side of the shabby, pale walls magnified the claustrophobic atmosphere of the space, and the metal doors built in at regular intervals almost screamed with the human voice locked behind their surface. There were murmurs and quiet moans coming from the room to the left, and several nurses were just coming down the winding metal staircase, carrying white bundles and thick syringes dripping with clear liquid in their skinny arms. All of this caused Raziel's skull to suddenly, painfully pulsate, quickly bringing his need to remain professional and his irresistible urge to retreat into collision.

– Don't exaggerate, it's not that bad – a quiet whisper reached the blond man's consciousness while Derico greeted two short women in blue aprons, indicating with a slight gesture the guests standing at the threshold of the Victorian building.

– We have an unexpected visit today, so please take care of my patients for the next few…– the black-haired man glanced at Raziel's pale face and the brunette's smiling face – ...hours.

– I see – the older woman sent the two strangers a musty look and nodded at her companion, disappearing into another dark corridor. Blue eyes turned again towards the detectives, and the gentle movement of the hand ordered them to approach closer. Raziel walked slowly alongside of dilapidated seats without letting the doctor out of his sight, but after a few steps he felt a firm pressure on the line of his shoulders, and the next moment he was standing beside the black-haired man with Ruth treading on his heels.

– Welcome to the office – a gentle smile never left the doctor's face as he led them to an ornate black door set in a deep alcove on the right side of the hallway. The room seemed very cozy and simply furnished, but a certain design element didn't quite fit in with the rest of the neat, modest furniture.

– I know briefly what brings you here, but I would like to know more – a slender hand gently touched the keys of a black piano, then gracefully pointed Ruth to a low armchair opposite a massive desk that reminded Raziel of his own in the fourth floor room.

– We've been instructed to check the compliance of your facility's conditions with the guidelines of security doctrine and...

– I understand - cyan irises focused on the woman's figure became several shades darker, which did not escape the attention of the man standing in the darkened part of the room – In that case, I have to hand over some valuable things to you - the sound of a drawer being pulled out and the rustling of paper irritated their ears, and immediately afterwards, the doctor placed a bundle of yellow sheets of paper on the table.

– Here is a list of all the patients and the reasons why they are in our hospital. Would you like to speak to each of them personally? – in the soft, official tone that leaked from the smiling mouth, Raziel heard a hint of something he couldn't quite make out until he lifted one of the sheets of paper under the dim light of the lamp. The first page was filled with names and notes outlined in black ink, and each new record was reliably numbered.

– There is no need – the man replied calmly, looking at the endless list of numbers and columns. The doctor, on the other hand, gave Raziel a satisfied smile and took advantage of Ruth's inattention to the documents to study her figure unhurriedly. The blond man, seeing this casual, bold gesture, stepped firmly into the field of view of the greedy eyes, which in return focused on his face with the same intensity.

– It is enough for you to show us around the entire establishment – a gaze full of glittering fires followed carefully every movement of the laughing quietly man, whose black shoes were bumping on the floor almost like horses' hooves on the cobbled path.

– Follow me then.

The door to the stuffy office opened slowly, and the intoxicating smell of surgical instruments, bleach, and burned wood once again entered Raziel's nose.

– Ruth? – the man turned to the still-reading woman, who muttered quietly in response and, without looking up, walked out into the now empty corridor. Derico led them to the first metal door they had previously passed and, opening it, first held the handle and then entered the room with a jaunty step. Raziel made a mental note of the strange manner and followed his partner inside, who was now focused on the interior of the bright room.

– This is the group therapy room, usually the meetings are held here in the afternoon or evening – the man pointed at the chairs scattered around in disarray and one soft armchair standing in the corner – currently most of the patients are having breakfast in the dining room - another door opened hard, and behind them a few clumsily arranged flower pots and a large window with a stained glass appeared – here we let them rest and relax among the greenery, as they can rarely enjoy the sunshine outside – Derico carelessly moved one of the larger, spreading plants covering the entrance to the next room – and here...Oh.

The young detective stopped with the other two at the threshold and squinted to better see the source of the head doctor's surprise. As his gaze adjusted to the poor lighting of the new room, Raziel quickly determined that "Oh" was a vast understatement here.