Agent Helen Clay drove in silence through a quaint town called Brightshore. It was a little seaside town on the coast of South Carolina. It was the sort of place she would have liked to retire to one day. Only she was not here to enjoy the town. She was here because someone had disappeared.

She'd heard the story through the grapevine. It fit the Clay Foundation's usual areas of interest. Specifically, those cases involving strange phenomena or unlikely events. Of course, none of the other investigators felt this was worth their time. Helen was inclined to disagree with them. She thought it was the latest in a string of disappearances that had been her obsession for some time.

She'd first noticed the disappearances five years ago when she first started working for the Clay Foundation in archives. They were always the same. A person, typically between the ages of 16 and 30, would disappear during the night and never be seen again. There seemed to be a great deal of time between each disappearance, allowing them to slide under the radar. There were never any witnesses to the kidnapping, though some had reported seeing some odd things before the disappearances. There would be no evidence left behind by the kidnapper, with one single exception. In every case she'd gathered in what she had started calling Project Razzmatazz, there was a small symbol left behind. She thought it was the calling card of a single perpetrator who was kidnapping these people.

She'd explained her theory to other agents, and they'd brushed it off. As far as they were concerned, there was nothing supernatural about this case, and so it didn't warrant the Clay Foundation's time. They were wrong. The symbol was an old one, perhaps older than they even knew. It appeared a few times throughout her research in the archives. Beyond that, the disappearances had been occurring for at least thirty five years, but she suspected they went back even further. Even with this evidence, the other agents remained doubtful, but she developed enough evidence to open a project.

The latest disappearance, A twenty-year-old girl named Grace Collins had vanished earlier this week in a manner that seemed to match the pattern. What's more, she provided something the others hadn't—concrete proof that something supernatural was at play. Grace Collins hadn't just disappeared from her home. She'd vanished from the inside of a locked police prison cell. It was just the break Helen needed. Now, she just had to tie it to the other disappearances.

"So, this is another potential Razzmatazz?" Her partner asked from the passenger seat of her car.

"That's the idea," Helen answered.

Harold Johnson had been her partner for three years. It would be more accurate to say he was the handler her father had assigned to keep her in line. Despite that, Helen was fond of him. He had a certain no-nonsense attitude that she found admirable. He'd been with the Clay Foundation for twenty-eight years, almost longer than Helen had been alive. He was old-school and usually wouldn't tolerate these little ventures of hers. It took a great deal of convincing to get him to approve this outing.

"You know, last time I let you talk me into pursuing this case, it was a wild goose chase," Johnson pointed out.

"This won't be. I'm telling you I'm onto something," she replied.

"You know it's funny. You remind me so much of your father. He had his little obsessions, too. Cases he wouldn't let go," Johnson mused.

"I'm not like my father," Helen declared.

"No, maybe not yet, but you will be. Trust me. We all turn out like our dad sooner or later."

"Not me."

"If you say so... I have a question for you," Johnson said.

"Is it about my father?" Helen asked.

"No. I'm just curious why you're so obsessed with this case. You've been chasing it for years."

"Don't know. I tried to get others to look into it and failed. I guess I'm the only one who can," Helen answered.

"I doubt that. I'm sure you can get someone to look at it. Your last name is on the building after all."

"You know my family doesn't give me anything. The Clay name earns me nothing. If anything, I have to earn it. This could be the case. The one that finally gets them to notice me enough to accept that I'm their equal. It's a big one. I'm sure of it."

Her partner smiled a little in the way she read as fondness. Johnson had always liked her. It was funny that the kind-hearted investigator was her father's best friend. As far as she could tell, the two of them had nothing in common. She would've thought her father was too cruel a man to have earned the trust of someone like Harold Johnson. Even with all her detective skills, she could never figure out their relationship.

"I wish I could believe that. But I know better. The Clay's look out for their own," her partner replied.

He was implying something with that. Helen didn't say anything in her defense. He was right. She almost unconsciously played with the strange ring on her finger. It'd been a gift from her uncle. She still didn't understand the full range of its capabilities, but she knew they were great. It was a luxury she was sure other agents of her standing wouldn't have gotten.

Her uncle was the exception—the only family who'd ever given her anything. She'd had to claw her way to where she was now. It was a bloody and vicious fight, but one she intended to win. Helen Clay was going to make her father acknowledge her. Solving this case was the first step.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Brightshore police building. It was a small police department for a small town. The sheriff of Brightshore was waiting for them at the front of the building. The two agents exited their car and approached the nervous sheriff. He greeted them with a handshake.

"Good morning. I'm Sheriff Pearson." The sheriff said.

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"I'm agent Helen Clay, and this is agent Johnson. We're with the Clay Foundation. We'll be taking over this case. We're going to have to clear the building. It'll be under our jurisdiction for the foreseeable future."

"The Clay Foundation, you really came. I knew the case was strange and all, but is it really one of yours? You think this was supernatural?" The sheriff asked.

"I don't know, sheriff. That's what we're here to figure out. Agent Johnson, could I ask you to clear the building while I ask the sheriff here some questions?"

Her partner nodded.

"Just this once."

He sauntered off and entered the Brightshore police building. Helen turned back to the sheriff.

"So, you had some questions for me? I don't know how much help I'll be to someone like you, but I'm happy to answer any questions you have," he said.

"I appreciate it. This missing girl, Grace Collins, was in your custody the night of the disappearance. Am I correct?" Helen asked.

"Yes, mam. We had her in lockup. She was caught vandalizing construction equipment. It wasn't the first time she'd done it either; her parents paid for the damages last time. This time, they decided they wanted her to face consequences. I think they meant it as a lesson of sorts," the sheriff answered.

Helen nodded.

"So the girl was unruly and had a history of sabotage. Any chance she might have picked the lock and escaped that way?" Helen asked.

"We had a man watching the door. She couldn't have gone out without him seeing."

"And there was no chance this guard was… otherwise occupied."

"Well, I won't lie, my boys sometimes sleep on the job. That night was different. Trust me when I say they weren't sleeping. The girl had been yelling like crazy. When the guard checked on her, she was fine, and there was nothing there despite what she claimed," the sheriff answered.

"And what was it she claimed?" Helen asked.

The sheriff laughed to himself. His smile slid until it was clearly one born from nervousness. The presence of the Clay Foundation had changed his opinion of the story in a way. What had once been impossible in his eyes could now be explained by the unnatural. That frightened people, but Helen was used to that reaction by now.

"Go on," Helen prodded.

The sheriff nodded.

"She was screaming that there was someone else in the room with her. A man with red eyes as crazy as it sounds. Of course, there wasn't anyone else there. It was only twenty minutes after that that they checked her again. It was only then that they realized she was gone. She vanished into thin air. We can't make heads or tails of it," he said.

"Did she say anything else about this man in the prison? Any more details?" Helen asked.

"She said he wore a suit and a hat. The strangest thing was... She said he was evil. That was all," Sheriff Pearson answered.

An evil man with red eyes. This was it. Finally, she had found one that matched the pattern. Helen had to hide her smile from the sheriff.

"Thank you, Sheriff. We'll take it from here. We won't be long. I understand that utilizing your police station might be a nuisance."

"No ma'am. If I'm being honest, I'd rather not be in there at the moment. I'm sure the other officers would agree," Sheriff Pearson said.

Helen couldn't blame him, but there was nowhere else she'd rather be.

***

Helen found her partner studying the prison cell where the girl had disappeared. There were eight identical cells in the room. Each was made with metal bars that reflected her body as she walked by. The floors were made of gray, lifeless concrete. It was a dower room that seemed like a fitting location for the disappearance.

"What do you think, Johnson?" Helen asked.

"Certainly strange. Seemingly improbable. A Clay Foundation case, for sure. I know at least one of the 44-Born who could be capable of something like this. I just don't know why they would. There are some strange folk among those," Johnson answered.

Helen shook her head.

"This is not the work of one of the Geigers. They wouldn't explain the pattern."

She studied the room briefly and quickly found what she was looking for.

"You see this symbol?" Helen gestured to a runic symbol burned into the concrete floor of the prison cell.

It was a complex collection of interconnected overlapping circles. Johnson studied it as a frown grew on his face.

"So they left a calling card. Nothing to say one of the 44-Born couldn't have done it," Johnson pointed out.

"I suppose, but that explanation doesn't work for me. It's an old symbol. One that I found goes far back in our records. There are examples of it all the way back to the dark ages. Most of the files connected to it are classified, but I think it's connected to the real old shit. The stuff they don't talk about unless you're at the table like my father. Beyond that, I think these cases go further back than 1944."

"What makes you think that?" Johnson asked.

"Call it a hunch. The oldest case I know for sure is 1952," Helen answered.

She handed Johnson a case file. The familiar logo of the Clay Foundation was stamped on its front. It was a snake hiding in the brush. A metaphor their founder had used for the sort of things they hunted. Johnson began to quietly flip through the case file. Helen didn't need to see it. She knew it so well that she could probably recite it verbatim from memory.

The case was simple by their standards and wouldn't have caught the eye of any other agent. With the exception of herself, of course. A seventeen-year-old boy named Terry Sanders had gone missing from his family farmhouse in Little Ridge, Kansas, on November 12th, 1952. The case would have avoided the attention of the Clay Foundation had it not been for a single odd detail. The boy had told his parents that a man with glowing red eyes wearing a suit was standing in their cornfield. The boy said he thought it was evil, like the devil itself. At the time, the family thought he'd been dreaming or maybe seen a homeless man stealing corn. When their son vanished from his room that night, they felt maybe there'd been more to it than they thought.

The Clay Foundation had been inclined to agree with them. During the subsequent investigation, no evidence of young Terry was found. It was like he had vanished into thin air. The only thing recovered from the crime scene was a strange symbol burned into the floor of his bedroom. The same symbol was on the floor of this prison cell. Johnson looked up from the case file with a frown on his face.

"If this one happened in 1952, then our culprit couldn't be a Geiger. Unless he committed the crime when he was eight," Johnson thought out loud.

"My thoughts exactly. There's another strange bit in that file. The boy claimed to see a man with red eyes. One he thought was evil."

"It could be anything. Not really much to go on."

"It wouldn't be except Grace Collins, the current victim, said she saw the same thing. Twenty minutes later, she was gone," Helen said.

"You think the same entity was responsible for both," Johnson said, then thought about it for a moment before adding, "I think I'd agree."

Helen began to pace around the room as she thought.

"It's more than just two. I know of at least six that I think fit the pattern," Helen said.

"What's the motive?" Johnson asked.

"Don't know. It's hard to say when there's no victim or note. I can assume it's not good. Four separate cases have the victims telling their loved ones that they saw a man they knew was evil just by looking at him. It has to be supernatural, some sort of passive cognitive effect," Helen explained.

"That logic checks out. If it's a cognitive effect, then this is serious. You're the only agent looking into this?" Johnson asked.

"I am. I couldn't get anyone else to look close enough at it. I think that changes today. We have direct evidence of a match to the other cases."

"It does. I'll make sure of it myself. Good work, agent Clay."

Helen lit up at the praise. If she had impressed agent Johnson, then she would have impressed her father. She knew her partner was reporting to her old man. Maybe now she would finally have a place at the family table.

"Any chance we'll find the girl?" Johnson asked.

Helen shook her head.

"It's highly unlikely. In all the other cases, they never come back."