The Case Deepens

"My brother was a geologist, yes," Vance said, his voice suddenly strained, "but his survey was… complicated. He was looking for more than just minerals. He found something that wasn't on any map."

"What was it?" I pressed further because every detail matters in a case like this.

"Something that wasn't on any map," I repeated, my eyes narrowing on Vance. "And what exactly do you think happened to him after he found it?"

Vance wrung his hands, his gaze fixed on a spot just over my shoulder. "I don't know. But whatever it was, it scared him. He was supposed to call me from the mine's office after he finished his survey, but he never did. The sheriff found his truck abandoned, but no sign of Thomas."

"No sign at all?" I leaned back, my chair groaning under my weight. "The sheriff's theory of spectral interference seems about as plausible as anything else in this town."

"It's a cover, Mr. Draven," Vance insisted, his voice low and urgent. "They don't want to find him. They don't want to find what he found. This town… it has a way of swallowing things. And people."

"This town has a way of attracting vultures," I corrected him, my voice hard. "Your brother's 'discovery' sounds like it might have ruffled some feathers. Who else could have gotten word of his findings?"

"That's what I'm paying you to find out," Vance replied, his voice tight.

"True, but the more information I have, the faster I will find him, and find him, I will," I reply.

I stood, the cheap chair protesting beneath me. "Alright, Vance. Show me where this mine is. And try not to leave out any of the 'ghost stories.' Sometimes they're more illuminating than the facts." The silence that followed my words was heavy, pregnant with unspoken things. Vance nodded, a tight, controlled movement, and gestured towards the door. As we stepped out into the oppressive Calico sun, I caught a glimpse of a woman watching us from the shaded entrance of a saloon across the street. She was blonde, sharp, and her gaze was a laser, dissecting every movement, every flicker of expression. A reporter, perhaps, or something far more dangerous.

I didn't need a nosy woman butting into my investigation. After Vance showed me where the mine was, we parted ways, and I went to the saloon because I needed a damn drink.

The saloon was called 'The Silver Dollar,' because of course it was. Inside, the air was cool but stale, thick with the ghosts of a million spilled beers and desperate lies. I sat at the bar, nursing a lukewarm coffee that tasted like dirt, and tried to ignore the bartender’s plastic smile. He was watching me. They were all watching me. In a town this small, a new face was an event, and a face like mine—a face that had forgotten how to smile years ago—was a threat.

I was staring into the black mirror of my coffee when her reflection appeared next to mine. 'You must be Jack Draven.'

It wasn't a question. Her voice was like honey laced with shards of glass. I looked up. She was a supernova in this dusty, faded room. Blonde hair that fell in a careless wave over one eye, lips painted a defiant red, and a smile that didn't reach the intelligent, assessing blue of her eyes. She wore a simple white blouse and jeans, but on her, it looked like armor. She slid onto the stool next to me as if she owned it, owned the bar, owned the whole damn town.

'And you are?' I asked, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

"Maddie Hicks," she replied, her gaze locking with mine. "I write for the Calico Chronicle. You've been very quiet since you arrived, Mr. Draven. Almost as if you're trying to blend in, which in this town, is a sure way to get noticed."

Her eyes scanned my face, missing nothing. "So, the big-city detective comes to our humble, haunted town. You here for the ghosts, Mr. Draven? Or the people who disappear?"

There it was. The hook. She wasn't just a reporter; she was a player. She knew. How she knew was a question for later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the challenge in her eyes, the subtle tug-of-war that had started the second she sat down. She was a complication I didn't need, a firecracker in a dynamite factory. And worse, far worse, was the unwelcome flicker of something else. Something I hadn't felt since before the world went grey. A current of heat that had nothing to do with the desert outside. It was the last thing I wanted, a vulnerability I couldn't afford.

"I’m just a tourist," I said, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth.

Maddie Hicks took a slow sip of her whiskey, her eyes never leaving mine. "No, you’re not," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You’re a ghost, just like the rest of them. You just don’t know you’re dead yet."

What in Sam Hell did she mean by that? Yes, we all die sooner or later, but I am not like the rest from here. That I can tell just by looking around. Secrets, everyone has them, except this town has far more per capita than anywhere on earth, it seems.