Chapter 2: Disappearance Files
The next morning, Maya Cross sat in her cramped office at precinct 14, surrounded by three empty coffee cups, two partially eaten protein bars, and a wall of unsolved case files. The fluorescent lights above flickered as if trying to warn her off. She ignored them.
The radio transmission from the night before still echoed in her mind Carter’s warped voice, the warning about the lights. She’d checked the police scanner logs there was nothing. No record. Like it never happened.
She pulled Carter’s file toward her.
Name: Carter Hale
Age: 36
Occupation: Investigative Journalist, Independent
Last Seen: Near Halstead County Line
Status: Presumed Missing / Voluntary Disappearance
Maya frowned at the last line. Voluntary? Not Carter. He didn’t scare easily. Not even when he should have.
Her fingers flipped through his notes, some of which she’d copied from his apartment before the forensic team sealed it off. Pages of research, a trail of breadcrumbs Carter had left, all leading back to a place most people didn’t remember existed.
Halstead.
The town had once been a mining community but was struck from most digital maps sometime in the early 2000s. No official records stated why. No incident report. Just... forgotten.
But Carter had found something there. And whatever it was had scared him enough to run.
Or hide.
Maya clicked open a USB folder Carter had encrypted. The password had taken her two days to crack: "EchoDelta9". Inside were hundreds of audio files hours of recordings, some no more than whispers, others laced with screeches, tones, and garbled voices.
One stood out.
File name: halstead_loop_009.wav
Date: Night before Carter vanished.
She plugged in headphones and hit play.
[C
Static...
“If you're hearing this, it means I didn’t make it out. Don’t try to find me just destroy this file. Please. They hear through it. They see when you listen...”
“The frequency isn’t just a broadcast it’s a door.”
“And once you tune in… they find you.”
Then silence. No static. No click.
Just dead air.
Maya ripped the headphones off.
Whatever Carter had discovered, it wasn’t just a story. It wasn’t paranoia. He had found something real—and terrifying. And now she was in it too.
She opened her notepad and scribbled a single question:
What is the frequency?
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
She hesitated, then answered. “Cross.”
A pause. Then a man’s voice low, rough, almost mechanical:
“Detective Cross, I suggest you stop chasing ghosts. Halstead doesn’t want to be found. And neither do we.”
She froze. “Who is this?”
“Ask yourself this why is there no record of Halstead in your precinct database? Not even a zoning number. Not a jurisdictional code.”
Click.
Call ended.
Her fingers raced across the precinct’s internal server. She typed Halstead.
No results found.
She checked the federal directory.
No municipality by that name.
And yet she had driven through it before. She had seen the signs. It had existed. It had to.
Unless…
Unless the town didn’t want to be remembered.
She grabbed her keys.
It was time to go back.
Back to Halstead.
