1: Ms. Lockley
"I was awoken from my sleep when I first heard the news,” a trench-coated man spoke into a computer. “A whole floor’s worth of people disappeared in their sleep from the exact hotel I rested in.”
"Oh?” a feminine voice spoke from the computer. “Seems like you dodged a real bullet there.”
"Yeah, I guess. But ever since I left the hotel, I've felt watched. And I've made some very frightening discoveries. I've been researching, and as it turns out, every year, about twelve people disappear in that hotel. None are ever seen again.”
"Y'know, maybe you shouldn't be researching this stuff . . . I don't want you worrying yourself too much," the female voice said, but the trench-coated man pressed the power button on his computer and rubbed his eyes.
He got up from where he was sitting and walked over to a cabinet, slowly opening it. He pulled a grey fedora out of it and closed the cabinet. “I hate interviews. Some people just need to learn to mind their business, and stay out of mine,” he said, exiting his apartment.
He trotted down the stairs quietly.
A siren wailed into the cold night sky.
The trench-coated individual briskly made his way along the sidewalk, when he passed the pet shop. He paused, looking inside at the sleeping reptiles, and took something out of his pocket.
In his pocket was his wallet, and in that wallet was a picture. His eyes were fixed on a picture of a young girl, about age five or six. She had golden hair and was wearing a pink sundress in front of a church. He looked back at the reptiles. “Alana loved snakes,” he mumbled. He looked at the reptiles and back at the picture for a long time. Then he put the wallet in his pocket and headed to the office building where his interview was set to be.
Inside the building, he rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. A redheaded receptionist sat at a desk in a cramped, greyscale room. Her nameplate informed outsiders that her name was Alice.
“Can I help you?” asked Alice in a bored voice.
“I have an appointment,” said the man. “Interview.”
Alice checked a schedule on her computer. “Mister Chandler?”
“That’s me.”
She pointed a red fingernail at a door to her left. Chandler thanked her and approached the door. He apprehensively twisted the metal handle. With his other hand, he activated a device in his back pocket. He slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
His surroundings were possibly the dullest he had ever seen. The walls were painted grey, matching with the monochromatic furniture. The blinds on the windows were down, and Chandler’s interviewer sat behind the desk at the back of the room.
She was an elegant woman, wearing a black trench-coat and a matching, wide-brimmed hat. Her piercing, unnaturally blue eyes seemed to see right through Chandler’s very soul.
“Mister Chandler,” she said. “Please take a seat.”
Chandler did as he was told. “I was told you needed my assistance on a case,” he said. “Ms. Lockley, right?”
Lockley nodded. “You were told correctly. But first, you must remove and destroy that recording device in your back pocket.
O snap, he done got cot.