Chapter 6
Chapter: The Vanishing Act
Kenny sat stiffly in the interrogation room, describing every detail of the two assailants. His fingers tapped anxiously against the wooden table as the sketch artist worked, her charcoal moving quickly across the paper. When she finally turned the sketch around, Kenny's breath hitched.
It was them. A perfect match.
"That’s them," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
The artist nodded. "You're free to go. Officer Hernandez said he'd come find you after."
Kenny stood and stretched his arms, feeling momentarily relieved. At least someone believed him. Now he just had to find Hernandez and figure out what came next.
Stepping out into the bustling station, Kenny glanced around, searching for the officer. Instead, a different policeman approached him—a tall, stern-faced man with dark brown hair and a thick mustache. His uniform was crisp, and his belt jingled with the weight of his equipment.
"You must be Kenny," the officer said.
Kenny hesitated. "Yeah?"
"I'm Officer Seisyll. Hernandez had to step out. He asked me to look after you."
"Step out? Where?"
Seisyll shrugged. "Not sure. Just orders. For now, we need to get you to a safehouse."
That sounded... logical. Hernandez had promised to keep him safe, and Kenny didn’t exactly have anywhere else to go. Still, something about the way Seisyll spoke made him uneasy.
"How long will I be there?" Kenny asked. "What about my uncle?"
Seisyll gave another nonchalant shrug. "Don’t know. Hernandez will explain once we get there."
Something felt off. But before Kenny could process the warning bells blaring in his mind, he stepped outside—straight into a nightmare.
Two pairs of strong arms grabbed him, shoving a rough cloth bag over his head.
Panic shot through his veins as he kicked and thrashed. His muffled screams went unheard over the sounds of the street. His captors lifted him as if he weighed nothing, hauling him into what felt like a wagon. The door slammed shut, and suddenly, the world was moving.
Kenny tried to keep his breathing steady. If he panicked, he’d be useless. Instead, he focused. Count the seconds. Track the turns. Left, right, right again… They were going somewhere isolated.
The Aftermath at the Station
The police station was in chaos.
The sketch artist was dead, her body sprawled across the floor, eyes wide in frozen terror. The papers on her desk—gone. The sketches—missing.
Hernandez stood in the middle of the wreckage, heart pounding. The station was already swarming, officers shouting orders, storming out in every direction. The word was spreading fast—murder, a kidnapped witness, and possibly more deaths on the way.
One thing was clear. Kenny wasn’t just a bystander. Whoever was after him knew exactly who he was.
Hernandez clenched his jaw.
"This isn't just some street gang," he muttered. "They knew exactly what they were doing."
A few officers were sent to inform Orvin of what happened. The man listened in silence as they told him that his nephew had been taken. He didn't ask questions. He didn't curse or break down. He only nodded, a vacant expression on his face.
But as the officers left, his hands clenched into fists. The last words he'd said to Kenny had been in anger. And now, there might not be another chance to take them back.
The Captive
Kenny groaned as he blinked into the dimly lit cabin. His head throbbed. His wrists ached where they had been tied behind the wooden chair. The air smelled of damp wood and burning oil.
Outside, his captors whispered amongst themselves.
Kenny listened intently, trying to catch what they were saying.
"We should kill him now," a gruff voice muttered. "He's a loose end."
"We can't," a woman replied. "We need a shaman to extract the mantle first."
The mantle. That word sent ice down Kenny’s spine.
A few moments later, the two of them stepped inside. Kenny recognized them instantly. The two who killed Grandpa Wang.
"Okay, guys," he tried, forcing a shaky smile. "If you let me go now, I promise I won’t tell anyone about this. You have my word."
They chuckled.
"Who are you?" the man asked.
Kenny frowned. "What?"
"Your real name," the woman added.
"Kenny," he said slowly. "Kenny from Meadow Lane."
That earned him a sharp slap across the face.
"Do you think we’re playing games?" the man snapped.
"I swear, I live at Meadow Lane!" Kenny protested.
The woman scoffed. "Forget it. Let’s just cut off his arm and kill him."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! No need for that!" Kenny squirmed against his restraints.
"Unfortunately for you, Your Highness," she sneered, "there’s no other way around it."
Your Highness?
Kenny’s breath hitched. What were they talking about?
"Like I said," the woman continued, "we need a shaman to extract the mantle first."
Before Kenny could process what that meant, a sound outside made them freeze.
Footsteps.
The kidnappers exchanged uneasy glances. The man called out to someone. No response.
A tense silence settled over the cabin. Then, suddenly—
THUD.
Something—or someone—collapsed outside.
The man grabbed his weapon. "Stay here," he ordered the woman before stepping out.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Kenny’s pulse raced. The man hadn't returned. The woman’s grip tightened around a dagger as she took a step back.
"Who's there?" she demanded. "Show yourself!"
Nothing.
She grabbed Kenny, pressing something sharp against his throat.
"If you try anything, I’ll rip his throat out!" she shouted into the darkness.
Kenny’s mind whirled. This was it. Someone was out there. Maybe Hernandez? Maybe another enemy?
He had to stay calm.
But before he could think of a plan—
The world tilted.
His vision blurred.
His body felt heavy.
His eyelids drooped.
And then—
Everything went black.