Detective Lahey rubbed her hand along my inner thigh, pausing just before it reached my pride. The sensation of her perfectly rounded fingernails riding trails along my thigh sent tingles shooting in all directions. After another heated argument at my house last night, we found a way to make peace that satisfied both of us.

Sarah's hand inched closer, the tips of her fingers stretching to gently touch my crotch. My hands gripped the side of the seat, feeling my arousal strengthen, as Sarah reached underneath, cupping her hands under my balls, squeezing them gently.

I opened my eyes ever so slightly as I glanced over at Sarah, her tongue tracing the outer edges of her lip, hinting at the pleasure still to come.

Secluded in a quiet spot, away from the prying eyes of the precinct, Sarah and I had parked the unmarked police car, allowing ourselves a momentary escape from the relentless pressure of the investigation. The tension between us, compounded by the weight of the case - Gladys, Luke, the bodies we couldn't find, and the one we had - created an atmosphere thick with unsaid words and hidden truths. Neither of us had been brave enough to confess our own dark secrets from the other night. For my part, the need for distraction was becoming increasingly crucial to maintain my sanity.

The sharp squawk of the police radio shattered the silence, jolting us back to reality. "CITY632," it crackled, violently interrupting the moment. I felt a surge of adrenaline as I recognised our callsign. Turning to Sarah, I said with a slight stumble in my voice, "We'd better grab that."

"CITY632, go ahead," Sarah responded, her voice steady and professional.

"CITY632, a disturbance has been reported at a property in Granton. A woman is claiming that a Mr. Luke Smith is on the premises. We've been advised to notify you of any jobs that come up with the name Luke Smith," the dispatch informed us.

"Fuck me!" The words escaped my lips before I could censor them, my hand reflexively pushing Sarah's away from my leg as I started the car's engine. This could be the break we were desperately looking for. "This is it. Tell them we've got it," I ordered, my mind already racing ahead to the possibilities this call presented.

The car's engine roared to life after several revs, the red and blue lights flashing, as I pressed the accelerator, speeding down the street. Sarah quickly coordinated with dispatch over the radio, her fingers deftly jotting down the job details. My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of apprehension and excitement coursing through me. This could be a pivotal moment in the investigation, a chance to finally make some headway in the convoluted web of events that had ensnared us. As the car sped towards Granton, every nerve in my body was alert, my mind acutely focused on the confrontation ahead.

"CITY632, approaching the Jeffries property now," Sarah relayed into the radio, her voice tinged with a barely restrained excitement that mirrored my own heightened state of alertness.

"Copy that CITY632. Proceed with extreme caution. Backup is on its way," the dispatcher responded, their words adding an extra layer of gravity to the situation.

I manoeuvred the car up the rocky, dirt road that snaked its way up the hillside. Each turn seemed to amplify the tension in the car, a tangible sense of anticipation hanging in the air. As a detective, my training had prepared me for confronting the darker aspects of humanity, yet the unpredictability of the job always left room for the unexpected, for those moments that could catch even the most seasoned officer off guard. I was acutely aware of the lines I had crossed in pursuit of Luke, the moral boundaries I had blurred in the name of justice. Today's operation, I firmly reminded myself, would be different. It would be conducted with absolute adherence to protocol.

Jeffries Manor loomed into view, its beautiful sandstone structure standing as a testament to both history and modernity. The new extensions at the front and back of the house lent it an air of elegance and a renewed sense of grandeur. As we pulled to a stop under the shade of a large gum tree, the contrast between the serene beauty of the estate and the potential chaos of our mission was stark.

Sarah, ever ready to spring into action, unbuckled her seatbelt and quickly exited the car, her hand instinctively moving to her gun.

"No gun. Not yet," I cautioned her, my voice firm. I too climbed out of the unmarked car, feeling the crunch of gravel underfoot. The decision to forgo weapons, at least initially, was a deliberate one. In situations like this, the presence of a gun could escalate tensions, and I was determined to approach this with a level of restraint and caution, to ensure we navigated this potentially volatile situation as safely as possible.

As I surveyed Jeffries Manor, my eyes eagerly scanned the scene before us, preparing for any eventuality. The tension was palpable, a mixture of anticipation and readiness that came with years of experience in law enforcement. I held up a hand to Sarah, signalling her to follow my lead. We moved towards the house with cautious, measured steps, our senses heightened, ready to react to any sudden movement or sound.

Before we could even reach the front door to knock, an older woman's voice called out, piercing the stillness of the afternoon. "He's in here," she shouted, her tone laced with urgency and fear.

Instantly, we pivoted towards the source of the voice, our attention drawn to the shed where Louise stood. My heart skipped a beat as I saw her, a figure of desperation and panic, clutching a hefty kitchen knife in her trembling hands. The sight of her, armed and clearly distraught, added an unforeseen layer of complexity to the situation.

"Want to use those guns yet?" Sarah quipped, her question underscored with a hint of dark humour. I could sense the adrenaline coursing through her, the instinctive readiness for action that characterised her as a detective.

Despite the gravity of the situation, I couldn’t help but appreciate Sarah's wry sense of humour, a brief moment of levity in an otherwise tense situation. I gave her a quick glance, a silent acknowledgement of her comment, before refocusing on the task at hand.

"We need to deescalate this," I said quietly to Sarah, my mind racing through the best approach to handle Louise without provoking further distress or danger. My training kicked in, reminding me that every action, every word we uttered in these next few moments, could mean the difference between a peaceful resolution and a dangerous escalation.

We cautiously advanced towards the shed, each step measured and deliberate, maintaining a visible distance from our weapons. It was crucial to project an air of non-threatening authority. My voice, steady and reassuring, was ready to address Louise, to convey that we were there to assist and defuse the situation, not escalate it. This was a tightrope walk of policing – asserting control while showing genuine concern.

"Louise Jeffries," I called out to her, my tone firm yet empathetic. "It's time to hand the knife over," I instructed, gesturing towards Sarah, indicating she was to receive the weapon.

Louise, a mix of pride and fear in her eyes, stood waving the knife somewhat erratically. "I've got the bastard trapped inside," she declared, clearly believing she had the upper hand on the situation.

Yet, it was evident she was terrified. Her hands, though gripping the knife, trembled uncontrollably. Sarah, with her usual calm and collected demeanour, coaxed Louise into relinquishing the knife. As she did, the bravado that had momentarily buoyed Louise seemed to evaporate, and she crumbled under the weight of her fear.

"I can't find Brianne!" she sobbed, her voice shaking as she handed over the knife to Sarah. The name didn't immediately register with me.

"Brianne?" I asked, needing clarification.

"Kain's fiancé," Louise explained, her voice tinged with anger and desperation. "Luke came here to talk to her, and now she's gone too," she added, her words fuelling my concern.

"Take her back inside the house," I instructed Sarah firmly. If Louise's claim was true, and Luke was indeed inside the shed, we couldn't afford any distractions. The potential of having an emotionally charged civilian like Louise in the vicinity could complicate matters significantly.

As Sarah escorted Louise back to the safety of the house, I refocused my attention on the shed. The thought that Luke, the elusive and pivotal figure in our investigation, might be mere feet away filled me with a mix of trepidation and determination. This was a moment I had mentally prepared for, but the reality of it was more intense than any rehearsal. My senses were hyper-alert, every nerve primed for the confrontation that was about to unfold. The importance of this encounter was not lost on me; the stakes were extraordinarily high, and the necessity for precise, controlled action was paramount.

Once I saw Sarah and Louise safely enter the house, I turned my full attention to the shed. It was a large structure, its green corrugated iron exterior giving it a robust, albeit somewhat imposing appearance. My hand moved subtly, releasing the clasp of my firearm's holster. While I had no intention of drawing my weapon unless absolutely necessary, readiness was crucial.

"I'm unarmed," a young man's voice announced from within the depths of the shed. My heart rate spiked, adrenaline surging through my body. This had to be Luke. Despite the relatively short duration of our pursuit, it felt as though I had come to know this man deeply, albeit in the most twisted of ways.

With utmost caution, I stepped inside the darkened interior of the shed. The lack of light created a veil of uncertainty, but I was prepared. My gun remained holstered as I raised my hands to visibly show I was not armed. "I just want us to talk," I declared, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. I took a few tentative steps forward, my eyes straining to adjust to the dimness, searching for Luke's form in the shadows.

In my mind, I was clear about one thing - if it came down to it, if Luke posed an imminent threat, I wouldn't hesitate to take decisive action, even if that meant shooting him. But for now, my hope was to resolve this situation with words, not bullets. The air was thick with tension, each of my steps measured and cautious, as I moved deeper into the shed.

"I'm Detective Jenkins," I declared, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through me. I was determined to adhere to protocol, to handle this interaction with professionalism. "You must be Luke Smith?" I asked, needing to confirm the identity of the man before me.

"Yes. I am," came the prompt reply from the shadows of the shed.

I pressed on, getting straight to the point. "Where is Brianne?" I questioned, needing to ascertain the whereabouts of Kain's fiancée.

"With Kain," Luke answered, his tone a mix of defensiveness and resignation.

"And where might that be?" I probed further, trying to piece together the scattered fragments of the puzzle, hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t a reference to more sinister actions.

"I am not exactly sure. Kain sent her a text message about an hour ago with an address of where to meet him. That's why she took off in his car earlier when I arrived," Luke explained, his voice oddly confident.

I mulled over his response, my mind racing through the implications. "So why is Louise so concerned about her safety?" I asked, trying to understand the reason behind Louise's obvious distress and agitation.

"I don't know. I guess she is just confused and scared. I suppose I would be too if people around me were going missing and being secretive," Luke responded, his words seemingly genuine.

His answer resonated with me; the uncertainty and fear were something I could understand. However, I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was more to this story, layers of complexity and hidden truths that were yet to be uncovered. My instincts as a detective told me that every piece of information, every word spoken, could be a vital clue in unraveling the mystery surrounding the disappearances and Luke's involvement. I knew I had to tread carefully, to parse through his words for any sign of deceit or hidden meaning, while also maintaining a calm and authoritative demeanour. This was a delicate dance, one where a single misstep could have significant consequences.

"Are you being secretive?" I pressed, narrowing my eyes as I studied Luke's demeanour closely.

"No. I really don't know what's going on," he replied, his voice steady, but there was something in his tone, a nuance, that didn’t sit right with me.

I fixed Luke with a long, unyielding stare, the dim light of the shed casting shadows that seemed to add to the gravity of our conversation. The air was thick with unspoken accusations and suspicions. "And what about Jamie?" I probed further, feeling a surge of anger welling up within me. My jaw clenched involuntarily as I fought to keep my emotions in check, to maintain the professional detachment necessary in such situations.

"Jamie's safe," Luke answered promptly, his response too quick, too rehearsed.

I didn't believe him. Every instinct in me screamed that he was lying. Luke was a fucking psychopath. After everything that had happened - the disappearances, the deaths - his calmness in the face of such imminent danger was unnerving. Yet, despite my mounting distrust and frustration, my curiosity drove me to ask one more question. "I do have one question for you," I said, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between us.

"What's that?" Luke asked, his shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug.

"We tracked your movements to Adelaide just yesterday. How did you manage to sneak past all of our surveillance and back into Hobart?" The question was pivotal; his answer could provide a key insight into his methods and motivations.

Again, Luke simply shrugged, offering no words in response, his silence serving only to fuel my suspicions further.

"You are a cunning little bastard, aren't you," I remarked, a statement rather than a question, as I tried to piece together his elusive game.

The split second Luke's hand moved towards his back pocket, my training kicked in. "Don't move!" I barked, the command erupting from deep within as my hand shot to the holster of my gun. My heart thundered against my ribs, a rapid drumbeat of adrenaline and instinct. In these critical moments, the line between order and chaos was vanishingly thin, my heightened senses razor-focused on the unfolding threat.

Luke's sudden movement was abrupt, a motorbike in the shed clattering to the floor with a resounding crash. I didn't give myself time to think; I reacted on pure instinct. With all the force I could muster, I charged at Luke, my shoulder leading. The impact was solid, striking him squarely in the chest. I felt the satisfying yet jarring sensation of the hit as Luke's breath whooshed out, his body reeling from the blow. We both tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Scrambling to gain the upper hand, I moved quickly, my training guiding every motion. Sitting up on my knees, I manoeuvred my body over Luke's. With my left leg, I positioned myself strategically, securing his right arm in a textbook wrist lock. Luke's reaction was immediate – a sharp jerk of pain. He rolled, instinctively trying to escape, his movement catching my leg.

I struggled briefly to maintain control, a few beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead from the intensity of the altercation. With Luke now on his back, I pinned his arms above his head on the cold concrete floor, squatting firmly on his waist to immobilise him.

In the aftermath of the scuffle, I found myself in an unusual position. Conventionally, a suspect would be lying face down, but here we were, Luke on his back and me looming over him, our hands locked in a stalemate. We stared at each other, the tension thick in the air. I was momentarily unsure of my next move. This wasn't a conventional arrest; it was raw and unscripted. My mind raced for the next step, but in that brief, charged moment, time seemed to stand still. The urgency of the situation was palpable, yet I was acutely aware of the need to handle this delicately. Every decision now could have lasting repercussions.

"Well, this is awkward," Luke finally broke the tense silence, his voice almost casual.

I shot him a perplexed look, baffled by his nonchalance. How could he not be terrified in this situation? "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" I accused, disgust tainting my words. I couldn’t fathom how he could remain so composed under these circumstances.

Luke met my intense gaze without flinching. "And what about you?" he retorted, a grin creeping across his face as if he found some twisted amusement in our standoff.

"If my hands weren't pinning you down right now, I'd punch you in the face," I snapped back, my patience wearing thin. Protocol was the last thing on my mind at this point. A part of me, the part fuelled by anger and frustration, fantasised about ending this once and for all, imagining my hands free to act on the rage simmering within me.

"Well, ain't that a shame," Luke replied with a wink, adding fuel to the fire of my growing fury.

"You're a fucking psychopath," I hissed at him, the words barely audible as I struggled to keep my anger in check.

"What makes you think I'm a psychopath?" Luke challenged, his tone almost mocking.

"Do you have no remorse for what you've done?" I demanded, my voice rising with each word. "You've murdered at least four people!"

"I haven't murdered anyone!" Luke shot back defensively, his eyes widening in what seemed like genuine surprise. "Have you?" he suddenly asked, his expression turning to one of fear.

His question hit me like a physical blow, sending a chill down my spine. The memories of the past few days, the haunting images and actions, flashed through my mind in a rapid, disorienting succession. Doubt crept into my thoughts. What if I'm wrong? What if Luke is actually innocent? The possibility, however remote, gnawed at me. Against my better judgment, I eased my grip on Luke's arms slightly, the tension in my shoulder becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

As I adjusted my position, a myriad of emotions and thoughts collided within me. The line between right and wrong, guilt and innocence, seemed to blur, leaving me in a state of uncertainty and confusion. The situation was far from black and white, and I found myself grappling with the complexities of the case, the decisions I had made, and the actions I was prepared to take. The moment was pivotal, a turning point that could redefine everything I thought I knew about the investigation and about myself.

"So, how do you want to do this?" I asked, a pragmatic edge to my voice. I was eager to stand up, to move away from this physical stalemate. As I waited for Luke's response, a sudden, unsettling sensation washed over me. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a primitive alarm system responding to an unseen threat. My radio crackled loudly, breaking the tense silence, adding to the sudden surge of apprehension.

Above us, the lone light near the shed's entrance flickered ominously, casting erratic shadows across the interior. My eyes widened, my mind momentarily hijacked by haunting memories - the sinister sight of a room filled with black garbage bags and that chilling, disembodied voice whispering, "Bye, Karl." A shiver coursed down my spine, a physical manifestation of the dread these memories evoked.

My introspection was abruptly shattered by a young, female voice from behind, catching me completely off guard. "Beatrix?" I whispered, my confusion palpable. Gently, I shifted my weight off Luke's waist, just enough to turn my head and see who had called out. The name echoed in my mind, a tether to a different part of this complex puzzle.

But the moment I turned, I realised my error. I winced in agony as Luke's knee connected forcefully with my groin. The sharp, debilitating pain was immediate, overwhelming any other response. Instinctively, my hands left their hold on Luke, moving to clutch at the source of my pain.

As the searing pain from Luke's knee strike coursed through me, I anticipated his next move would be to escape. But to my utter astonishment, instead of wriggling free, Luke threw himself forward. In a split second, I was thrown backward, our bodies locked in a chaotic tangle.

As we grappled in the dim light of the shed, the darkness around us seemed to dissolve into an array of brilliant, swirling colours, as if reality itself was shifting. The scene was surreal, almost hallucinogenic. "Welcome to Clivilius, Karl Jenkins," a voice echoed in my mind, a silent, eerie whisper that seemed to resonate from the very depths of my consciousness.

The clamour of the shed's contents crashing around us faded into a distant, muffled hum, overshadowed by the intensity of the moment. The throbbing pain in my groin, though still acute, became a secondary concern as I wrestled with Luke, our bodies rolling through the dust and debris.

We struggled fiercely, each of us fighting for dominance in this bizarre and unexpected confrontation. Finally, I managed to manoeuvre Luke onto his back, pinning his hands above his head. The situation felt eerily familiar, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over me. Not again, I thought to myself, my mind reeling.

As the bizarre and unsettling distortions faded away, I found myself firmly anchored back in the grim reality of the situation. The surreal experience, though fleeting, had left me disoriented and doubting my own senses. What had felt almost dreamlike was now replaced by the unyielding truth of the moment - Luke Smith pinned beneath me, and the cold, hard concrete of the Jeffries' shed floor beneath us both. The gravity of what had just transpired hit me with full force.

My head spun as I tried to regain my bearings, my eyes focusing on the immediate clutter of the shed that blurred with the various shades of brown dust, contrasting starkly against the backdrop of a cloudless blue sky. The anger I felt toward Luke, which had briefly subsided in the confusion of the moment, began to resurface, boiling over as I saw him lying in the dust, grinning provocatively at me. "Bye, Karl," he whispered, his voice a sinister echo in my ears.

In a fit of rage, driven by the tumultuous emotions and the chaos of the situation, I delivered a hard punch to Luke's head. The impact of my fist against his skull was sharp and decisive, enough to render him unconscious. "Fuck you!" I shouted at his now motionless body, releasing some of the pent-up frustration and fury.

Suddenly, a sea of voices approached, breaking the isolation of our struggle. I quickly rolled off Luke and scrambled to my feet, acutely aware of the approaching crowd. In a reflexive motion, I grabbed my gun, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight.

"Stay back!" I commanded, waving the gun with a shaky hand at the approaching figures. "I'll shoot," I warned, my voice carrying an edge of desperation. The situation was rapidly spiralling out of my control. The adrenaline, fear, and confusion mingled, creating a volatile mix that threatened to overwhelm my usually composed demeanour.

As the figures drew closer, I realised the gravity of what I was doing - brandishing a weapon at fellow officers and bystanders. My training and instincts screamed at me to de-escalate, to regain control not only of the situation but of myself. But the aftermath of the surreal encounter with Luke, coupled with the intense emotions it had stirred up, left me teetering on the brink of losing my grasp on the situation.

"Karl!" The sound of a woman's voice cut through the tense air, momentarily drawing my attention away from the chaos. I hadn't noticed her initially, but there she was – Beatrix, her long, silver hair framing her face, creating an almost ethereal presence amidst the turmoil.

For a fleeting moment, I considered lowering my weapon, her familiar presence almost calming. But I couldn't. The confusion and fear were too overwhelming.

"What the fuck is Clivilius?" I demanded, my voice laced with desperation and confusion, the words almost a spray of saliva. My gun remained unflinchingly aimed at Beatrix's chest.

"This place," Beatrix replied with an eerie calmness, her hands gesturing broadly as if to encompass our surroundings. "Karl," she continued, her voice soft and soothing, "It's okay."

Another gaze caught my attention, pulling my focus away from Beatrix. Squinting, I tried to discern the face in the crowd. "Jamie?" I whispered, barely audible, a mix of confusion and disbelief in my voice.

My breaths became deeper, more laboured, as I struggled to make sense of the scene unfolding before me. Suddenly, the gun in my hand felt like a foreign object, and it dropped from my grasp, hitting the dust with a soft thud.

As my head spun, a wave of nausea overwhelmed me. I barely registered the young, tall man stepping forward from the group, his hand extended in a gesture of introduction. "Hi, I'm Paul Smith," he said cheerfully, an incongruous note in the otherwise tense atmosphere. "Luke's brother," he added, glancing briefly at Luke, who now seemed to stir with a strange vitality.

A surge of blood rushed to my head, a wave of warmth flooding my body. I blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the fuzziness clouding my mind. "Shit!" I cried out, a terror gripping me. "I'm dead!”

The world around me began to fade, my mind succumbing to the darkness that loomed on the edges of my consciousness. My body, no longer able to support itself, collapsed into the dust, surrendering to the overwhelming sensations and the inexplicable events that had just transpired. The last thing I remember was the ground rushing up to meet me, and then nothing but darkness.