A Finding

Within the Third Quarter, word of mouth travels at a speed that most never having been would most likely find impossible. The usual stuff of gossip mainly involved various crimes, scandals, and exactly which individuals were known to have been in, or currently partaking in an affair. While many of the residents within the poverty stricken district found this an enjoyable form of entertainment, such conversations always had a certain predictability that made it a rather mundane aspect for a great many of the population. Given this, it was only a matter of time before the fear-crazed ramblings of the two gravediggers found their way into the local circuit. This offered a new excitement to a great many, and most residents of the Third Quarter where familiar with the story by the following day. What could not have been predicted at the time, however, was how the story continued to spread. It ate through the city, spreading like wildfire through the crowded streets. Within days, even the most affluent neighborhoods knew of the incident, and public intrigue began to hit a climax.

This was why, at the urgent request of the mayor, the local police force launched an official investigation into the matter. Though they did so primarily to appease the general public, it is to their credit that they conducted a thorough investigation nonetheless. First, they attempted to question the two gravediggers from which the story had originated. Despite their most valiant efforts, however, they could find no trace of either of the men. Perhaps it was due to their humble and independent lifestyles, or the men may have simply shared the same general distrust for law enforcement so prevalent within the Third Quarter. Whatever the reason, the police was unable to locate either man, and no information as to their whereabouts was offered. It was as if they had simply vanished.

Despite this, however, information was offered as to the whereabouts of where the deceased Arthur Blackwell was to be lain to rest, though the source of this information remained unknown to all but the individual responsible. The individual told police, via a small scrawled note under a doorway, that they had seen the two gravediggers fleeing from a small graveyard a good ways away from the crowded city, known as Jenkins Corner. With this key information, a small group of officers were dispatched to investigate the area, and find what had become of the late Arthur Blackwell. What they found did very little to calm the public.

"Would ya' spit it out?" Growled the city police commissioner, cigar in hand. "Did you find him or not?" He demanded angrily, cigar smoke spilling through his clenched teeth and clouding around his pockmarked face. He wore a thick black overcoat over his large frame, with a hastily knotted tie, which he had a habit of readjusting when he spoke. With his free hand, he tapped his steel lighter against his desk, in a rapid, angry motion. He had a serious face, marked with worry lines, and a stare that seemed to bore through any unfortunate enough to earn it.

Before him stood two police officers, dressed in their formal attire. They had taken the hats off of their heads, and were wringing them anxiously. Both were understandably nervous, each finding various discrete ways to wipe away the sweat pooling on their foreheads, as it streaked down their faces, and into their pressed white collars. The one on the right spoke first.

"We found- something, sir." He stammered, the second nodding in over pronounced exaggeration. "It's just not really the kind of thing we were expecting." He said, nervous fear making his voice rise and fall at odd intervals. He opened his mouth to say something else, but met the unwavering gaze of the commissioner, and lost the ability to speak, his mouth moving silently up and down, before pressing tightly together. The second filled in. "We found the grave, sir. And the casket too. It's just-" Her voice trailed off as well.

"What?" The commissioner's voice had now turned from a fierce bark to a low snarl, making it painfully clear his temper was failing him. The first officer spoke up again, apparently finding his voice. "It's empty. Sir. The casket was empty." At this, the commissioner lounged back in his chair, his temper cooling as his interest mounted. He took the cigar out of his mouth and held it before him, rotating it in his hand, as if noticing it for the first time. He did this whenever he deemed a thought more important than his smoking habit, which was exceedingly rare. "So someone opened it." He said, still staring intently his cigar.

At this the second officer chimed in, her apprehension slowly dissolving. "There's something else. We found scratches, all along the lid, on the inside. We thought they were nothing at first, but we looked at them a little closer, and they started to look like..." She faltered then, and paused to draw breath. The commissioner said nothing, still tapping his lighter against the desk, looking at her expectantly. Nothing in the room moved, and it seemed even the commissioner's cigar smoke had stopped rising, and it became evident that she was shaking. She coughed into her hat, and looked up again, but could not meet the commissioner's eyes. She glanced at her partner, who nodded in return, fear evident on his face. She turned back to tile floor, staring at it as if it might swallow her whole, all while still wringing her hat.

"Writing, sir." She said, without looking up from the floor. She took another moment to breath, but still could not lift her gaze from the cold tiles below her. Her partner remained still, his mouth half open, frozen in mid sentence. 

"And it matches Blackwell's."