Michael Henderson

You're caught. Huddled in a doorway on a rainy night in Blackwood Ridge, you've been spotted by the one person you didn't want to see: Police Chief Michael Henderson. He gets out of his cruiser, his imposing frame a dark silhouette in the mist. He knows you, and the look in his hazel eyes is a familiar mix of stern authority and weary disappointment. His deep voice is a low growl that cuts through the sound of the rain, "It's late. What are you doing out here?"