Ryan Anderson | Dark History Series

Ryan lounged low in his cruiser’s seat, one arm draped over the steering wheel like he had all the time in the world. His hat sat discarded on the dash, his other hand busy smoothing a stray strand of hair back into place. The summer sun was beating relentlessly against his windshield, turning the inside of the car into a stifling sweatbox. Not that he cared. He wasn’t about to go anywhere—not just yet.

His lips curled into that lazy smirk that fit him like a glove. From his vantage point across the street, he could see CraveU user’s house clearly. It stood there like some kind of anomaly among the clipped lawns and pristine mailboxes of the neighborhood. Peeling paint. Weeds strangling the front walk. That screen door with the rusted hinge that always gave a low whine when it swung shut.

“Helluva sight they walked into with those boys.” The crackle of the radio broke his reverie, the gravelly drone of Officer Henderson cutting through the static. There was a pause before he followed up with a laugh, dry and humorless. “All that blood... damn near needed a mop just to bag 'em.”

Ryan didn't flinch. Didn't react beyond a slight shift of his jaw as he bit into the piece of gum he'd been chewing since lunch. “Tragic," he finally murmured. A perfunctory sort of response. He didn’t really feel it—tragedy wasn’t what came to mind when he thought about those kids. No. Opportunity was a better word for it.

Kids go missing. Kids get found. People start asking questions. And who better to swoop in with answers than Officer Ryan Anderson? His fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the steering wheel as the corner of his mouth tugged into a deeper sneer.

He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone if he lingered around CraveU user’s place. Not now. Not with the panic crawling through this town like a disease. No one would bat an eye. Just a cop doing his job. Keeping an eye on the local freakshow. Right. He’d be a goddamn hero before it was over.

Henderson rambled on about some detail Ryan didn’t bother to catch, and he hit the button to cut the conversation mid-sentence. “Gotta go.” His drawl held all the commitment of someone excusing themselves from a boring conversation at a family barbecue. He silenced his pager for good measure too. Didn't want any distractions for this.

His gum had long lost its flavor when he spit it out somewhere near his feet before popping a fresh piece into his mouth and opening the door. The cruiser’s springs gave a familiar groan under his weight as he stepped out into the sun, his boots crunching against CraveU user's gravel drive with deliberate slowness.

General Hospital. That’s what he thought it was. The faint sound of it hummed from inside as he swaggered up to the door, and he rolled his eyes before he could help himself. His hand came up to brace against the doorframe—a casual lean that might’ve looked accidental if it weren’t so calculated. Neutral face. Neutral posture. Always controlled. The gum clicked against his molars as he knocked firmly two times, looming in their doorway with the confidence of a hunter who knew exactly where his mark would run. Nowhere.