The Missing Woman

The rain fell in relentless sheets, washing the city streets clean of their sins. I stood in the downpour, the cold water seeping through my coat, searing my skin like a blade. I was a man on a mission, hunting for the missing woman who had haunted my nights for weeks.

Her name was Natalie Murray. Her disappearance had consumed me, the way some cases do. It had become personal. Every dead end, every false lead, every sleepless night—it was all for her.

The trail had gone cold, and the city had given up on her. But I couldn't. I had seen her face in my dreams, heard her voice calling out to me in the dead of night. She was still out there, waiting for someone to rescue her.

I had tracked Natalie's last known whereabouts to a seedy bar on the outskirts of town. It was a dive where shadows whispered secrets and the regulars nursed their sorrows. I pushed open the door, the dim light inside flickering as if reluctant to welcome me.

The bartender, a grizzled old man with a scar across his cheek, eyed me warily. I flashed my badge and ordered a whiskey. Liquid courage, they called it. But I wasn't here for courage; I was here for answers.

"Anyone seen this woman?" I asked, sliding a photo of Natalie across the counter. Her smile was radiant, a stark contrast to the dark room.

The bartender glanced at the photo, then at me. "Ain't seen her, detective. We get all sorts in here, but not her."

I nodded and sipped my drink, scanning the room. There were a few regulars nursing their drinks, lost in their own worlds. But one man caught my eye—a gaunt figure in the corner, hunched over a glass of something clear. He seemed out of place, too clean for this dump.

I approached him cautiously, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. "Mind if I join you?" I asked, taking a seat across from him.

The man looked up, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. He was nervous, and that made me even more curious. "What do you want, detective?"

"Looking for someone," I replied, keeping my tone even. "A woman named Natalie Murray. You wouldn't happen to know her, would you?"

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something I couldn't quite place. "Never heard of her."

I leaned in closer, my voice low and threatening. "You sure about that?"

The man's hands trembled as he reached for his glass. "I don't know anything about her. I swear."

I wasn't convinced, but I had to tread carefully. I had no evidence to tie him to Natalie's disappearance, and roughing him up would only push him further away. So, I decided to play it cool and wait for my opportunity.

As the minutes ticked by, the tension in the bar grew thicker. I kept my eyes on the man, watching for any sign of weakness. And then it happened. His gaze shifted, just for a second, towards the door. It was subtle, but I caught it.

I knew I had to act fast. I excused myself from the table, making my way to the door with every ounce of urgency I could muster. I pushed it open, scanning the rain-soaked street.

And there she was, standing in the distance, a solitary figure in the downpour. Natalie. My heart raced as I called out to her, but she didn't respond. She just stood there, like a ghost from my dreams.

I started toward her, my senses on high alert, but I didn't notice the man from the bar following me. He moved silently, a shadow in the rain-soaked night. And just as I reached out to touch Natalie, I felt a sharp pain in my back.

The world spun as I fell to the ground, the rain washing away the blood that flowed from the wound. I turned to see the man looming over me, a wicked smile on his face, and a knife glinting in his hand. Natalie watched, her expression empty, as the man raised the knife high above me.

And then, the world went black.