The massive clock on the steeple of the wooden church read 4:40 a.m. when a young man with dispelled blond hair, a white shirt half buttoned and a tie over his shoulder ran out into the foggy, quiet street filled with carelessly parked vehicles and tall roadside trees. Focused on the red car, his gaze was momentarily distracted as his right hand shoved into the pocket of his black pants, searching its nooks and crannies with increasing speed and impatience, requiring the assistance of yet another sense. When, finally, the keys to the rusty machine (miraculously in working order) were extracted, the other hand instantly began working on opening the jammed, eternally un-oiled wicket. The success of these efforts was muttered by a briefcase falling to the ground, which slipped deftly from under the young man's arm and, as he bent down, a bundle of curses escaped from his rosy lips as the briefcase was followed by a dark tie.

- Fuck! Shitty, useless piece of goddamn... - a sudden, sharp pain in his knee forced Torres to stop his sublime speech and lean against the decayed wooden fence. Raziel clenched his teeth tightly and moved with determination towards the car, limping, hoping that the rest of today would turn out much better than it had started. As the detective sat behind the wheel, he tossed his stained briefcase into the passenger seat and took one last look around his terrace, wondering for a moment if he should call Pierre to share the tragic news of the sudden apocalypse in his own backyard and spend the day watching crime documentaries. That thought, however tempting, left his mind the moment the church clock indicated 4:57 a.m., and any scenarios of perfect excuses were replaced by adrenaline at the thought of traveling to the island of Lake Erie where he was to spend several long, busy hours.

The road to the rendezvous point proved to be quite pleasant, as the traffic was negligible at this hour and the sun was not yet burning the skin, emerging only laboriously from behind the horizon. Raziel was convinced that the routine check of the Black Asylum had been entrusted to him for a reason other than the one Pierre had so scantily presented to him the previous evening, or rather, he fervently hoped that it had been. He did not intend, however, to dwell long on the motives of his boss, as he decided to make the most of this business trip, desiring to polish all the skills he had learned while in the profession for three years.

After forty minutes of leisurely driving, the detective saw the outline of a sandy shoreline, slipping smoothly under the surface of Lake Erie, which now shimmered in the glare of the sun making its way through thick clouds. Raziel began to notice more details of the relaxing scenery as he approached the destination. A hole in the pier, three white-painted boats, and one alone figure standing on the sand near the wooden steps caught his attention the most. Torres parked the car on a gravel-strewn lot that mimicked a narrow parking lot for tourists and unhurriedly got out, focusing on the woman waving enthusiastically.

- Hey! Over here! - his ears were reached by a melodic voice of the short brunette, whose sunglasses and pink sweater wrapped around her hip gave off rather nonchalant and informal look. After being greeted by a beaming and energetic Ruth, Torres felt embarrassed by his incongruous formal attire, although he knew very well that it was not his clothes that were incongruous in this situation.

- I hope you have more... appropriate clothes with you - Torres measured the woman's figure with a critical eye. Black boots, beige khaki pants, and a white shirt filled the young man with hope that the woman was at least somewhat professional. Murphy, on the other hand, analyzed Torres' words and lowered her gaze to her outfit in confusion, then snorted with amusement and returned her gaze to the confused 23-year-old.

- I completely forgot! I was going to take it off in the car, but I was too cold down there because of the chill wind - the woman patted Raziel on the shoulder with a smile and turned on her heel, heading for the small Fiat whose color blended perfectly with her pants. Torres tried not to show any expression of shock or embarrassment, repeating to himself in his mind that he had to get through the whole day with Murphy. After the woman returned to him dressed in a black coat and without her glasses, the young detective exhaled deeply and walked briskly to the pier, careful to watch for dangerously moving planks. When they reached the halfway point of the wooden structure, a gray-haired gentleman in spectacles and sailor's garb jumped out of the last boat, greeting them by shaking two fingers. After such a peculiar exchange of greetings, the whole group climbed onto the unstable deck and together they set off towards the island clearly outlined in the distance.

- Pierre told me that both of you are going to the island by command, but I need to know how long it will take - the old man nodded at the watch loosely resting on his bony wrist - I've been paid in advance for the return journey, but I won't stay by the shore all day, otherwise they’ll catch me and lock me up - a hoarse laugh irritated Torres' ears, while Ruth smiled pleasantly and threw in a light tone:

- Eh, more than three or four hours certainly not, after all, how many facilities can belong to this institution....

- More than you think, miss - the blue eyes focused on the black pupils of the woman, who, under the intensity of a serious look, looked away, grunted slightly and asked a question, trying to keep her tone of voice steady:

- On what occasions do you sail to the island?

Raziel found the question interesting enough to take out his notepad and pencil in one movement and stare impatiently at the older man. This time the old man got confused by the intensive cat's eyes staring at him and decided to tell the two interested people about his work.

- Ah yes, you see, I get various orders here. Sometimes there's a madman wrapped in a white cloth whom I help to seat down with usually two employees of... of this place and I transport people. Other times I get paid to deliver strange, heavy packages, and once... - here the sailor fell silent for a long moment while Raziel and Ruth exchanged quick, curious glances.

-... and once? - Ruth showed the old man with an encouraging gesture to continue. He leaned over to the two detectives sitting opposite him and whispered in a low voice:

- And once I was paid a large sum of money to transport a single metal box. Just as they usually didn't tell me anything about the goods I was transporting, this time a man in a similarly long black coat as you have now, miss, warned me not to open the crate under any circumstances - the man leaned in even further so that he now had to point his gaze slightly upwards to shift his attention from one strained face to another.

- And as I swam and the waves were quite strong, the gentle sound of glass bottles bumping against each other began to come from this metal box. Clink, clink... clink - the old man's voice became quieter and quieter, then there was a heavy silence, and after a moment a sharp, snoring sound again pricked the ears of the tense listeners. The man straightened up with a laugh, then turned his back to them and began to hum a tune known only to himself. The other two exchanged quick glances again, this time full of concern and fueled curiosity. But before either of the detectives could ask about the mysterious box, something else caught their attention.

- We're almost there! - the sailor shouted cheerfully, pointing his finger at the outline of the tall tower, which was growing larger and sharper than Raziel would have liked. For he did not know if he was as ready for action yet as he had been during the car ride to the vast lake, but he could no longer see a way back. He had to complete the task he had been given, and he was going to do it with as much thoroughness as he could afford.

- Wow - Ruth sat breathless with her lips parted slightly as she watched the cliff wall approaching them, with a steep marble staircase leading to the top. Raziel was mentally preparing himself to fight his innate fear of heights, but after a while he noticed the metal handrails on either side of the steps, at the sight of which he exhaled a sigh of relief and began to wonder instead how stable these handrails were.

- Ladies first - the young man said in a low voice, staring into the rather large gap between the boat and the mainland after the old sailor had sailed up to the "most stable ground," as he called it with unusual assurance in his voice. Ruth looked at him in disbelief, then sighed heavily and jumped out of the boat. Her even landing gave encouragement to Torres, who, after a moment's hesitation, did likewise, and after a while they were both standing at the first step of the stairs and saying goodbye to their carrier.

- So, ready to get to work? - Murphy asked the pale Raziel with a smile; his dark eyes were reflecting the turquoise water of the lake next to him, the depths of which could frighten many experienced swimmers.

- Like never.