*Raises eyebrow* Intrigued.

    Make of it what you will, I see no real harm in sharing my experience on that day. Of course my superiors would beg to differ, but that’s something I learned during my portion of the investigation. Humans will do practically anything if the benefit for themselves is great enough. Every time I used to hear about a man being murdered, I assumed the one who did it must’ve been some type of insane. But now I question whether or not that’s always the case. Maybe his desire to fulfill himself in that way was so great, he would rather spend his life locked away than never reach that fulfillment. It’s really strange, if you think about it, because the basis for progress is the desire to fulfill oneself. Every single person on this Earth has experienced it, and will experience it again. But if you take what some would call the essence of human ambition and push it to the extreme, you get the textbook definition of insanity. That’s why I’m alright with being called insane now, by you or my superiors. I do have strong desires, but so do they, and so do you. You are just like me. But you and everyone else would rather push me away than try to understand me. And why? To fulfill your deepest desire for social acceptance, of course. Without seeing that the fear you harbor towards me is the same fear I feel towards something “irrational to fear”, the same fear you yourself call insane. Without seeing that what you’re doing is the opposite of normal, the opposite of human empathy. Perhaps that's why there’s a chance, a chance that insanity in some far off place is what we call normalcy here on Earth.

However, no amount of manic ranting can thoroughly explain what I witnessed on that murky day in August. What the people of the fen had experienced for longer than I could comprehend. As much as you’d like it, there is no definitive answer for what happened. I don’t know if even I realize the full story behind it. But I feel now the same compelling desire to tell what I know to the world as soon as I can, a desire so strong I would rather die than keep it to myself.

I was the man who lit the fuse, who was seen running madly down the path out of the wetlands in the dead of August night. The pure fear in my eyes must’ve been enough to trigger the aforementioned operation on the very next night, enough to keep even the government quiet about my report. I tried so desperately to pretend like it never happened, but I’ve already told you what I’ve deduced. I’m no longer able to control that part of myself.

I didn’t know about the Siskiyou wetland murders until I got assigned to the case. I was enjoying the last of my vacation when the memo came to me early, so it surprised me in two ways. It wasn’t normal for the department to send out assignments to off duty detectives, so I wondered what level of urgency the case might have to force them to send it to me. And once I read it, I was again bemused. It appeared to be my first murder case. I knew one was coming and didn’t plan to be shocked, I had just officially become a homicide detective a month or so earlier. But the description of the case was so purely disturbing I questioned why this responsibility would fall upon somebody of my inexperience.

I later concluded that I was not their first choice, but rather their last resort. A dozen previous detectives had all turned up dead after police were sent to investigate further, after the detectives stopped answering their phones. Each time they investigated the area in question again with more men and more precautions, the same outcome resulted. Each man impossibly dead, found with what could only be classified as self inflicted wounds.

The head of the department suggested to keep going, investigating the entire area on lock down. However, after the chain of violent deaths following every other investigation, the pool of willing detectives was virtually empty. As an obvious consequence, the head was forced to propose a new strategy. Send a small but secure unit, including an experienced team of guards as well as an able detective, to investigate the area as efficiently as possible. After 72 hours, the team will be extracted for their safety, and any information will be gathered and considered when planning the next step. A foolproof plan, as he described it. When rereading the letter, the head’s tone almost convinced me that he expected me to die.

Rethinking the case after returning home, I realized that even if I was being thought of as a sacrifice, I couldn’t really blame anybody. Any man would fear for the worst after a disaster like Siskiyou. The department was desperate for answers, their hunger for justice merely feeding whatever horrific evil caused the crimes in the first place. Though confident in his plan, the head sounded exhausted in his portion of the memo. This was likely our last attempt to solve the case before some higher power came in with an entire army, we both knew it. And as if that fact wasn’t enough, the case on its own was intimidating. Over a dozen murders with no suspect, it seemed almost impossible as a detective’s first case. The first victim, the man who wasn’t a detective, was barely even mentioned in the letter.

Instead of searching for the logistics and information surrounding the case, something compelled me to make a decision as soon as possible. It wasn’t quite the desire to do the right thing, nor was it the stupidly large sum of money they offered as reward, though they both helped in my final decision. I found that it was my gross curiosity that pushed me, despite the terrifying gravity of the case, to accept it and fly out to California no more than a couple days after I returned.

I got all the way to Macdoel before I reached a dead end, at least on my maps.

“That dirt trail off the road will lead you to Mousinth, you can only get to that area you’re talking about through there, If I remember correctly,” a gruff looking local told me, pausing afterwards to look me up and down. “It’s 20 miles there and back, so make sure you’ve got everything you need before you head out.” I thanked him for his advice and seated myself on a bench, going over the case files one last time. My security detail was headed by a Mr. Martin Oldroyd, and adding up the rest of the men made 10 of us. I hoped that Mr. Oldroyd would be enjoyable, as anyone would, but because I hadn’t ever preferred working alongside security to working by myself.

Before I finished reassuring myself, an armored van arrived at the rendezvous point just a few buildings away from the head of the dirt trail. I tucked the files back into my bag and started towards the van, watching several men getting out and noticing me. A young looking man got out of the passenger seat and waved me over.

“Detective Telford, I’m assuming?”

“Stockholm, actually. I’d like it if you call me by my last name.” The man hid his eyes with his hand and laughed.

“I apologize, Detective Stockholm. Your first name has a very… regal sound to it.” I smiled and shook my head.

“If you must know, I’m half Swedish,” I replied, noticing the symbol on his sleeve. “But I assume someone of your position would’ve already figured that out.”

“It only makes sense.” The man reached out a hand. “Martin Oldroyd, at your service, sir.” I shook his hand, surprised to be actually liking the man. He looked around 10 years younger than me, 25 if I had to guess, but he wasn’t as brash as I anticipated. Although his face was young, the way he spoke reminded me of my friends back in England. He had a charisma about him that almost made him seem... European.

*GASP*

Pete! I know you by reputation! I never meet people I know by reputation! Also good job on the story thing!