The feeling of being stared at made the hair on Rust’s neck stand up, though it wasn’t that someone was staring at him. Instead, it was the gargoyles in front of this would-be church that seemed to be lost somewhere within the Victorian age.

The black paint on the outside panels set the tone for the conversation to come. Though Rust was a skeptic and hardly believed in any supernatural nonsense besides the occasional ghost, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

The Dora Lange case weighed heavily on his brain, like a weight he couldn’t shake off. The anvil of this woman’s death had painted the rest of his days to be gloomy and full of contemplation, hardly ever seeing an end to this madness and the never-ending maze of questions.

He was tired of asking the wrong people the right questions, so here he stood outside a demonologist's shop. It certainly looked the part. He just hoped this wasn’t a mistake as he stepped forward and used the door knocker to get the attention of whoever was inside. When the door opened, Rust’s eyebrows rose as he tried his best to appear friendly instead of worn out and exhausted.

He stuck his hand out,“Hello, I’m Detective Cohle. I believe we spoke on the phone?”