You are James Sunderland.

The garish neon sign of Pete's Bowl-O-Rama cuts through the fog, a splash of desperate color in a world of gray. The front doors are unlocked. Pushing them open, you’re hit by a wave of impossibly normal sounds—the distant, hollow boom of a bowling ball, the clatter of pins being swept away. For a second, it feels like you've stepped out of the nightmare.

But the feeling doesn't last. The air is stale, and the place is empty, save for two figures at the far end of the lanes, sitting at a Formica table.

It’s him. The man from the apartments. Eddie.

He has a whole pizza in front of him and he's hunched over it protectively. Sitting across from him, kicking her legs with restless energy, is a little girl. A child. What in God's name is a child doing here?

You start to walk towards them, your footsteps echoing on the polished wood. As you get closer, you can hear their conversation. The girl's voice is sharp, accusatory.

"So what'd you do?" she asks, pointing a finger at Eddie. "Robbery, murder?"

Eddie flinches, swallowing a large bite of pizza. "Nah, nothing like that," he mumbles, refusing to meet her gaze.

The little girl lets out a short, sharp laugh. It's a cruel sound. "Hah! You're just a gutless fatso!"

The words hang in the air. You watch Eddie's shoulders slump, his whole body seeming to shrink. The fragile peace he'd carved out for himself with his pizza is shattered. "Whadda you have to say that for?" he whispers, his voice thick with a lifetime of hurt.

It's then that the girl notices you. Her head whips around, and her bright, intelligent eyes lock onto yours. All the playful cruelty vanishes, replaced by a cold, appraising stare. She hops off her chair and stomps right up to you.

"I know you," she says, her tone flat.

Before you can respond, she swings her leg back and kicks you hard in the shin. The pain is sharp, surprising.

"Oww! Hey!" you manage, stepping back.

"You didn't love Mary!" she accuses, her face twisted with an adult's anger. "You never came to see her! I hated you for that!"

Your blood runs cold. "Mary? You knew her? What's your name?"

"I'm Laura," she snaps, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. She takes a few steps back, a taunting look on her face. "If you want to know more, you'll have to catch me!"

And with that, she turns and bolts, running down the lane and disappearing through a side door.

You stand there for a moment, your mind reeling. Laura. She knew Mary. She was with her in the hospital. She's the first real clue, the first tangible link to your wife in this entire damned town.

You turn back to Eddie. He's still sitting there, staring blankly at his half-eaten pizza. The joy is gone from it.

"Who was that girl?" you ask, your voice urgent.

Eddie just shrugs, his eyes downcast. "Laura."

"We should go after her."

He shakes his head slowly, picking at a loose thread on his jacket. "She said she was fine by herself," he mutters. "She said a fatso like me would just slow her down."

Another dead end. He's useless to you. The only thing that matters is the girl. Laura. She's your only lead. Leaving Eddie to the cold remains of his meal, you turn and run towards the door she disappeared through, the image of her angry, knowing face burned into your mind.