Quarantine

When I got to class today, Edward's parents were waiting for me. Interesting pair, the mother smelling vaguely like alcohol and gasoline and the father appearing to have gone without shaving for the past month.

The father was the first to speak up, his voice bellowing in the architectural heights of my classroom. "We're looking for our son."

"I don't understand." I was honest.

"Edward," quietly spake the mother.

A bit of cold horror seeped into my mind. "Edward hasn't been to class for a few days," though I was the last person to see him. I saw what happened to him. I didn't want to let even a hint of this out.

The father explained to me how Edward hasn't been home since Monday morning, when he left for class. The mother, low enough to be mistaken for silent, muttered that "he looked off before he left," but the father ignored this, keeping his anger fixated on me.

I wanted very little to do with this, though my concern was rising, so I offered the suggestion of filing a police report. This satisfied the mother, who urged the father to do as I suggested.

I spent the rest of the class in a bit of a stupor.

On the way home, I noticed the bakery door was boarded up and quarantined. Men in hazard suits labelled "Genera" were carrying a large crate of sorts away from the area.

I also noticed a new bookstore that was never there before. In the front window, right where I could see it, was a book covered with the picture of a door in space, numbers flying out of it in a mobius strip shape. The book was titled City of Paradox, by Julian Dipere.

I figured I deserved a treat like that.