The Sheriff's True Face

The fluorescent hum of the interrogation room seemed to amplify the silence between Detective Miles Corbin and Sheriff Brody Hayes. Outside, the late afternoon sun, a pale imitation of its usual brilliance, cast long, distorted shadows across the barren landscape of Blackwood. Corbin laid a single photograph on the steel table between them. It was a grainy, faded image, taken years ago, showing a younger Hayes standing beside a man Corbin recognized from the asylum's old administrative records – Dr. Alistair Finch, the disgraced superintendent.

Hayes’s jaw tightened, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a hard, unyielding mask. “What is this, Corbin? Showing me old pictures now?” His voice, typically booming and reassuring, was now brittle, like thin ice threatening to crack.

“This is Dr. Finch, Sheriff,” Corbin said, his voice a low, steady rumble. “The man who ran Blackwood Asylum during its most… active years. The years of lobotomies, experimental treatments, and the disappearances that were conveniently swept under the rug.”