The quiet coastal village of Mariners retracting it repose. End tourism season, vacationers long gone to their homes. A tranquil place it seems, the wind carrying a subtle melancholy. The salty brine merged with the inexplicable tension in the air, as if the sea itself were wounded in some inexplicable way. The houses lined up, each with faded paint, and overgrown lawns. Some of them old constructed missing their former charm or quaintness rather New construction replacing the sea salt residue or water damage from years past. One of these houses, The Holdings fat railed two story structure, its paintwork deep blue hue. The front SDK courteous Victorian style architecture, in aparallel with the boat hulls shaped bay windows, ornate detailed gingerbread moldings lining the exterior was a grandeur sight by itself. This time of year the village seems deserted, occupied only by long year round residents. Unusual notices the white police car parked outside The Holdings, the officer approaching the house, a few Do not cross line is visible yellow lines touching the driveway closest outside. What could possibly have happened on a quiet Sunday in this small town? Thats going to be the main question on everybody's mind very soon.