At first, I thought the article I found on the Fischer’s were just town gossip and conspiracy, but to see the same things happening here was too much of a coincidence. I needed to do more research. Plus, what happened after Mr. Mueller’s friend identified that the meat in the croissants were human? Did the cops look into the matter? Who was this friend?

There were too many questions to have answered before I brought this up with anyone else that frequents the bakery. I’ve wasted an entire Saturday sitting around looking things up that I completely forgot that I have a date in about an hour. We were supposed to meet for dinner at this Italian restaurant not far from here, but after all I’ve read, I don’t seem to have an appetite. It would be rude to cancel on him this late, so I’ll just meet up and have a drink. I definitely need one.

My heels click against the pavement as I exited the Uber in front of the Italian restaurant. There is a slight breeze that blows by causing my skirt to rise up my legs a bit. I look around the bustling sidewalk filled with people visiting neighboring stores for my date until I spot him near the entrance of the restaurant. He waves at me with a slight smile on his face as his chin length chocolate hair blows softly in his face. He calls out to me as I walk towards him.

Moments later, we are seated in the quiet part of the restaurant away from the main area where families tend to sit. After ordering our meals, we quietly catch up and chat while sipping on a glass of red wine. A little while later, our food is brought out and we quietly have dinner.

“Is the food, ok? You’ve barely eaten anything,” he states.

I look down at my plate to see that I only ate the vegetables, and mashed potatoes. The pot roast remined untouched.

“I’m sorry,” I say filled with guilt. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Are you not feeling well?” he asks.

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” I say while staring at my food wondering if I should tell him them because of my discomfort. Before I am able to look up and say anything, his warm hand grabs mine. When I look up, I see nothing but concern etched throughout his features.

“You can talk to me, CeCe.”

With that, I told him everything that I did today, and what I found. He sat back in his chair, and stared away for a moment. Tony had a habit of doing this when making a decision, and it left me anxious with what he was going to say. We sat there for about five minutes before he asked the waitress for the check.

“Let me take you home tonight,” is all he says. He grabs my hand and holds it as he led me down the block to where his car was parked. Before starting the engine, he turned and looked at me with pensive eyes.

“You aren’t the only person who have brought this up. One of the parents out in Eastview, which is only an hour away from your neighborhood, claimed to have found the same thing you did about the bakery online. Now I’m not going to disclose the name of this person as I shouldn’t be telling you any of this to begin with, but that person is a parent of one of the missing children reported in the last few weeks.

Please don’t tell anyone what I’m telling you CeCe. This information is not open to the public at all as there are already a couple of detectives looking into it. They came across the same article as you, and have found a few more. So far, there are no leads into anything being amiss, but I want you to stay away from the bakery.” He grabs my hand, and looks me in the eye awaiting my answer.

“Sure,” I reply. “Not a problem.” I squeeze his hand to reassure him. “But can I ask you something?”

“Go ahead.”

“I read in the article that Robert Mueller had a friend that worked in a lab test the meat at the bakery. He didn’t disclose that person’s name, but I’m curious to know what that person did about the findings. Do you know?” I ask as I stare at him.

I’ve known Tony since high school. We grew up in the same neighborhood in the city before leaving after college. Somehow, we ended up in the same area with him being a cop, and me as a freelance photographer. We’ve never dated all the years we’ve known each other until he confessed his feelings for me a week ago, and today was our first date. To say I knew everything about him was an understatement, as well as when I know he is lying.

“The detectives are working on it. So far, they haven’t been able to find anything to prove the claim Mr. Mueller told the writer,” he states as he clenches his right hand. I just nod my head towards him before he pulls off, and make note of the lie he just told.

Image: No Image Credit, pulled from Google Images

Other Dark & Creepy Posts:

Baked Goods, part 1

Turned

Bad Hair

In the Dark