Ferd rubbed at his face, praying that he might be able to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He groaned angrily. It wasn't like he'd had a bad nights sleep, but for some reason he just couldn't shake the heaviness in his face. He sighed, sliding his hands into his trench coat pockets in defeat. A steam whistle went off in the distance pulling Ferd back to reality. He looked about himself, gathering his bearings. The train station he was in was as crowded as the came, plenty of passengers and railroad workers bustling about. It was in good repair to, as far as that went. Ferd didn't really pay any mind to all of that though. He'd just remembered why he was in the train station. Old Jeremy.
	 He felt an involuntary shiver run up his spine. If that old fool had actually found that city he'd been looking for, then Ferd wasn't exactly surprised he hadn't returned home yet. Not that he knew very much about it admittedly, but when Jeremy had shown him the map, he had recognized certain symbols that had given him pause. Every single case he could think of that had involved those symbols some how had ended badly. He'd lost partners, people disappeared and never came back, shoot there was one case from two years back that resulted in three months of lost time that he couldn't account for. He wasn't sure whether he should be grateful for that or not.
	 Ferd grit his teeth. Just thinking about old cases sometimes set him on edge. He had yet to crack one of them, and the fact that he didn't have any solid evidence to back up some of the things he'd seen didn't help any. There were moments that he wasn't entirely sure that he himself hadn't gone loopy and all the things he thought he'd seen were just in his head. Those thoughts were probably the hardest to ignore. The only thing that kept him from giving in was the thought of all the people who had disappeared over the years that he had tried to save. If there was even a slight chance that those people had ever been real, and some terrible things had really happened to them then he had to keep investigating. This thought alone kept the despair of impending madness from taking root in Ferd's mind. He couldn't let those people down. Plus there was just to much evidence. 
	Though it wasn't always the sort of evidence that would have stood up in court, Ferd couldn't take anything for granted. Any slight connection could be a valuable clue. Sometimes he felt like a witch hunter from the Salem Witch Trials what with the way he interrogated people based off of what most would call coincidence. But then Ferd wasn't so sure the witch hunters had been all that far off anymore. If anything he thought they just hadn't used the right tests, that they'd looked for the wrong clues. If he'd been a betting man, and were there a poll open on the subject, he would have bet a million to one that the witches rigged the whole thing. Probably wanted the witch hunters to tie iron balls to their legs and throw them in lakes. After all what was a little iron and water to witchcraft? No in Ferd's opinion the witch's faked their own deaths and then continued doing whatever witches do without any interference.
	Ferd shook himself. Enough day dreaming, he needed to make sure he didn't miss his train. He may not have had any hope that Jeremy was still alive, but if he could figure out how he'd march into Hell itself to find out what happened. And hopefully bring back a souvenir as proof.

								**********

	The train rolled to a slow stop in Arkham station. Ferd arched his back in a much needed stretch before standing up. He looked out the windows at the wet metropolis. Harry hadn't been kidding. It really did look like it hadn't stopped raining in nearly two years. He grabbed what luggage he had and made his way to the exit, waiting till he was the last one to exit. Ferd didn't like bumping into people if he could avoid it. To many stories out there about people taking ill shortly after bumping into some unnatural being all dressed up as a regular human. 
	Once off the train he looked about the station for an information kiosk. He needed to get his hands on a map, 1111 S Curlew Dr. wasn't going to find itself. As he looked around he noticed there didn't seem to be all that many people at the station. That seemed rather odd. He thought he remembered there being a decent number of passengers on the train here. Perhaps they'd all scurried off to their destinations already? Still that didn't seem right. What with the rain most visitors would be at least a little hesitant to head outside, not without procuring an umbrella first anyway. Ferd appraised the kiosk he was approaching, and sure enough they carried maps and umbrellas. They didn't seem to have sold very many of either. That led him to the other half of his thought, the only people who would be able to vacate this premises so quickly were likely to be locals returning from some trip. While it wasn't strictly speaking strange for locals to return to a city, it did seem strange that they made up the majority of the passengers. No that wasn't likely to be it. Well subtract being an actual local from the equation and leave the prior knowledge of current events in Arkham and you got an altogether new range of possibilities.
	"Excuse me sir," Ferd smiled at the kiosk owner, "I was hoping to buy a map, an umbrella, and possibly bend your ear with a few questions I have."
	The man shrugged as if to say he didn't have anything better to do than talk to nosy tourists, "That'll be a Nickle and a Quarter for the map, and umbrella."
	Ferd rummaged around his pocket for the coins as he began questioning the fellow, "Has Arkham been getting many..."

								**********

	Ferd stood outside of 1111 S Curlew Dr. after walking nearly the entire breadth of the city. He'd never been very good at reading maps. He looked up and down the street. The letter had made mention of a list of names it would be mailed to. Was he the first to arrive? With a shrug he walked up the steps and knocked on the door. It shook almost violently at his tapping. He stepped back in surprise. After looking the door over he finally remembered that Harry had said some "shadowy visitors" had broken in before assaulting him. The old hickory surely looked like it had been beaten down. The hinges were barely hanging onto the house framing, and there were splinters and cracks surrounding both the hinges and the locking mechanism. 
	Ferd scratched his chin. The letter had been dated nearly a week ago today. He had tried to make it to Arkham as quickly as he could, but he had wondered if he would make it in time. For all he knew Harry Everfield was lying dead in his bed, strangled and rotting. Or even worse he may have simply disappeared, by natural on unnatural means. Either option would significantly increase the mountain of work already in store for Ferd. He sighed. How long was he supposed to wait for Harry to come to the door before he assumed the worst? Should he call the police this time? They tended to get in the way, but he really didn't want to have to explain things if Harry's body was still around. He'd spent more than enough time locked up while the police took their time deciding he really hadn't killed anyone. He began tapping his foot again. It was getting cold, and he'd never loved the rain either. Harry had better still be alive, in this reality, and in that house.