The sun had barely risen when an elderly groundskeeper for the
Central City Cemetery arrived for another day of work. Upon clocking
himself in for his workday, the groundskeeper began to survey the
lands within the confines of the Cemetery. "Every day... it's the
same old thing. Clock in, clock out, and just maintain the place.
Still, I wouldn't give it up. It's hard to keep a job in today's
world, and I have no plans on spending my last years among the
unemployed," the groundskeeper thought, as he continued his job.
Within seconds, the groundskeeper spotted something odd from the
corner of his eye. "What's this?" he thought, as he moved towards
the sight that had caught his attention. The groundskeeper walked
towards the sight, and could hardly believe his eyes: There, without
ANY signs of work was the grave of Barry Allen. The big difference
was that the coffin lid, as well as the six feet of dirt which had
held the coffin in place, was nowhere to be found... as if it had
NEVER been at the sight. "Oh... Jesus!" the groundskeeper said in
shock over the sight in front of him. The groundskeeper didn't waste
any time. He made his way back to his office, where he immediately
phoned the Central City Police Department.
Elsewhere, within Central City's Police Station, Darryl Frey sat
inside his office, the lack of sleep noticably holding him on edge.
It was all he could do to drink coffee with the added stress of the
"We learned NOTHING from Desmond," Frey thought, disgusted at
the lack of leads he'd hoped to discover by this time. "Who on Earth
could hate Barry Allen to this extent?"
Frey slowly stood up, and walked towards a wall, where a picture
of Barry, along with he, Frank Curtis, and Mack Nathan had ventured
on a fishing trip. Frey stared at the picture, as a slow smile
appeared on the captain's face. "That was an adventure," he thought,
as the memories flooded back. "Barry had his act down pat. He was
too slow to reel the fish in, or so we thought. He could have as
easily just grabbed the fish from the water, but he was careful...
and he got wet that day. 'Slow and steady' was his motto, but he was
more than anyone could have guessed."
"Captain," a younger officer said, knocking on Frey's half-open
door, "Uh... I don't know how exactly to say this, but there's
someone that needs to speak to you over the phone. It's urgent, and
I mean BIG TIME."
Frey turned from the wall as the memories faded, and addressed
the officer. "Thanks, Tucker," he said, as he walked back to his
desk and picked up the phone. "This is Captain Darryl Frey," he said
into the phone.
On the other end of the phone line, the groundskeeper
spoke. "Listen to me, Captain," he said frantically, "something
really sick's happened. I can't even believe it myself!"
"What is it?" Frey asked, all serious.
"Look. My name's Andy Tucker. I work for the City as a
groundskeeper at the Central City Cemetery. I got to work this
morning, and... oh, God... it's just horrible," the groundskeeper
said, trying to keep himself calm, yet failing fast.
"Was there some vandalism?" Frey asked, noting that once in a
great while, someone would have some sick kick on vandalizing
"It's much worse than simple vandalism, Captain," the
groundskeeper said. "There's been a graverobbing. Someone stole the
remains of the Flash!"
"WHAT?!!" Frey screamed into the phone, the words spoken by the
groundskeeper ringing inside his head. "I'm on my way! Don't touch
"I won't. Just hurry," the groundskeeper said, as he hung the
Darryl Frey hung up the phone. "Dear God... this has truly
turned into some sick game!" he thought as he ran towards the door of
his office. After leaving the office, Frey rounded up several
officers to help him in this latest piece of the puzzle. As the
officers made their way to squad cars, Frey walked towards a phone,
and picked it up. "He needs to know... I just hate to be the one
that tells him of this," Frey thought, frantically dialing the phone
number of Wally West.