The Disappearing Point

“Physics doesn’t lie — but it does look the other way sometimes.”

Stepping out of the patrol car into the relentless downpour was like crossing a threshold into another world entirely, moving from the relative shelter of metal and glass into an environment actively hostile to human presence. The rain struck me with such violent force it felt like punishment delivered with intent, hammering against my scalp with impacts hard enough to sting, against my shoulders with weight that pressed downward, against my chest with pressure that made breathing momentarily difficult—as though nature itself were venting fury on our failed chase, on our presumption in pursuing something through its domain.

Within seconds—literally within the space of perhaps three heartbeats—my clothes were drenched again despite having only partially dried during the drive. The fabric clung to my frame with suffocating insistence, every layer plastered to skin, the cold seeping in fast and deep with the particular penetrating chill that comes from complete saturation.

Sarah followed suit without hesitation or complaint.

I stood for a beat longer than necessary, hands clasped behind my head as if that physical gesture could somehow hold my thoughts together, prevent them from scattering like the rain that pelted down around us. I let the rain cascade over me with eyes half-closed, feeling it run down my face, into my ears, soaking through every remaining dry patch. It felt almost cleansing despite the cold—though nothing could wash away the sting of having our leads vanish into the forest like smoke, of being so close and yet empty-handed once again.

"Karl, check this out," Sarah's voice sliced through the storm with unexpected clarity.

I turned towards her, each step a slippery battle against mud and uneven gravel that had been transformed by the deluge into something closer to liquid than solid. My boots skidded slightly with every footfall, the earth beneath them slick and sucking at my soles, trying to pull the boots right off my feet. I didn't need to ask what she'd found—her stance alone, hunched forward with shoulders tight and alert, told me everything I needed to know. She'd found something significant.

Two sets of fresh tyre tracks were embedded in the soft mud, clearly imprinted despite the rain's determined and relentless effort to erase them. The deluge should have obliterated any such marks within minutes, yet these remained distinct, sharp-edged, recently made. I crouched beside the first set, feeling my knees protest the motion, my fingers brushing the damp edge of one tread mark with forensic interest. The grooves were still sharp and well-defined, water pooling in the deeper channels, mud disturbed in patterns that spoke of recent passage and significant weight.

"Well, this doesn't make sense," I muttered, frowning as I traced the line of the track with my eyes, following its path across the car park's muddy surface. My gaze shifted briefly to Sarah, whose hair clung to her skin in sodden strands that had moulded themselves to the contours of her face. Her jaw was tight with tension I could read even from several metres away, her brow furrowed in the particular expression of frustration that mirrored my own inner storm almost perfectly.

"These tyre tracks look like the vehicle didn't even stop. How can they just end here? It's as though the car just disappeared," Sarah said, incredulous, her voice raised above the hiss of falling rain to ensure I heard every word. The disbelief in her tone was warranted—what we were seeing violated basic physics.

I followed the tracks with my eyes, the trail clear and unambiguous until it simply... wasn't. Then I lifted my head to face the looming concrete structure directly in front of us—a large, weathered toilet block constructed from materials that had aged badly, its walls stained darker by years of storms and inadequate maintenance, moss growing in patches where moisture accumulated. "I don't know," I murmured, my voice low and troubled, barely audible even to myself. The whole situation felt profoundly off in ways I couldn't immediately articulate. I studied the wall with intense focus, searching for any clue that might explain the impossible. "There wouldn't be much left of that wall if they'd driven into it."

But the wall was intact—completely, utterly undamaged. No visible impact marks or structural damage. No signs of collision whatsoever. No debris scattered on the ground—no broken concrete, no paint scrapes, no shattered headlight glass. Just tyre tracks that stopped as abruptly as if the car had vanished into thin air, as if it had simply ceased to exist at that precise point.

"There's still this second set of tracks!" Sarah called, her boot squelching audibly through the mud as she moved position, pointing with her whole arm to the diverging trail that split away from the first at an angle.

Then—CRACK. A thunderclap exploded directly overhead with devastating force, so loud and close it seemed to split the sky in two like an axe through wood. We both ducked instinctively, bodies responding to the primal warning of proximity to lightning, the sound reverberating through our bones with physical vibration, followed immediately by a white flash of such intensity it briefly bleached the world of all colour, turning everything to overexposed photograph.

"Where do you reckon they lead to?" Sarah shouted, already back to business with admirable focus, the thunder apparently forgotten the moment it passed.

I squinted through the rain, tracking the muddy arc of the second set of tracks as it veered away from the first with clear intention. "Well, they can't go too far out here," I yelled back, the wind flinging rain into my eyes as I spoke, making me blink rapidly to maintain vision. I traced the second path with my gaze, following its curve. "They break away from the first set down here and then veer to the right. It looks like they head to the back of the toilet block."

Before I could say anything else, before I could suggest a coordinated approach or procedural caution, Sarah was already moving with characteristic decisiveness. Her boots slapped against wet earth in rapid rhythm as she disappeared around the side of the building, her silhouette vanishing into the rain and shadow.

She reappeared moments later, waving urgently with broad gestures. "It's here!" she called out, urgency lifting her voice above the storm's roar.

"Shit!" I muttered through clenched teeth, breath fogging slightly in the cold as I took off after her, boots kicking up sprays of mud that spattered my already-soaked trousers.

As I reached her side, I saw it instantly: a vehicle half-concealed by overgrown shrubbery that pressed against its sides and the deliberate angle of the toilet block structure that had hidden it from our initial position. Its passenger door yawned open like a gaping mouth frozen mid-scream. The interior light glowed eerily against the dark afternoon, casting a sickly yellow hue across the wet fabric seats and centre console that made the whole scene look artificial.

"They must have taken off on foot," I said, my voice raised against the wind as my eyes swept the surrounding bushland in systematic arcs, looking for movement, for shapes that didn't belong, for any sign of recent passage. The car was empty—completely and obviously abandoned. No movement visible through any of the windows. No voices audible above the storm. No figures visible slipping between the trees that pressed close on all sides. "There's nobody here."

Only the wind answered my observation, whistling through the eucalypts with that particular keening note that sounded almost but not quite like human voices, like whispers from something long buried and best left undisturbed.