The Shifting Night Anomaly was so called at first because its margins seemed to change every so often, making it difficult, if not impossible, to map. We had sent probe after probe inside for three generations. Out of the near thousand probes that were deployed, only forty-seven were recovered. The more we learned about the anomaly, the more we realized how fitting the name was. There were no systems and no stars within, only remnants of dead worlds. Only strange and exotic gases. Only nebulas haunted by the ghosts of stars that flickered and faded before they could burst into life.
“My husband was one of you,” the doctor said, smiling fondly. But her smile faded. “That’s why my mother killed him.”
Detective Penelope Locke let the first odd comment slide for the moment. She crossed her arms, a gesture she used to keep herself from rushing the interrogation now that she had gotten so much new and significant information. “So, it’s your mother we should be talking to.”
The doctor wiped tears away from red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. She had been crying when they brought her in to the station and the slow but steady drip of tears had not stopped till just now.
“I wouldn’t dare it, detective.” She sniffed and straightened her back. “It seems I’ll have to pay for this crime. I’m ready to confess.”