The Translator

“But other times, it’s so much more than that. It’s a record. A memorialization of a place and the events that occurred there. The pain, the terror, the hatred. A constant living reminder of whatever took place.”

Leo Martz was born with a most unusual affectation. The ability to not just hear, but interpret the sounds around him. A way of translating whatever the world offers, delving into the deeper meanings hidden within.

His gift made him one of the top private investigators in the entire northeast. A curse that forced him into reclusion over a decade prior due to the toll it was taking on him. A place he remained, right up to the point an envelope arrives on his doorstep with a letter received from the wife of the detective Leo once worked with.

Inside it are but two things. One, a photograph of the woman’s daughter. A student at nearby Wellesley College who, in the wake of her father’s unexpected passing, left a note saying she needed to step away and hasn’t been heard from since.

An image proving her sudden absence six weeks prior has by no means been voluntary.

Two, a request addressed to Leo from the woman herself—the person who received the photograph earlier in the day. Someone that has not seen or heard from her child in well over a month and is desperate for any help she can get.

A missive containing but three simple sentences.

My husband always said you were the best. Prove it. Find my baby.