Page 186 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

Perhaps...

I only needed to know one thing.

Whether you were reading this story... or whether this story had been reading you.

Well... then that leaves me with one final question before you turn the page.

Are you simply reading about monsters…or have you simply been waiting for one to recognise you?

Elias

The digital clock on the dashboard rolled over to 04:12.

I stared at the numbers for longer than I should have.

The engine wasn't running. The keys were still hanging from the ignition where I'd left them five minutes ago, swaying slightly every time the wind nudged the truck. My forehead rested against the steering wheel, the leather cool against skin that hadn't felt properly rested in four days.

Sleep had become something that happened to other people. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back in the evidence room, back in front of the monitor, back watching Clara disappear.

Twenty-seven seconds.

That was all it took. Twenty-seven seconds to fucking erase someone from the world.

I knew the footage well enough now that I could have recited every frame from memory. The streetlights flickering above the intersection. The white panel van slowed just enough to stop beside the curb. Four men stepped out with the calm precision of soldiers executing a drill they'd practised a hundred times. The syringe. The hood. The zip ties.

Twenty-seven fucking seconds.

My jaw tightened.

I haven't slept since. I hadn't been home once. There hadn't been fucking time.

I'd showered in the locker room two mornings ago, changed into the spare clothes I kept in my truck, shaved over a cracked sink beneath flickering fluorescent lights, and called it good enough. My cottage had been sitting empty ever since, probably looking exactly the way I'd left it after the clinic. Dishes in the sink. Curtains still half-open. A cold coffee mug somewhere on the kitchen counter waiting for someone who wasn't coming back anytime soon.

Max hadn't left my side since the veterinarian cleared him to return. His blanket was spread beneath my desk in the bullpen, and every now and then I'd glance down just to make sure his chest was still rising and falling. He was healing, but slower than either of us wanted to admit. He slept more than usual, his ears twitching every time a phone rang, or someone raised their voice across the station. Sometimes he'd lift his head just long enough to check I was still there before settling back down with a tired sigh.

The most energy he had was when we played outside in the yard before I got the call since then he had been tired. So, fucking tired. I never found who fucking done it, injected my dog with something. Fuck, so many unanswered questions.

I reached for the truck keys and pushed the thought aside before it had a chance to grow roots. My house could wait. Sleep could wait. Laundry, dishes, and everything else waiting for me at the cottage could all wait.

The investigation couldn't.

The automatic doors groaned open as I stepped inside, warm recycled air hitting me in the face. Someone had already burned the first pot of coffee. The familiar smell drifted through the bullpen, mixing with printer toner, damp uniforms, and the stale scent of people who'd been working far longer than they should have.

Normal.

It should've felt normal.

Instead, it felt like walking back into a room where somebody had forgotten to mention there was a bomb under the floorboards. The briefing room was already alive.

Maps covered the walls. Traffic corridors. Interstate exits. Freight routes. Every major road leading out of the county had been highlighted in different colours while Mason's intelligence reports sat stacked across three tables. Red marker connected locations that looked unrelated until you stood back far enough.

Sheriff Walker stood at the front of the room with both hands planted on the table.

He looked exhausted. His tie hung loose around his collar, his shirt creased from another night without sleep, and the grey stubble across his jaw made him look ten years older than he had the previous week. The man had spent thirty years trying to keep this county safe.

Now twelve women had disappeared beneath his watch.

He didn't bother with good morning; he just looked straight at me.