AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Ready?’ he asked.
'Always,' Ripley said.
The tech analyst played the tape,and the office was filled with the hiss of white noise as the recordingcrackled to life. Leaning forward, Ella fixed her gaze on the waveform dancingacross the screen, trying to imprint the undulating lines into her memory, todecode their secrets before they even transformed into sound. Her handsclenched into fists, nails digging into her palms, as if she could physicallygrasp the truth hidden within the recording.
‘Turn it up,’ Ripley said. The techcomplied.
The first clear voice that brokethrough no doubt belonged to Donna Shepherd, calm and professional. Ella tiltedher head, listening intently as the therapist's words were met with responsesfrom a man whose voice crackled with static, distorted by both the recordingand his own apparent distress.
‘Focus on the background,’ Ellamurmured, directing her words as much to herself as to Ripley. ‘Anything out ofplace.’
‘Already on it,’ Ripley replied,locked on the second monitor where the audio levels jumped in sync with thedialogue.
My name's Donna. Thetherapist's voice resonated with practiced calm, unfurling from the speakerslike an invitation to trust.
Please... don'tuse my name, the patient replied, his words crackling through thestatic, distorted as if spoken through a veil of unease. Ella tried to placethe voice, but it didn't resonate with her.
'That accent,' Ripley said. 'He's alocal. Or he came here from Minnesota.'
Of course, Donnaacquiesced with a soothing tone. Why have you come to see me?
The patient's voice crackledthrough. Because I want to be cured.
Ella's heart skipped a beat at theword—cured. A shiver traced her spine, and she leaned closer, as thoughproximity could grant her insight into the shadows that lurked behind the man'smotives.
Cured of what? Donnaprobed, her voice a gentle prod towards revelation.
There was a pause—a heavy, pregnantsilence before it shattered like glass under a boot. The man's sobs clawedtheir way out of the speakers, raw and jagged.
I've killedsomeone,the patient gasped. And I want to do it again.
Ella's breath caught in her throat,her hands tensing where they lay on the back of a chair. She turned to Ripley.As far as she knew, Donna Shepherd was the killer's first victim. If he'dkilled before, how deep did his trail of death run?
‘Jesus,’ Ella whispered. her brainracing through the database of unsolved cases, searching for a connection. ‘Whoelse has he killed?’
‘Let's not jump ahead,’ Ripleycautioned, her voice steady but her eyes betraying the same shock that rippledthrough Ella. ‘He might be trying to shock her.’
‘Right,’ Ella muttered, her gazereturning to the tech guy who sat impassively. The recording played on, DonnaShepherd's voice striving for professional calm, yet Ella could hear the subtletremors beneath her words.
Will you tell mewho you've killed? implored Donna, words threading throughthe static like lifelines cast into turbulent waters.
I can't trustanyone—not anymore, the patient's voice crackled back,frayed and teetering on the edge of panic.
Your secrets aresafe here,Donna said.
Safe? There's nosuch thing. The man's shout was a gunshot in the quiet, joltingElla from her intent focus. She could almost see the patient's face contortingwith fear and anger, his belief in safety shattered.
Please, tell mewho you've killed, Donna repeated, her plea barely audibleover the sudden chaos that erupted—a cacophony of thuds reverberating throughthe speakers, each one a likely herald of violence.
‘Damn it,’ Ella murmured, her handinvoluntarily balling into a fist. Her mind's eye painted a vivid scene: Donnacornered by the very person she sought to help, an office transformed into anarena of terror. A scream tore through the room, slicing the atmosphere like aserrated blade. Ella winced at the sound, a silent curse forming on her lips.
Frank, stop!screamed Donna, the desperation clear even through the digital distortion.
‘Christ,’ Ella exhaled sharply. Shemet Ripley's gaze, finding a reflection of her own revulsion there.
Help me! theman on the tape wailed, his plea twisted by madness, underscored by thesickening sounds of a struggle. Donna’s choking gasps were a grotesque symphonyto his cries.
Ella could picture thescene—Donna's futile attempts to defuse the situation before being overwhelmed.It was a dance with death, and Donna had been led unwittingly to the final bow.
