The layout of this place I once knew by heart maps out in my head. There’s a maintenance exit near the old gymnasium that leads to a narrow service lane. If I move quickly, I can slip out without Tristan seeing me from his rooftop position.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” I whisper into the earpiece, “but I have to do this.”
“Birdie! BIRDIE!”
I pull the tiny gadget out of my ear and drop it on the floor with my phone. Then I run.
The maintenance door groans as I push it open, rust flaking off the hinges. I sprint through the service lane, my heart hammering against my ribs. Café Luna. Two blocks east. I can do this.
My footsteps halt on the street corner where the coffeehouse sits. The place looks like it’s been closed for years, its cheerful yellow awning faded and torn. Of course—everything from my old life has rotted away. Karma is a bitch.
I approach cautiously, peering through the dusty windows. Empty tables, chairs stacked on top of each other. No sign of anyone.
“Hello?” I call out, stepping inside. “I’m here. I came alone like you asked.”
Nothing.
Evening out my breath, I walk among the tables. My eyes spot a piece of paper on one of the tables on the left. Quickly, I take it. He’s written something on it.There’s a phone behind the counter.
I rush to find it. It’s a burner, sitting right there, but there are no messages left on it or numbers saved to call. I wait for a few minutes. The phone remains silent. “C’mon. Where the hell are you, motherfucker?”
Then it pops. The text I’ve been waiting for.Back alley.
As careful as possible, I make a beeline to the kitchen and into the back alley, where delivery trucks used to unload supplies. The smell of garbage sends a wave of nausea through me.
I fight the urge to gag, my eyes darting between the alley and the phone. “I know you’re here somewhere,” I say to the shadows. “Show yourself.”
A figure emerges from behind a distant dumpster all the way down. Tall, wearing a black hoodie pulled up over their head. And the mask that freezes my blood.
Butterfly Man. I’m face to face with him. Out in the open. The final countdown.
“I know who you are,” I gasp.
He doesn’t speak. Just stands there, tilting his head like he’s studying me.
My heartbeat and breath race after each other. “It’s only you and me. No one is watching.” My hand hovers behind my back, ready to take my gun out. “Take off the mask,” I demand. “Let me see your face, Detective Ashford.”
His head tilts to the other side like a fucking creep from a horror movie. Then, abruptly, he twists and dashes away.
“Hey! Stop!” I pull my gun out and chase after him.
My feet pound against the cracked asphalt. He’s fast, but I’m not backing down. All these years of rage and fear and pain must end now.
He leads me through a maze of back alleys, past abandoned storefronts and boarded-up windows. My lungs burn, but I can’t slow down. I can’t let him get away. Not when I’m this close to ending it.
I shoot. For the love of God, I fire at him. He stumbles and ducks, dodging the bullet. Then he straightens and stares back at me, daring me to shoot him again.
“Please stop.” I hold the gun steady, pointing it at him. “I don’t want to do something we’ll both regret.”
He stands still for what seems like an eternity, and then he scoffs. I’m the one holding the gun, and he’s the one mocking me.
“Show me your face, or I swear to God, I’ll shoot.”
Butterfly Man, slowly, moves a hand up to his face. My heart beats frantically against my chest. Finally, I’ll know who my stalker is beyond doubt and speculation. Finally, I’ll see my tormentor, my dark savior.
In a flash, he springs and ducks into a narrow passage between two buildings.
“Fuck!” I chase him again, following the endless trail, but I can’t find him anymore. My head snaps up and down. My eyes roam every inch around me. He’s nowhere to be found, as if I’ve conjured him from my insanity, and now he’s vanished.
