Page 136 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

What if the house was empty. Because whoever had called had already finished? What if someone was still inside? Waiting. Watching. My grip tightened until the leather steering wheel creaked beneath my hands. Walker's evidence board flashed through my mind. Ten red pins. Ten women. Ten failures. Fuck. Don't let there be eleven. I swallowed hard, staring through the windshield.

"Please..."

The word barely left my mouth.

"Jesus Christ..."

I pressed harder on the accelerator.

"Don't let me be too late."

I never touched the brakes. The truck hit the gravel turnout too fast, fishtailing sideways before digging in. Mud, pine needles, and loose stone exploded beneath the tyres, peppering the old mailbox as the truck lurched to a stop. The engine kept running. I didn't shut it off. Didn't pull the handbrake. I threw the driver's door open and ran. The porch steps disappeared beneath my boots three at a time.

"Seraphina!"

My shoulder slammed into the screen door so hard the frame shuddered.

Nothing.

The cottage sat unnaturally still. One kitchen window stood cracked open an inch. Warm air drifted through it carrying the scent of rosemary... toasted bread... and butter that had been left too long in the pan. My stomach dropped.

"Seraphina!"

Nothing answered me. Not a voice. Not footsteps. Not even the creak of the old floorboards. Silence. Not the peaceful kind either. The wrong kind. The kind of silence that tells a detective a house has been empty for too long. My hand found my service weapon without me thinking about it, my thumb settling against the retention strap as my eyes swept the dark hallway, every doorway, every shadow where someone could disappear.

Then my boot caught something.

A sheet of paper. It had been taped to the wire mesh of the screen door. I tore it free, ripping the page straight down the middle before I even realized what I was doing. The handwriting was unmistakably hers.

Fast. Uneven. Hurried enough that the letters leaned into each other.

Phone died.

Max is hurt.

Taking him to Blackridge Veterinary Clinic.

Please.

Every muscle in my body locked.

"Fuck..."

I was already moving. One turn. Three strides. Down the porch. I threw myself back into the truck, slammed it into reverse, gravel exploding beneath the tyres as I spun it around and tore back down the mountain road. Blackridge Veterinary Clinic sat just off the lower bypass, a squat concrete building that looked more like an old municipal office than somewhere people trusted with the things they loved.

I left the truck running.

The automatic doors slid open before I reached them. Cold air hit me first. Not mountain cold but artificial cold that made everything inside smelled painfully clean.

Alcohol wipes. Disinfectant. Fresh bleach. Latex gloves. Stainless steel. Every surface reflected the fluorescent lights overhead, so bright they erased every shadow in the building. No dust. No mud. No coffee. No life. My stomach twisted anyway. Fear didn't care how clean a room looked.

I spotted her immediately.

She stood near one of the preparation rooms, shoulders folded inward, dirt streaked across her dress, dried tears catching the harsh white light. Her hair had fallen loose around her face, hiding most of it, but I could still see the tremble in her jaw.

The veterinarian was speaking softly; clipboard tucked beneath one arm while he explained something she clearly wasn't hearing. Then his hand lifted. Slowly toward her shoulder. Seraphina flinched. Not dramatically. Just enough that her body stiffened, her breathing caught and her eyes locked onto his hand.

That was fucking enough.