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How long does Peter keep his victims alive before he kills them?
“As far as we know, she’s alive,” Jackson said. “Zoe said the killer would be organized and that he would fantasize about these kills. So, it would be reasonable to assume he’d take his time... he’d savor this—enjoy it. And that might just give us the time we need to get to her.”
Mitch saw the old house come into view and he pulled the car to a stop. He didn’t want to risk alerting the brothers to their arrival. Peter might react, if Zoe was still alive, and kill her if he thought he was running out of time.
Jackson and Mitch leapt from the car and sprinted through the fields. Mitch’s lungs burned, but he didn’t slow down, not for a second. The long, dried field grass came to his knees and swished as they ran through it, but it was still quieter than a rumbling car engine.
Jackson was breathing heavily, but neither slowed down.
There were no patrol cars in sight, and Mitch wanted it to stay that way. “Keep the patrols back, move in on foot. Quietly,” Mitch said into his radio, but he was breathing so hard he had no idea if they could understand him.
“We hear you. ETA one minute,”Mitch’s radio crackled as they approached the house. He turned it down, knowing it was a risk, but he didn’t have an earpiece and he didn’t want his radio ruining their element of surprise. His heavy breathing was something he couldn’t do much about though.
Jackson raised his weapon at the same time Mitch did and they crept forward toward the back door. Mitch put his ear against it, listening, but the house was silent.
He looked to Jackson, who nodded, and Mitch put his hand on the doorknob, gently turning it. He waited for it to creak, but it didn’t. He pushed the door ajar ever so slightly as he peered inside. It looked like an old kitchen in desperate need of repairs.
Mitch moved inside, his heart thundering in his chest.
He moved quickly to the next door, repeating the process as Jackson backed him up.
Mitch knew from the size of the house there would only be a few bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, and one bathroom. It was a typical Redwater home built in the eighties.
The door opened to a hallway, which was empty.
Mitch still couldn’t hear a thing. The house seemed too silent.
He crept down the hallway. Every door was closed and he had no idea what he was going to find behind each one. He opened the first door he came to: an empty room. Four walls, old floorboards, peeling paint.
He moved to the next room, only to find more of the same.
His hopes began to fade.
As he opened the last door, his heart stopped.
He saw a coil of rope in one corner, but otherwise it was empty.
“She’s not here!” he yelled into his radio. “The house is empty!”
Mitch’s heart was in his throat.
How much time had they just wasted? Every minute mattered, he knew.
Hang on, Zoe. I’m coming for you.
“There’s fresh car tracks outside. Someone was here recently,”a voice came through his radio.
But whoever was here was gone now.
“Where do they lead?” Mitch asked, suddenly hopeful the tracks stayed on the property and didn’t lead onto the paved road. For all he knew, there could be another house or shed on this land.
“We’re following them now,”the officer said.
Mitch looked out the dirty window. The sun was setting and he couldn’t help but feel the last of his hope fading away with the sun.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
Where would they take her?
