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She stepped closer. The image before her clashed violently with the scenarios she had played out in her mind during her drive over. There was supposed to be confrontation, information exchanged, maybe even threats. Not this.
Some twisted hallucination? She blinked rapidly, trying to erase the scene from reality.
But it was there, undeniable, tangible, touchable.
Because laying against the washing machine, with his head tilted at an unnatural angle, was the dead body of Logan Nash.
A dark pool had spread around his forehead, the aftermath of a bullet through the skull.
‘This… can’t be real,’ Ella said.
She tried to process her thoughts, but they raced chaotically, bouncing around in her mind like pinballs. Who could've done this? Why here? Why now?
A deep sense of dread enveloped her as she thought of the implications of finding Logan Nash dead in a police safe house, especially given that she was the one to arrest him; she was the one to pioneer his imprisonment.
A sense of detachment enveloped her as if she were floating above the situation, observing it from afar. This couldn't be her reality. It was too surreal. Too violent. Logan Nash, the enigma she had chased for years, the man she had wanted to confront, was dead. Ella knew she needed to call it in, but for a moment she simply stood there, almost triumphant, over the man who'd haunted her dreams for over twenty years.
But her sense of triumph was short-lived. The realization of what she was seeing began to sink in, the gravity of it all pulling her down. Ella's knees felt weak, and her thoughts spiraled. For all the times she had imagined confronting Logan Nash, she had never envisioned it would end this way. While part of her felt a sense of relief that the man who haunted her life was now gone, another part of her felt robbed.
Robbed of the satisfaction of seeing him face justice, of being the one to ensure he paid for his crime – the murder of her father, the murder of countless others, the families torn apart. All those victims, all the pain and suffering, she had hoped that bringing Logan to justice would provide some semblance of closure, both for the families of the victims and for herself.
Yet, there he lay, lifeless, before justice could truly be served. Someone else had taken it upon themselves to be the judge, jury, and executioner.
She stumbled backward, her hands shaking as she fumbled to retrieve her phone from her pocket.
As she dialed the number, she looked around the room once more, searching for any signs of a struggle or any other clues. But the room looked untouched, apart from the lifeless body. Who had done this? And how had they managed to do it in a police safe house?
She had no answers. Just a growing list of questions.
Ella Dark had won the battle between herself and Logan Nash, but at what cost?
Perhaps Ripley had been right. Bullets in the head did solve problems, but they created new ones too.
