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But they had failed, just as they had in high school. They had discarded his puzzles, deemed them insignificant – the same way they had dismissed him. It was this realization, this repeated pattern of disregard, that had transformed his quest for acknowledgment into a vendetta.
Each victim had received a puzzle, a riddle, something that, if solved, would have spared them. But like so many years ago, they had overlooked the significance, laughed it off, or ignored it entirely. His puzzles, once a means of seeking connection, had become a measure of their worthiness – and they had all failed.
He looked at the remaining names on the list, the faces of those who had yet to recognize their role in his torment. His heart no longer raced with anger; it was a cold, calculating machine, pumping not blood but a sense of purpose through his veins. There was no turning back now. Each act had stripped away a layer of his humanity, leaving behind a being fueled by a need for recognition and retribution.
He looked at the puzzles he had meticulously created – each a gateway to survival, each ignored or discarded just like he had been. It was this ignorance, this failure to see beyond their self-absorbed worlds, that sealed their fates. He had offered them a chance at redemption, a possibility of mercy, but they had squandered it, just as they had squandered his friendship years ago.
Now, as he prepared for his next act, he felt a chilling detachment. What began as a quest for recognition had morphed into something far more sinister. He was no longer just a tormented soul seeking closure; he had become the embodiment of their nightmares, a ghost from the past wielding the power of life and death.
As he crafted this latest challenge, there was a faint hope within him, a twisted desire for it to be discarded like those he had made in his youth. Such rejection would validate his actions, give him the reason he needed to proceed. It was a perverse longing for confirmation that they hadn't changed, that they were still the uncaring individuals who had tormented him.
He placed the puzzle in an envelope, his mind already picturing the scenario. The victim would receive it, puzzle over it, and ultimately discard it, just as they had done with him. And when they did, he would be there, ready to enact his vengeance.
At last, the weird little puzzle boy had grown up.
CHAPTER TEN
Ella sat in her office at the Stamford precinct, her attention fully absorbed by the computer screen in front of her. The office buzzed with the typical sounds of a busy police station, but Ella's focus was singular - Lucas Trent. His name, now entered into the police database, might be the lead they needed to make sense of the killings.
Ripley walked over with two cups of coffee. ‘Find anything on our Mr. Trent?’ she asked, placing a cup on her desk.
Ella took a sip, welcoming the warmth and caffeine. ‘Still digging,’ she replied, ‘but there's something here, I can feel it.’
Ripley perched herself on Ella’s desk and cradled her foam cup. ‘You remember your high school days, Dark?’
Ella continued to sift through the details in front of her and said, 'Yeah. It was only fifteen years ago, but it feels like a hundred years.'
‘Remember it fondly?’
‘God no,’ Ella said. ‘Hated every second of the damn place.’
‘Why?’
‘I was the invisible kid. No identity. Not popular enough for the house parties, not nerdy enough for the Warhammer club. I just had to struggle until I could get the hell out of there.’
Ripley sipped her coffee, her eyes showing a hint of surprise. ‘Really? I always pictured you as... I don't know, more involved, I guess.’
Ella shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. ‘Nope. I was the ghost girl. Kids used to call me Samara. You know, the ghost girl from the Ring? Black hair, never says a word.’
'You know, I don't know horror movies.'
‘Oh yeah. Sorry.’
Ripley leaned in, her tone curious. ‘Did that bother you? Being on the outside?’
‘For a while, yeah,’ Ella admitted, clicking on a Lucas Trent that seemed to fit her profile. ‘But then I realized it gave me a different perspective. I saw things, understood things about people that they didn't even know about themselves.’
‘Makes sense. And it's probably why you do this job so well.’
Ella's eyes narrowed as she found a potentially relevant entry in the Stamford database. ‘Maybe. But right now, I need to read Lucas Trent and figure out his connection to our victims. There's something here, Ripley. A pattern, a motive. And I'm going to find it.’ Ella snapped her fingers. ‘Damn, I think I got him. Here, look at this. Our boy Lucas has a criminal record.’
Ripley turned to the screen. ‘Battery… eighteen years ago. Nothing since.’
Ella considered it. What were the chances someone could have a clean record for eighteen years and then suddenly snap? Gary Ridgway, the Green River Killer, stopped killing for seventeen years before police caught up with him. Dennis Rader ended his killing spree in the early nineties but continued taunting police for another fourteen years without taking a life.
It was rare but not unheard of.
‘It’s a stretch, I admit,’ Ella said. ‘Unless Lucas was in prison during that time.’
