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‘And where will you be?’ asked Ripley.
Ella's gaze drifted to the window, looking out at the quiet street that had become a stage for a nightmare. ‘I need to be somewhere,’ she said. ‘There's another piece to this puzzle, and I need to find it. There's a pattern here we're not seeing. I need to think, to get outside this box we're in.’
‘Take the car,’ Ripley said. ‘And keep me updated. I’ll get a ride back with the chief.’
Ella nodded goodbye to Ripley and Vasquez as she exited the home, past the body of James Gorton, now being attended to by coroners. Her destination was not yet clear, but her purpose was. Somewhere in the depths of the city, in its forgotten corners or the faces of its inhabitants, lay a clue to the killer's identity and his next move. Ella felt a chill run down her spine as she considered the possibility that she was not just hunting a killer, but also entering the mind of a predator who was watching her every move.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The night was a shroud, thick and unyielding, as Ella parked her car a short distance from the log cabin. The moon, a mere sliver in the sky, did little to penetrate the darkness that clung to the woods like a second skin. The cabin, once a retreat for Mark Jensen, now loomed before her, its silhouette an ominous specter against the backdrop of the dense forest.
Ella approached with caution, the key to the cabin cold and alien in her hand. As she unlocked the door, it creaked open, protesting the intrusion into a space that had witnessed the unspeakable. The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of pine and something else, something sinister.
The cabin was a single room, its walls lined with dark wood that seemed to absorb the weak beam of her flashlight. Ella stepped inside, her senses heightened, every nerve alert to the echoes of the horror that had unfolded here.
Signs of a struggle were evident; a chair lay overturned, and a vase shattered, its fragments scattered like frozen tears. Ella moved slowly, methodically, her eyes scanning every inch of the cabin. It was as if she could feel the ghostly remnants of Mark's fear and desperation hanging in the air, a palpable presence that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Her thoughts drifted to her unsub and the strange riddle he’d left behind. If James Gorton received a message – and perhaps Miles Rampell too, although she was yet to find it – then there was a chance that all of this killer’s victims had been taunted with messages beforehand.
In a clock’s face, where hands unite. Thrice six they mark, in day or night.
She’d replayed the riddle in her head the whole journey here, and while she had an answer, it didn’t mean anything, nor did it point her in any direction. She was no expert, but the answer was merely part one of the riddle. Part two was the string of letters which the answer decoded.
And part three was the recipient’s death.
It was now established – these weren’t random acts of violence. This whole process was a meticulously crafted performance by the killer, each victim a carefully chosen actor in his twisted play. The riddles were a part of his script, a way to involve his victims in their own demise, to make them a part of the narrative he was creating.
Her investigation took on a new urgency. If she could decipher the riddles, she might be able to anticipate the killer's next move to get ahead in this deadly game. But she also knew that with each step, she was walking deeper into the killer's mind, a place where darkness reigned, and every clue was a potential trap. Ella resolved to find the answers hidden in the riddles, to uncover the secrets that the killer had so carefully concealed. She knew that the path ahead would be fraught with danger, but she was determined to bring the killer to justice, to end his reign of terror.
Her flashlight swept over the walls, the wooden grains standing out like silent sentinels in the dim light. The cabin felt like a place out of time, a pocket of reality where the normal rules didn’t seem to apply. The lingering aura of fear and desperation was almost tangible, as if Mark Jensen’s final moments had left an indelible imprint on the space.
Ella turned her attention to Mark's desk, a simple, unadorned piece of furniture that seemed incongruous with the cabin's rustic charm. She rifled through the drawers, her movements precise and thorough, but found nothing but mundane items – pens, a notepad, a few old receipts.
She knelt and searched under the desk, her flashlight casting long shadows across the cabin floor. Again, she found nothing, just a thin layer of dust and the faint, musty scent of age. It was as if the desk, like the cabin itself, was holding its breath, keeping its secrets well hidden.
Frustrated but undeterred, Ella moved to the trash can nestled under the desk. It was a simple metal bin, unremarkable and seemingly innocuous. She peered inside and saw a pile of crumpled papers, discarded and forgotten. Her pulse quickened with the prospect of finding something of substance.
Carefully, Ella retrieved the papers, smoothing them out one by one on the desk's surface. The beam of her flashlight flickered over the pages, revealing handwritten notes, torn letters, and a few old grocery lists.
But then, amongst the papers, she found something that had become disturbingly familiar.
A brown envelope, its surface unmarred except for the words ‘OPEN ME’ scrawled across it in a hasty, almost frantic handwriting. Unlike the others she had found, this one remained unopened, its seal intact.
Ella's heart hammered in her chest as she picked up the envelope. The weight of it in her hands was like holding a tangible piece of the killer's psyche. This was a direct link to the mind behind the horrors, a mind that had orchestrated the deaths with cold, calculated precision.
With a deep breath, she carefully broke the seal, feeling as if she were crossing an invisible threshold into the killer's private world. The contents of the envelope could be another riddle, a clue, or something far more sinister.
The paper rustled softly in the silence of the cabin as she spread it open on the desk. The cabin around her felt charged with an unseen energy, as if it too was waiting, holding its breath for the revelations within the mundane piece of stationary.
Within a rainbow, my place is sure.
In ancient wonders, I am pure.
Below the riddle was another string of jumbled letters, a chaotic array that mocked her with its hidden meaning.
TLLA TL HA AOL JYFZAHS WVUK ALU WT AVUPNOA VY FVB DPSS KPL.
Ella didn’t know what it meant, but she knew she had a lot of work to do.
