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MEEX MI.
Familiarity did the rest of the work for her.
‘Meet me?’ she muttered.
She applied the changes to the rest of the cipher.
MEET ME AX.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Meet me at…’
Yes. That had to be it.
The killer wanted her to meet him somewhere.
Each letter she replaced brought her closer to understanding the killer's demand, but also closer to a reality she didn't want to face. She broke out in a boiling sweat, constantly checking every corner for signs of the waiting intruder.
Piece by piece, the scrambled letters formed into identifiable words. Her hands were slick with moisture as she traced each letter, brute forcing her way through the cipher and completely ignoring the riddle component of the puzzle. With every new word that appeared, she felt herself further into the abyss, as though by playing this game she was consigning herself to the grave.
At last, she’d decoded enough of the cipher for her brain to fill in the blanks.
MEET ME AT THE PLAYGROUND TEN PM OR YOU WILL DIE.
The decoded message lay before her, its blunt ultimatum enflaming every nerve ending in her body. The playground – but which one? There was one about half a mile away. She’d passed it a few times but never stepped foot in it, and as far as she knew, never did so as a child either.
Even so, what choice did she have?
Sit here and wait for death?
If she somehow avoided the killer tonight, who’s to say he wouldn’t hunt her down another night? Could she hide from him forever? Maybe in a safe house, or in another state?
No. It was foolish to think she could sidestep him for the rest of her life, however short that might be. She knew Demi had been killed in her car, Mark in his office, the others in their homes. That suggested that if they had all been requested to go elsewhere, that there was a microscopic possibility that obliging with the killer’s request could spare her life.
She crept into the living room and peeked through the curtains one last time, scanning for any sign of the shadowy figure. The street was empty, bathed in the cold glow of streetlights. The quiet was unsettling, like the calm before a storm. With a resolve she didn’t know she had in her, she gathered her essentials - keys, phone, a small can of pepper spray she’d never thought she'd need. Her house, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. The outside world wasn't safe either, but staying put wasn't an option.
The message demanded she meet at ten PM.
Only now did she see that it was 9:40.
Twenty minutes to reach her destination.
She opened the door and stepped out into the cold night air. Her heart was a jackhammer against her ribcage, a rapid drumbeat that refused to die out. The street was devoid of movement save for her breath hanging in the air. She’d now made herself known to the killer, opened herself up to a potential ambush.
And so she hurried down the road at a brisk pace, risking glances over her shoulder as she headed towards the tiny playground at the base of the hills. The empty streets seemed to stretch on endlessly, each step taking her further into the unknown. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and desperation. What would she find at the playground? Was this a trap, or a twisted test by the killer? Every instinct screamed at her to run, to escape, but where could she go? The playground was her only lead, her only chance to end whatever madness she and her old friends had unknowingly begun twenty years ago.
Suddenly, a sense of being followed made her skin crawl. She whipped around, her breath catching in her throat. There, at the end of the street, stood the figure – the killer – a dark silhouette against the dark of the night. He was no longer a distant shadow; he was real, tangible, and close enough to catch her should he run.
But the killer made no move, just stood there, watching her with an intensity that felt like a physical force.
She didn’t stop to think. She began sprinting down the path towards her destination without looking back.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
Ella rapped her knuckles on the door to Matilda Harrison’s home – a dwelling that seemed to cower at the edge of civilization, a million miles from the city. The time was approaching ten PM, and if her unsub was keeping up his killing pattern, they were either minutes away from a dead body or too late already.
‘Matilda Harrison,’ Ella called. ‘Please open up.’
But the house, like a crypt, remained silent, indifferent to her pleas. There was a car in the driveway, but no lights in any of the windows. Ella turned to her partner, exchanging a look of concern. The absence of any response was more than just unsettling; it was a silent scream in the void of their expectations.
