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The relief that Matilda was alive was tangible, a small victory in a case that seemed to be slipping through Ella’s fingers. But with each answered question, more uncertainties bubbled to the surface, murky and elusive. Matilda's denial of receiving any ominous notes brought a measure of reassurance, yet it also complicated the profile of their killer. Was the motive purely revenge against the inner circle, or was it a wider vendetta against anyone connected to them, no matter how loosely?
Ella observed Matilda's demeanor – the nervous hair-twisting, the glance towards the door. It was a window into the unease that had gripped the town, a fear of an unseen and unpredictable predator. Ella felt a surge of protectiveness, not just for Matilda but for all potential victims who might unknowingly be in the crosshairs.
Ripley said, ‘Matilda, you knew these victims. Do you recall anyone who might want to hurt them, anyone who might want revenge against them?’
‘Take your pick. They made a few enemies, but no one stands out. But again, it’s been a long time. I barely remember the guys themselves, let alone anyone they terrorized.’
‘Do you remember a certain kid from your school – a boy obsessed with puzzles and riddles? He may have been a mute, and disappeared without a trace in tenth grade?’
Matilda scratched her forehead, then gazed up and to the left – a sign of visual recollection. 'Sorry, I only did eleventh grade at Lincoln. I moved here from Wisconsin.'
‘Dammit,’ said Ripley. ‘Can you tell us who else was in this clique? So far we know of Demi, Mark, Miles and James. We’ve also heard of a Laura Benson but can’t track her down.’
Matilda's expression turned contemplative, her eyes losing focus as she delved into memories perhaps long untouched.
‘Benson? You won’t find her. She moved to Australia years ago. As for else was in their group, it depends on whoever they were dating at the time. I saw a few girls come and go.’
‘We understand it’s difficult, but any information could be vital. This person has already taken lives. We need to stop them before anyone else gets hurt.’
‘I’m sorry, I latched onto that crew for survival. I just got in, did my studies and got out. Why would this maniac target me?’
Ella could sense the barriers Matilda had erected around her high school years, a protective measure against a time that might not have been as rosy as one would hope. The reluctance to dive back into those memories was a sentiment Ella understood all too well. She felt a dead end on the horizon, but her instincts told her not to take anything for granted. The possibility of an overlooked clue or a hidden message loomed large.
'Matilda, we need to search your house. It's just a precaution to make sure you're safe.'
Matilda hesitated, her eyes flicking around her own home as if seeing it in a new, sinister light. After a moment, she nodded, stepping aside to allow them full access. ‘Please, go ahead. Is there anything you need me to do?’
‘Check any stacks of mail you might have lying around. Check under every door, near every window you might have left open. Do you have a mailbox anywhere?’
‘No,’ Matilda said. ‘All mail comes through the front door.’
'Alright, we need to be thorough,' Ella said as she began her search. She took a methodical approach, beginning at the front door and scouring every area inch by inch. In the living room, amidst family photos and scattered magazines, nothing seemed out of place. The kitchen was similarly unremarkable, its surfaces clean, the only notes present being grocery lists and reminders. She moved to the upstairs, where Matilda's bedroom offered more of the same – a glimpse into a life that, on the surface, bore no connection to the deaths that had brought them there.
Across the room, Ripley checked under the bed, in the closet, her flashlight beam revealing nothing but clothes and boxes of keepsakes.
‘Nothing here,’ Ripley said.
Ella moved to the study, and amongst bills and old books, Ella found no hidden messages, no riddles scrawled in a killer's hand.
She felt the tension coiling tighter. The absence of any clues was as baffling as it was disheartening. She’d hoped to find something, anything, that could link Matilda to the killer's twisted game. But the house was silent, holding no secrets, no veiled threats. The house, with its ordinary trappings and the absence of any alarming signs, left her at a standstill. She retreated downstairs to meet the owner again.
‘Anything?’ Matilda asked.
‘No,’ Ella said confidently. ‘You’re safe, but we’ll get someone here to watch your house just in case.’
Matilda nodded, a troubled look in her eyes. ‘Thank you. I just don't understand why someone would do this, why they'd target these people after all these years.’
Ella offered a sympathetic smile, though her mind was racing with the same questions. ‘Sometimes, the answers are buried deep in the past. We're doing everything we can to uncover them.’ She handed Matilda a card with her contact details on. Even if Ella wasn’t officially on the case anymore, she wanted the woman to know that she was safe.
With a final sweep of the downstairs, Ella and Ripley prepared to leave. They gave Matilda their thanks then stepped out of the house into the chilly night air. On the doorstep, Ella’s phone began to ring.
She glanced at the screen – it was Chief Vasquez.
Her pulse rate shot up. Calls at this hour were rarely good news.
‘Chief,’ she answered. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Agent Dark,’ his voice came through, hurried and tense. ‘We’ve got a problem.’
