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‘We’re running out of time. Get the details of everyone Lauren mentioned, get officers to their houses. I’m going to find our last victim – and with any luck, our unsub.’
Ripley looked between her partner and Lauren, then nodded. 'Alright. Be careful, and remember what the director told us.'
‘Got it.’
‘Don’t do anything foolish.’
‘Trust me. I’ll message you the details.’
The night wasn’t over. She had to confront confront the killer, to face the ghosts of the past and hopefully, bring peace to the present. The night air felt less cold, the darkness less oppressive, as she moved with determination towards what she prayed would be the final showdown.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
His breath fogged up the windowpane as he peered through the glass, her distant silhouette visible even in such darkness.
The figure inside the room, unaware of the sinister presence just outside, continued with her nightly routine. He clutched an envelope tightly in his hand, a new message, a new riddle for another member – the final member – of the clique that had wronged him so deeply.
As he watched, his mind cascaded back to those formative, haunting years. They were supposed to be his friends, his companions in a world where he felt out of place. He had always been different, a misfit with an affinity for puzzles and riddles, a silent observer in a world that didn't understand him. But they had understood him, or so he thought. They tolerated him, let him tag along, let him believe he belonged.
He remembered the excitement, the naive joy he felt when they had left him that message, inviting him to the junkyard. It was a sign of acceptance, a gesture of friendship. But it was a cruel, heartless trap. The laughter, the mockery as they shoved him into that old, rusted refrigerator. The door slamming shut, the darkness enveloping him, the air growing thin. He pounded, screamed, but they had already left, their laughter echoing in his ears.
The memory of the dog's frantic barking, the relief of being found, barely conscious, barely alive. But something inside him had changed in that suffocating darkness. His escape from that metal tomb was not just a physical liberation; it was the birth of something dark, something vengeful.
Moving away, therapy attempts at normalcy – nothing could erase the scars. His claustrophobia, his anxiety, they were constant reminders of their betrayal. He thought he'd put it all behind him, but he'd recently undergone a brain scan, and the combination of the MRI machine plus the news that his treatment was inoperable had been a catalyst to new depths. The walls had closed in on him, the darkness returned, and with it, a surge of suppressed anger and a burning desire for retribution.
He had reached out to them in the only way he knew – through puzzles, through riddles. A chance for them to understand, to remember, to atone. But they ignored him, discarded his messages like they once discarded him. That rejection had lit the fuse, driven him to do the unthinkable.
So far, only Lauren Phillips had passed the test.
She’d done as he asked, and so he’d let her live.
As he slipped the envelope under the door, he felt no joy, no satisfaction - only a hollow sense of inevitability. This was his path now, a path paved with the echoes of a past that refused to be silenced. His hand trembled slightly as he placed the envelope down, the paper crinkling under his touch. This note, like the ones before, was a piece of himself – a fragment of the pain and turmoil that had festered within him for years. It was his final message, a last riddle in a series that had brought him here, to this moment, to her doorstep.
He lingered a moment longer, his gaze transfixed on her form moving about inside the house. She, the orchestrator of his darkest day, the mastermind behind the cruel joke that had almost cost him his life. The irony was not lost on him; she was oblivious to his presence just as she had been oblivious to the agony and terror he had endured in that airless prison years ago.
In his mind's eye, he saw her as she was back then –the one with the wicked smile and the ideas that went too far. It was her voice that had echoed loudest in the junkyard, her laughter that rang in his ears long after the cold darkness of the fridge had engulfed him.
Now, she was just another silhouette, another figure moving through life, unaware of the shadows she had cast on his existence. He wondered if she ever thought about that day, if the memory ever crept into her mind in the quiet moments before sleep claimed her. Did she ever pause and think of the boy they had locked away, left for dead in a metal coffin?
Crouching low beneath the window frame, he watched with bated breath as she moved through the room, the rhythm of her life so mundane, so blissfully ignorant. His heart pounded in his ears, a mix of anticipation and fury, as she finally noticed the envelope. His eyes, wide with expectation, followed her every movement.
For a fleeting moment, he imagined her opening it, her eyes scanning his carefully crafted riddle, the realization of her impending doom dawning upon her. But the moment shattered as she merely glanced at the envelope, her expression uninterested, dismissive. She set it aside on the kitchen unit, returning to her routine as if it were nothing more than junk mail.
His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. The fury that surged through him was white-hot, an inferno of betrayal and resentment. She had ignored his message, just as they all had, years ago. It wasn't just the rejection of his riddles; it was the dismissal of his existence.
In twenty years, nothing had changed.
He ducked out of sight momentarily, his mind racing, his thoughts a chaotic storm. When he dared to look again, his worst fears were confirmed. The envelope lay untouched, abandoned on the counter as she carried on, her back to the window, her life continuing as if he meant nothing.
The injustice of it all filled him with a cold, seething anger. They had never understood, never cared. His life had been a series of puzzles, riddles, and games, but to them, it was just a source of amusement, a toy to be played with and discarded. They had locked him away, left him to die, and now they discarded his messages, his last attempt at reaching out, at seeking some semblance of recognition for the pain they had caused.
As he watched her dismiss his message, the urge to break through the window and confront her was almost overwhelming. His fingers itched for action, his body tense with the need for immediate retribution.
But then, he paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. He recalled the meticulous planning that had brought him to this point, the careful orchestration of each step leading to this final confrontation. She was more than just another victim; she was the central figure in his tormented past.
He needed her to follow him, to play his game one last time. This was about more than just revenge; it was about closure, about bringing full circle the cycle of pain and betrayal that had begun all those years ago.
The clock in his head ticked away, each second a reminder of the dwindling time she had to solve his puzzle, to unravel the riddle that was his life. He had given them all a chance, a choice. Solve the puzzle, face the truth, or face the consequences.
