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If she did this, she was on her own.
She wouldn’t have the advantage of an indoor space to take him down. She was exposing herself to a homicidal, rage-fuelled maniac out in the elements. Ripley might not be able to make it to the location in time, and since the director had taken them off the case, Stamford PD might not be willing to assist her either.
Ella understood the risks, understood the dangers of stepping into his territory, but the necessity of it all was undeniable.
Ten minutes past midnight.
Ella’s hand rested on the doorknob, her resolve steeling her. She could sense the killer's presence, a dark aura that hung in the air like a toxic mist. The familiar weight of her firearm was a silent promise of protection, but she hoped to resolve this without pulling the trigger.
She opened the door and stepped outside.
Out into a world asleep, oblivious to the predator that lurked in its shadows. The darkness felt alive, a shroud that concealed both hunter and hunted.
The junkyard – the location that set this whole case in motion many years ago – was her destination.
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Ella treaded through the streets, her steps quiet and calculated. The silence of the night was broken only by the distant sounds of the city: a car horn, the distant bark of a dog, the occasional siren wailing far away.
The killer's instructions had been clear – meet at the junkyard by midnight. Yet here she was, past the appointed time, breaking the rules of his game. Her eyes darted from shadow to shadow, aware that any moment could bring her face to face with the killer.
Ella kept her phone in her hand, the GPS guiding her through the maze of streets toward her destination. Every few steps, she glanced at the screen, ensuring she was on the right path, then quickly scanned her surroundings for any sign of a follower.
As she entered a long stretch of road, she wondered about her unsub’s mental state, torn between his compulsions and the reality unfolding before him. Did he feel betrayed, thinking she'd disregarded his riddle? Or did he understand that this was another move in their deadly chess game? Ella couldn't be sure, but she sensed that her tardiness would only add to his inner turmoil, perhaps even pushing him towards a more desperate act.
Her vigilance was constant. Ella's head turned at every sound, every movement in the periphery of her vision. She knew the killer could be anywhere – watching from a dark alley, following from a distance, or perhaps lying in wait at the destination. Despite the danger, Ella moved with a confidence that she didn’t truly feel. She had to remind herself she had no jurisdiction here, and could only hope that a successful capture alleviated her of any repercussions from the director. Even so, there was no time to dwell on bureaucratic politics given the circumstances. She had a serial killer to catch.
The urban scenery gradually gave way to a more desolate area as her GPS told her she was a quarter of a mile from her destination. She passed by the old building that had once housed Lincoln High School – no longer in operation, and out here the used buildings became sparse, the streets less maintained, and the ambient sounds of the city faded into a hushed stillness. The darkness seemed to deepen, the shadows growing longer. Rows of trees flanked her either side, nature reclaiming what once belonged to humanity, and right now the only direction was forward or backward.
She continued on, and soon she could smell the metal in the air. Rusted copper, spilled diesel, burned plastic – a sickly cocktail that clung to the back of her throat. The moonlight struggled to penetrate the dense canopy of trees, but in the distance, Ella made out an arching wooden sign amongst the darkness.
Graham’s Recycling Plant.
It welcomed her like a gatekeeper to a forgotten realm, and beyond the arching entranceway, Ella saw a vast terrain of rusted machinery, burned-out cars, and piles of tires. She headed inside, taking a moment to survey the landscape. The junkyard was a labyrinth, a chaotic tangle of metal and machinery that could hide a hundred secrets. It was the perfect place for a killer to lay a trap, with weapons and obstacles at every turn.
Pulling her flashlight from her belt, Ella began to navigate through the wreckage. Her beam of light danced over twisted metal, bringing the metal graveyard into full view. The junkyard was a twisted maze, a grotesque monument to decay and abandonment. Piles of discarded vehicles towered above her, their once vibrant colors now faded and peeling under layers of rust. Broken glass littered the ground, glinting like sinister jewels in the flashlight's glare.
Ella moved with a hunter's grace, every sense tuned to the slightest discrepancy in her environment. Every hollowed-out car and pile of scrap was a potential hiding spot, each shadow a place where death could lurk. She knew she had to be methodical, careful not to rush into a trap. This was the killer’s domain, a place tied to his most traumatic memories. He would know every inch of this terrain, every hiding spot and vantage point. She realized that she was not just hunting him; she was entering his psychological territory, a space where his ghosts and demons roamed freely.
Ella’s flashlight sliced through the darkness as she searched for anything alive amongst the towers of scrap metal. She moved deeper into the heart of the junkyard, the feeling of isolation growing with every step. She was acutely aware of how vulnerable she was in this desolate place, far from any help. She halted, welcoming rust and decay into her nostrils, listening intently for any sound that might indicate the killer’s presence. She considered the possibility that he might be observing her, taking pleasure in her cautious movements through his nightmarish playground.
In the oppressive darkness of the junkyard, Ella's flashlight became her lifeline. It illuminated machines and engine parts and old furniture, but suddenly, it landed on something that didn’t belong in this landscape of decay.
Ella squinted her eyes, ensuring it wasn’t a manifestation of her own worries. Her heart began to accelerate at a rapid pace, her subconscious warning her before she’d come to the sentient realization that there was a human figure sitting amongst the rubble.
He was like a specter, a ghostly presence in this graveyard of forgotten machines. His profile was shrouded in darkness, only parts of him revealed by the meager light. Ella saw shabby clothes, a black t-shirt, brown boots. The figure was thin, wiry, tall. Unkempt black hair, heavy bags under his eyes. He sat amidst the wreckage, his posture one of eerie calmness, almost as if he were a part of the junkyard itself.
Here he was.
A product of trauma that went on to repeat the cycle.
He looked unconcerned with her presence, but even from twenty feet away, she could sense the deep-seated anger. It was written in his expression, in the lines in his forehead. But there was also a glimmer of something else – a flicker of humanity that had somehow survived the darkness.
Ella turned off her flashlight and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The brief moonlight did the rest.
‘I don’t know your name, but I’m here to help you,’ she said.
The figure sat with his legs crossed, looking down at the scraps of metal that doubled as his seat.
