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Finn's smile vanished, replaced by an expression of disbelief."You're kidding.What are the chances?"
"Maybe it's not a coincidence," Sheila mused, her mind racing with possibilities."Maybe there's a connection between the victims that we aren't seeing."
"Wait," Finn said, thinking back to his high school days."If I remember correctly, Macy's family also moved out of state, just like the Hubbards did."
"Seems like we've figured out how the killer is choosing his victims," Sheila said."And maybe, just maybe, we can use that information to figure out who's next, because if we can do that—"
"Then we can catch him in the act," Finn finished for her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The man pulled over to the shoulder of the road beside a river, his hands shaking on the wheel.He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart, taking in deep, ragged breaths.
Take it easy,he told himself.Nobody's following you.Just breathe.
He opened his eyes, fumbled with the glovebox, and pulled out a bottle of painkillers.The label read 'OxyContin,' a narcotic he had stolen from Roy Hubbard's medicine cabinet during his murder spree.The man popped the cap off and swallowed several pills dry, wincing at their bitter taste.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath."Get a grip."
It was late at night, and the road was deserted.The only sounds were the crickets' chorus and the gentle gurgle of the river nearby.The man got out of the car, stretching his cramped legs and listening to the crickets' song of the night.He reached back into the vehicle and grabbed the paper bag sitting on the passenger seat.Clutching it tight to his chest, he stepped back out onto the gravelly shoulder.
"Okay, just gotta get rid of this, and everything will be fine," he told himself, trying to mask the fear gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
The night air was cool, but beads of sweat trickled down the man's forehead as he held onto the bag that contained damning evidence of his recent crimes.The memory of the Warren family flashed before his eyes, and he shook his head violently, trying to push them out of his mind.
"Focus.You're almost done," he whispered to himself, steeling his resolve.
Just as he began to breathe a little easier, the sudden roar of an engine shattered the silence.A semi-truck rushed by, stirring up a gust of wind that whipped his face and sent his heart racing again.He flinched, gripping the paper bag tighter as he watched the taillights of the truck fade into the distance.
"Stupid truck," he grumbled, forcing himself to take several deep breaths."You're alone, so stop worrying.The police don't know where you are.You were careful.The dead can't talk."
With renewed determination, he approached the guardrail above the river.The water below churned ominously, its dark surface reflecting the moonlight in a shimmering dance.It was both mesmerizing and sinister, a fitting resting place for his secrets.
Reaching into the bag, the man pulled out a gun—the weapon that had silenced the Warrens once and for all.His fingers traced its cold metal contours, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret at having to part with it.He remembered breaking into that small pawn shop a week before, the thrill of sneaking past the sleeping owner to snatch the gun from its display case.It had been a thing of beauty in his hands, a symbol of power he had craved.
"Damn it," he muttered, staring at the gun one last time."You served me well, but I can't risk getting caught because of you."
With a final, reluctant sigh, he hurled the weapon into the churning waters below.
The man watched as the ripples swallowed the gun, feeling a void where it had been in his hand.He peered into the bag, hesitating for a moment before taking inventory of the remaining items.A Rolex wristwatch gleamed amongst the bunch, its gold and silver links reflecting the moonlight.Beside it lay a pair of delicate gold earrings etched with intricate designs and two wedding bands—one smooth and plain, the other adorned with tiny diamonds.
"Damn shame," he muttered, running a finger over the watch's cold, smooth surface."I could've sold these for a pretty penny—or kept them for myself."The thought of parting with such valuable trophies gnawed at him.They were symbols of his conquests, affirmations of his power.Yet he knew that if they were ever discovered, it would be his undoing.
"Think," he whispered to himself, his eyes darting between the precious trinkets and the river below.His heart hammered against his chest, urging him to make a decision before it was too late.
"Maybe I don't have to throw them away," he mused, recalling how he had masterfully hidden the items stolen from the Hubbards."No one found those, did they?And no one will find these either."
His mind raced as he envisioned the perfect hiding spot, one so clever and discreet that even the most skilled investigator would overlook it."I can do this," he reassured himself, a wicked grin spreading across his face."I'm too smart for them.They'll never catch me."
Cradling the bag of treasures as if it were a newborn child, the man turned on his heels and strode back to his car.He slid into the driver's seat, stashing the bag beneath it, out of sight but still within reach.The thrill of keeping the items close made him feel invincible, as if daring the world to challenge him.
Let them try to find me,he thought, his fingers gripping the wheel with renewed strength.I'll always be one step ahead.
On impulse, he fumbled with the radio dial, his fingertips brushing against the worn grooves as he cycled through a cacophony of static and music.He needed to hear the news to know if they were talking about him yet.Finally, he found the station he was looking for.
"Breaking news," the reporter's voice crackled through the car speakers."The victims of the mass hanging have been identified as Roy Hubbard, his wife Jane, and their teenage children Max and Lily."
"Ah, the Hubbards," the man mused, satisfaction creeping into the corners of his mind."But what about the Warrens?"
