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"Police are still investigating the gruesome scene and have yet to release any details regarding potential suspects or motives," the reporter continued.
"Come on," the man muttered impatiently, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.He wanted them to mention the Warren family too; he craved the recognition, the thrill of hearing people speculate about his actions.He deserved some credit, after all.
"Earlier today, we managed to speak with a neighbor of the Hubbard family," the reporter said."Pearl Delaroche became the Hubbards' neighbor a few months ago after they moved here from Seattle, and she had nothing but kind words to say about them."
"Roy and Jane were just...wonderful people," Pearl said, her wavering voice filling the car."Max and Lily were so well-behaved and polite.Always smiling.They were like the picture-perfect family, you know?It's just...I can't wrap my head around it.Who would want to hurt them?"
The man clenched his jaw, the sound of Pearl's sincerity grating on his nerves.He didn't want to listen to her gushing about the Hubbards, praising their idyllic existence.With a harsh flick of his wrist, he switched off the radio.
"Enough of that," he muttered under his breath, his heart hammering in his chest.He couldn't let Pearl's words affect him; all that mattered was staying one step ahead, avoiding capture and remaining untouchable.
As the man pulled back onto the road, he found himself consumed with thoughts of his next move: new families to target, new plans to concoct.He had evaded justice thus far, but deep down, he knew that every success brought its own dangers.The game was far from over.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.The dark road ahead of him seemed to stretch on forever, and the anger that had bubbled up inside him upon hearing Pearl's words was morphing into something else—a craving for power.
He remembered how he'd felt marching the Warrens to their graves—the way they'd trembled before him, begging for mercy.A grin spread across his face as he thought about how helpless they'd been in those final moments.But they were gone now, and he needed to find a new family, new victims to make him feel alive again.
"Can't wait to see the fear in their eyes," he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible above the hum of the car's engine."Just need to find the right ones."
In the back of his mind, a quieter voice begged him to reconsider, to give it some time before striking again.But the man was beyond listening to reason.He was addicted to the high that came from wielding control over others, from knowing that their lives were in his hands.
"Slow down?No, not this time."He shook his head, dismissing the thought."I'm unstoppable."
With a newfound sense of determination, the man pressed down on the gas pedal, the car speeding down the empty road.His heartbeat quickened, matching the accelerating vehicle.The thrill of the hunt surged through his veins, making him feel invincible.
As he drove deeper into the night, the darkness enveloping him like a shroud, the man sensed that he was on the verge of greatness—that soon, he would reclaim the power he so desperately craved.
And nothing would be able to stop him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The coffee machine sputtered and hissed as it filled the stained ceramic mug.Finn glanced at Sheila, who was rubbing her temples."Want another cup?"he asked.
"Hell, no," she replied, forcing a smile."I'll have a heart attack if I drink any more caffeine."
Finn shrugged and poured himself another steaming cup."There are worse habits," he said, taking a sip.
The sheriff's department break room was a cramped, windowless space with peeling paint and a lingering odor of burnt microwave popcorn.A few mismatched chairs surrounded a small table littered with old yearbooks from Mildred Heights High School.Sheila and Finn had been combing through the yearbooks for hours, searching for any patterns or connections between the victims of the two brutal family murders.
Sheila glanced at Finn, who was pouring himself another cup of coffee.She wondered if his comment about there being worse habits had something to do with the confession he'd made about his drinking problem.Would he open up about it if he asked her?It bothered her not knowing the extent of his struggle or how he was handling it.
There was also the matter of his compass necklace.What was the deal with that?What did it signify?He was full of secrets, it seemed.Sheila didn't need to know them all, but she did want to better understand the man she would be partnering with for the foreseeable future.
Finn took a seat at the table and opened a yearbook, his eyes scanning the pages for any possible clues.Sheila hesitated for a moment before deciding to broach the subject of his drinking.As delicately as she could, she said, "Hey, Finn, can I ask you something personal?"
Finn looked up from the yearbook, his expression guarded."Sure, what's up?"
Sheila took a deep breath."You mentioned earlier about there being worse habits than drinking.Is everything okay?Do you need any help?"
Finn's eyes flickered with surprise before settling into a resigned expression."I'm fine, Sheila.Just dealing with some personal stuff."
Sheila leaned forward, her voice soft."You don't have to go through it alone, you know.We're partners.We have each other's backs."
Finn let out a humorless chuckle."Trust me, Sheila, this is something I need to deal with on my own."
She sat back, wondering what to do.Should she just give him space or push him to open up?It was a tricky situation, and she didn't want to overstep any boundaries.
But what if he was really struggling?Wouldn't the kind thing be to keep talking about it?
