The room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of my desk lamp. It cast eerie shadows across the walls, highlighting the chaos that surrounded me. My bedroom had been transformed into a detective's office—if you could call it that. Every square inch of the wall in front of me was covered with photos, notes, and strings of red yarn connecting one clue to the next in a tangled, maddening web.
Seira's photo was at the top, the centerpiece of the madness. Her face was turned slightly to the side, caught mid-laugh in the snapshot. Below it, a photo of Jack—my friend, if you could even call him that. Jack was a bully, plain and simple, and he loved nothing more than annoying everyone around him. Still, there was no denying his connection to this puzzle.
The third photo showed Emily Tucker, a fourteen-year-old girl with an infectious smile and bright green eyes. She'd been the youngest victim—a sweet kid who always stopped to help others.
Beside hers was a photo of Aaron Fields, a fifteen-year-old with a quiet, reserved demeanor. Aaron kept to himself most of the time, his nose buried in books, as if he was already dreaming of a better life far away from here.
Seira. Jack. Emily. Aaron.
I stared at their faces for what felt like the hundredth time, my jaw tightening.
And then there were my parents. Their deaths didn't fit the pattern. It happened ten years after the killing spree ended, long after I thought the nightmare was over. I still remembered the day I found out, the way my heart shattered into pieces when I realized they were gone.
Why? Why them?
Jack had been next, which, admittedly, I had mixed feelings about. The guy was obnoxious, sure, but he didn't deserve what happened to him. No one did.
And then, the younger kids.
I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. My jaw tightened as I stared at the board, hoping it might finally yield an answer.
The desk beside me was a mess of open notebooks, highlighted textbooks, and scribbled theories. Strings of yarn stretched from Seira's photo to maps, dates, and the few blurry security cam images I'd managed to find. It looked like something out of a crime drama.
But I wasn't a detective. I was just a man trying to rewrite a tragedy I couldn't live through twice.
My phone buzzed on the desk, breaking through my thoughts. I grabbed it, the screen lighting up with a notification:
New Group Chat : "🍕Pizza Cult: Now Recruiting 🍕"
Ferris. It had to be him. Only he could come up with something that absurd.
I clicked it open, skimming the list of participants: Ferris, Ethan, Seira, Aaliyah, and me. The texts were already rolling in.
Aaliyah : Why does this feel so weird ? Who names a group chat "Pizza Cult"?
Ethan : Why do you feel weird ? You could just leave.
Aaliyah : I'm NOT leaving, Ethan. Shut up.
Ethan : 😂 Sure, sure.
A smirk tugged at my lips. Ethan's teasing was relentless, and Aaliyah always rose to the bait.
Seira hadn't said anything yet, her name sitting quietly in the list. No typing indicator. No messages. I glanced back at her photo on the wall, a wave of protectiveness washing over me.
I ran a hand down my face, the frustration building again. I had come back to this time to stop the killer, but I didn't even know who it was. All I had were the fragmented memories of my past life—bits and pieces that didn't add up to anything concrete.
And then there was Jack. Annoying, loud, and constantly picking fights, but somehow still my friend. He'd been the second victim, which hit me harder than I'd expected.
Another buzz pulled me back to the group chat.
Ethan : Bet Ferris started this chat just to waste our time.
Aaliyah : Exactly my point. So why am I still here?
Ferris : Because you love us.
Aaliyah : In your dreams.
I shook my head, letting out a dry laugh. Even in the middle of all this chaos, some things never changed.
Seira was still quiet in the chat. I stared at her name again, my thoughts drifting to the look of fear in her eyes when I'd first learned about the killer's mark.
I wouldn't let that fear become reality again.