I sit in my office, staring at the files scattered across my desk. The pictures of the victims, their names, their stories. There's a sick feeling in my gut that I can't shake. I've been through this routine before, dissecting the details, looking for patterns. But this... this case? It's different. The more I dig, the deeper the hole gets. The more I uncover, the more I feel like I'm chasing a ghost.
"Anything new?" Vera's voice breaks through my thoughts as she steps into the room. She's been my partner for years, and I can tell when she's frustrated. Her eyes are hard, her posture tense. She's been carrying this case almost as much as I have.
I rub my eyes and glance up. "Same pattern. Same age. Same damn note."
She picks up the latest file from the pile and flips through it. "They were all 25, right?"
"Yeah," I mutter, dragging my hand down my face. "But there's more to it than just that. I've been looking through their lives... every one of them had something significant happen when they turned 25. A trauma, a loss, something that changed the direction of their lives."
Vera sits down across from me, eyes narrowing. "You think that's what connects them? These people are all... scarred in some way?"
I nod slowly. "I think it's more than coincidence. But it's not just about the events themselves. It's what happened to them after. It's like the killer's targeting people who had something stolen from them. Something that marked them at 25... and now they want to take it back."
I lean back in my chair, staring at the board on the wall, where I've pinned pictures of the victims, timelines, and notes. The connections are becoming clearer, but not enough. Not yet.
"Which brings us to the next one," Vera says, breaking my concentration. She slides a new file over to me. Jack. The next victim.
Jack's file isn't much. On paper, he seems like any other 25-year-old: college graduate, a job, a few friends. But there's something in the way his history is laid out that doesn't sit right with me. There's a hole, something missing. A lack of information about his family, about his past before he turned 25.
"I don't like this," I mutter, flipping through his background. "There's nothing here. It's like he doesn't exist before a certain point."
Vera picks up the pattern I'm seeing. "His life starts at 25, and before that—nothing. You think he's hiding something?"
I think about it. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe the killer knows something we don't."
The tension in the air thickens. It's hard to breathe in this case. Hard to keep moving forward when every step I take feels like I'm falling deeper into some twisted hole. But I can't stop now. Jack's not the kind of guy to slip through the cracks. He's not going to be like the others. The killer won't give me that easy.
---
The next few days are a blur of interviews, digging through social media profiles, and checking security footage. I start learning more about Jack, about the people in his life, about his habits. But nothing sticks. He looks like a regular guy—friendly, outgoing, the kind of person you'd barely notice in a crowd.
But then, just as I start to feel like I'm making headway, something catches my eye.
It's an old photo, buried deep in Jack's social media account. It's from five years ago, just before his 25th birthday. He's with a woman, a woman who's smiling and holding his hand like they're about to take on the world together. But something in the picture feels off. There's a sadness behind Jack's eyes—an emptiness. Like he's been broken before, but we're only now seeing it.
I zoom in on the woman. Her face is familiar, but I can't place her. But there's something more than just the photo. It's the way Jack's posture slumps, the way his smile doesn't reach his eyes. It's like the weight of the world is already on his shoulders.
"Got something?" Vera's voice pulls me back to the present.
I hold up the phone, showing her the picture. "This is from just before his 25th birthday. He's with a woman—she looks like she meant something to him. But there's no trace of her in his recent life. It's like she vanished."
Vera looks at the picture, her brow furrowed. "Maybe that's the key. Maybe she's part of whatever happened to him. Maybe it's part of the trauma that led to his death."
I feel a chill run down my spine. We're getting closer. But I can't shake the feeling that this killer's playing us like a game. Every move we make, they've already anticipated. Every step we take, they're always one step ahead.
---
That night, I get the call. Jack's been found. Just like the others. Brutally murdered. His body left in the same state as the others, blood pooling around him, a note left beside him.
"The Scarlet Confession: 25 years, 25 dead."
My blood runs cold as I stare at the words, knowing this isn't over. It's only just begun. Jack wasn't just another victim—he was a part of something much bigger. The killer's pattern is becoming clearer, but the motive is still elusive. The trauma the killer carries, it's too personal, too deeply embedded.
I can feel the tension building. The pieces are coming together, but there's one thing I know for sure: this killer isn't after just any 25-year-old. They're after something deeper, something unresolved. And I'm not going to stop until I find out exactly what that is.
But the more I dig, the more I realize—this killer isn't just telling us a story. They're trying to rewrite it.