The files were a mess, scattered across my small desk. I had spent the better part of the evening sifting through the files, my patience thinning with every minute. The dim light of the single lamp above illuminated the scattered papers, creating shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally. I had already gone through most of the files, all offering more questions than answers. Most of it was nonsense that led nowhere. But then, just as I was about to give up, something caught my eye.
At the back of one folder, hidden under what appeared to be financial documents, was a plain sheet of paper. No extra notes or highlighted phrases—just an address. A simple, quiet detail that seemed out of place among the disorganized mess. My chest tightened. I didn't know why, but this address felt significant. It called to me, a whisper in the back of my mind that said this was something I couldn't ignore.
With a sharp breath, I stuffed the file into my bag, grabbed my jacket, and headed out of the apartment. I wasn't about to let this chance slip away.
The address led me to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. It was the kind of place you'd drive past without a second thought—crumbling brick walls, shattered windows, graffiti splattered haphazardly across the surface—the place you'd expect to find only trouble. I hesitated for a moment, eyeing the darkened entrance. My instincts prickled. I wasn't sure if it was fear or anticipation, but something told me this wasn't just another dead-end chase. This place... something was different.
The air felt heavier here, charged with something I couldn't quite name. I reached for my gun, the cool metal a comforting weight in my hand, and stepped inside.
My footsteps echoed as I moved through the empty halls, every corner and shadow seeming to conceal something. The silence was almost suffocating, each creak of the floorboards underfoot loud in the stillness. My senses were on high alert, the faintest sound almost making me reach for her weapon every time. Shadows loomed in every corner, stretching and shifting as if they were alive.
I was examining the room, trying to find anything that could give me answers—a picture, a drug container, anything at this point, that's how desperate I was. I looked ahead when I noticed some crates ahead. They were heavily stacked on each other, what could they mean? I rushed over to check what it could be. Guns? Human parts? That would be disgusting. I picked up one of the crates to open then I saw him.
He was standing near the crates, looking a them. Is he working for them? Is he Nauthers? I reached for my gun pointing it in his direction. I heard him move, I think he noticed my presence.
He stepped out from the shadows, and for a moment, I froze. He was tall, his features sharp but difficult to make out in the dim lighting. But there was something about his eyes—those green eyes. They glowed with an eerie intensity, a kind of sharpness I couldn't look away from. It reminded me of the little boy in the photograph I'd been studying for days.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat. He looked like the man from the photograph I'd spent days staring at, but I needed to be sure.
"You have green eyes," I said, my voice low, and quiet, almost as if I was trying to convince myself. I studied him more closely, the realization hitting me like a jolt. "just like this boy in the photo."
He didn't react right away, just tilted his head slightly as he studied me. Then his gaze shifted to the photo I was holding up. He glanced at it briefly before meeting my eyes again, his expression unreadable.
"I don't know who that is," he said, his voice calm, almost too calm. "Who are you, and why are you here?"
I tightened my grip on my gun, my knuckles aching from the pressure. He didn't flinch. Didn't move a muscle.
"I could ask you the same thing," I shot back, keeping my tone steady. "Who are you, and why are you here?"
I stepped closer, holding up the photograph again. My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "I have a picture with me," I continued, keeping my voice firm. "I think it might be you. Is she your mother?"
For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, recognition, I couldn't tell. But it was enough. He knew something.
Before I could push him further, he moved.
His hand shot toward his gun, and instinct took over. I dove behind a stack of crates as the deafening crack of gunfire shattered the silence. My ears rang, my pulse racing as I pressed myself against the cold, rough wood.
I moved quickly, adrenaline surging through me as I rounded the corner. I felt a sharp pain in my leg. Shit. The bullet grazed me, and now my leg is bleeding.
I ran across the room, seeking shelter behind the crates. I fired my gun as the bullets ricocheted around the room. We went back and forth for a while. I fired my last shot, I felt the bullet hit the target. He shouted from across the pillars he hid behind.
I ran in his direction, knowing the shot would have weakened him but to my surprise, with a sudden burst of energy, he bolted. I ran trying to catch up but he was fast, disappearing into the shadows before I could stop him.
I cursed under my breath, my hands shaking as I lowered my gun. The blood he left behind was thick and dark, pooling on the cold cement floor. I needed to collect a sample of this. I had to be careful he could be waiting for me by my car or worse.
I headed outside, highly conscious of my surroundings. I looked around—nothing. I could not find him. I opened the car grabbed the kit and headed inside.
My hands were steady as I collected the sample, sealing it in a vial before tucking it safely away. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
My leg throbbed as I stood up from the floor. I had to get it treated fast if I didn't want to lose the leg.
As I limped out of the warehouse, my mind raced with a thousand questions. Who was he? Why did he run? And why did I feel like I had just stepped into something far bigger than I could handle?
The pain in my leg was unbearable by the time I got home, but I couldn't afford to think about it. She needed to focus. The swab needed testing, and I'd have to get it to the lab at work. As I cleaned my wound, my phone rang.
Ruby's name flashed across the screen. I picked up quickly, her voice calm, though there was a tight in my chest as I heard the worry in Ruby's voice.
"Khloe," Ruby's voice came through, shaky and scared. "Someone's been watching me. Watching the kids. I—I don't know who it is."
My stomach dropped.
"Are you sure?" I asked.
"Yes, I had noticed them a few days after we met but thought nothing of it" I heard her voice shaking through the phone "but it's gotten worse now. They know where we live, Khloe." The fear in her voice was very evident.
"Ruby, listen to me," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Lock the doors. Don't open them for anyone unless you're expecting someone. I'll speak to the lieutenant, and they will send someone over, maybe put you, and the kids in a safe house. Just stay put."
I hung up, my jaw clenched tight as I dialed the lieutenant's number. He offered to put them in a safe house as the serial killer might be targeting them.
That's what he thought but I know it has something to do with Wilder gone. Maybe they think he's gone into hiding, and kidnapping his family was the only way to get him to come out. I ran my hands through my hair. I should consider a lot of things before killing people. He was my first, so it was sloppy. Unlike Robert's case, which was very well planned.
I have to find whoever that guy is and fast. He is my key to everything now.
The next day, I headed to the lab, my leg still aching with every step. I tried to keep the discomfort hidden as I walked in, I dropped the sample off, telling them to get the results directly to my table.
I headed back to the department, Asher already on my seat.
"What did I say about sitting on my seat," I told him yanking the chair off his butt but he didn't budge.
"Morning to you too" he chuckled getting up from my chair. I saw his eyes go down to my leg. He must have noticed the limp.
"Hey," Asher said, his voice low with concern. "What happened to you?"
I gave him a casual shrug, trying to keep my composure. "It's nothing. Just a small cut."
Asher didn't buy it. "A cut? Khloe, you're limping."
I paused, my gaze meeting his. I could see the worry in his eyes, the subtle way he leaned in closer.
"It's nothing, Asher," I repeated, a little more firmly. "Really. Just... don't worry about it."
But Asher wasn't so easily dismissed. "You're a terrible liar, you know that?"
I cracked a smile, though it didn't reach my eyes. "I'll live."
I had to focus on the task at hand—the blood sample. When the test results came back, they confirmed John Doe's. The name that appeared on the screen was oddly familiar: James Aurielle.
I didn't waste any time. I immediately pulled out my laptop checking for last names high up Aurielle. The image popped up on the screen: Johnathan Aurielle. He owns the biggest fast-food chain in New York right now. Is he his son? What is the son of a billionaire looking for at Wilder's warehouse?
I need to stake out his house. I pulled out his address, heading out of the precinct.
I wonder what relationship both these men had—Wilder and Aurielle. Were they close? They did take a few pictures together and talked from time to time when I stalked him. I sighed as I pulled out of the driveway. At least, I have a lead and am not back to square one. I know one of my problems was solved, and that was getting Ruby and the boys to a safe house. I called from time to time to check up on them.
As I drove to the address, a familiar building came into sight—the Graysons. I had staked the house twice now, nothing out of the ordinary other than his wife crying after every argument, and fight they had, and he's been sleeping with their maid. The haunting image of Mr. Grayson and his wife from the night before came to her mind. I couldn't shake the sound of his fist hitting her, the way his wife crumpled under his weight. It was a flicker of madness, an instinctual drive to take justice into my hands.
I couldn't help but wonder. Was he next? Would he be the one to pay for the horrors he inflicted on those around him? Especially his wife. He doesn't deserve her, none of them do actually.
But for now, all I could do was drive—my mind racing, the road ahead long and uncertain. The investigation had only just begun.
Right now I have to focus on catching the boy in the photo.