The evening air was thick with tension when the call came in. It was Officer Kyle Harris who answered first, his voice tightening as he scribbled down the details.
"Got it," he said, hanging up the phone. He turned to Detective Marcus Hayes and Chief Walter Garrison, who were going over case files in the precinct's war room. "We've got a report of a strange smell coming from the old St. Matthew's Church. Locals think something's dead in there."
Marcus shot a glance at the Chief. "Could be nothing. Could be something."
"Let's treat it like it's something," Garrison said. "Hayes, take the lead. Michaels, you're with him."
Jane Michaels had been sitting at her desk, still distracted by the weight of the rose and note from the previous day. She looked up, her stomach knotting at the mention of her name.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Possible scene at St. Matthew's," Marcus replied.
Jane nodded, grabbing her coat and following the team out. She didn't know why, but her gut told her this wouldn't be an ordinary call.
By the time Jane and Marcus arrived, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the abandoned church in eerie shadows. The crumbling structure loomed like a ghost from the past, its broken stained-glass windows staring back at them like empty eyes.
Several squad cars were already parked outside, their flashing lights painting the scene in harsh red and blue. Officers had cordoned off the area, but a small crowd of curious onlookers had gathered, whispering in hushed tones.
"Smells awful," Marcus muttered, pulling his jacket tighter against the chill.
Jane caught it too—a sickly sweet stench that clung to the air like a parasite. She exchanged a look with Marcus.
"Let's go," she said.
Inside, the church was a shell of its former self. Pews were overturned, cobwebs hung like shrouds, and the faint sound of dripping water echoed through the space. But the smell was unmistakable, growing stronger with every step.
"Over here!" Officer Harris's voice cut through the silence, guiding them toward the altar.
As Jane approached, she felt her pulse quicken. The body—a woman in her late twenties—was laid out on the altar like some macabre offering. She was dressed in a wedding gown, her hands folded neatly over her chest. A single red rose rested atop her, its vibrant color in stark contrast to the pallor of her skin.
But it wasn't the body that stopped Jane in her tracks. It was the note, propped up on a small stand next to the corpse, her name written on the envelope in an elegant, looping script.
"Jane," Marcus called softly, holding the note out to her. "This is for you."
The room seemed to freeze as every officer turned to watch her. Jane took the note with trembling hands, her breath catching in her throat.
"Go ahead," Marcus said, his voice laced with concern.
Jane opened the envelope, the paper inside crisp and folded with precision. The handwriting was the same as before—neat, deliberate, and chillingly personal.
The Letter
"My Dearest Jane,"
"Did you love the rose I sent? I chose it just for you. So pure, so perfect—like you. My favorite bride."
"I've watched you for so long, Jane. You're the one I've been waiting for. The others were merely practice, but you... you'll be my masterpiece."
"Will you wear white when it's your turn? Will you smile for me when I place the rose on your chest?"
"I'll see you soon, my love."
"Always yours,"
"The Bridegroom"
The room erupted into chaos as soon as Jane finished reading.
"Jesus Christ," Kyle muttered, running a hand through his hair.
Chief Garrison's face hardened. "We need this church locked down. No one gets in or out until we've swept the place."
Marcus stepped closer to Jane, his expression a mix of anger and concern. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
Jane nodded, but her hands were still shaking. "I'm fine," she lied.
"Fine?" Marcus echoed, his voice rising slightly. "Jane, this psycho just called you his 'favorite bride.' This isn't fine."
Kyle approached, his usual confidence replaced with unease. "Detective, this guy knows you. This is personal."
"I know," Jane said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Garrison stepped in, his tone authoritative. "Michaels, you're stepping back from this case."
Jane's head snapped up. "What? No! I'm not letting him scare me off."
"This isn't up for debate," Garrison said firmly. "You're too close to this now. He's targeting you, and that puts you—and everyone else—at risk."
Jane opened her mouth to argue, but Marcus placed a hand on her shoulder. "Jane, he's right. We'll catch him. But you need to be safe."
Jane's jaw tightened, but she knew they were right.
As the forensic team arrived to process the scene, Jane stood to the side, watching as they worked. The victim's face was eerily calm, as if she had no idea what was coming.
Kyle joined her, his hands shoved into his pockets. "You think this guy's been following you?"
Jane nodded slowly. "He knows too much. The rose on my doorstep, the letters... it's like he's been in my head."
Kyle frowned. "What about Nathaniel? Has he said anything?"
The mention of Nathaniel made Jane's stomach churn. She thought about the book, the passages that mirrored the killer's methods. Could he be involved?
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Maybe you should talk to him," Kyle suggested. "See if he's noticed anything suspicious."
Jane hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to confront Nathaniel with her suspicions, but she knew Kyle was right.
As the night wore on, the scene at the church was wrapped up, but the tension lingered. Jane drove home in silence, her mind replaying the killer's words over and over.
"Will you wear white when it's your turn?"
The question haunted her, sticking to her thoughts like a dark shadow.
When she arrived home, she found another note waiting on her doorstep. Her hands trembled as she opened it, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Goodnight, my bride. Sleep well."
Jane's blood ran cold. The game was far from over, and the Bride Killer was just getting started.