23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

RICHARD

Frustration courses through me like a live wire as I navigate the darkened streets leading to Hollowbrook. The call with Luna has left me on edge, and in retaliation I grip the steering wheel tightly, feeling the strain in my hands.

I dial Emily. When she finally picks up, I cut straight to the chase. “Emily, did you trace the location of Luna’s call?”

There’s a moment of hesitation before she responds. “Yeah, it traces back to her hometown in Hollowbrook.”

I slam my palm against the steering wheel. “Fuck!” The expletive escapes my lips, a raw manifestation of my mounting irritation. Colton, sitting beside me, shoots me a concerned glance, but I’m too absorbed in my own turmoil to notice.

“Rick, maybe you’re overthinking this,” Colton suggests. “Maybe Luna really is back home.”

I shake my head vehemently. “No, Colton, she’s not. She’s being held against her will. This is a distraction, a ploy to draw our attention away from her real situation.”

Colton frowns, clearly not convinced. “It could just be a coincidence, Rick. People go home all the time, and weird stuff happens.”

“It’s not just a coincidence. Luna doesn’t just vanish for hours and then conveniently call from her hometown. Not when she’s been acting strange, and definitely not with a dead body involved. It’s a setup. Someone’s orchestrating this, making it look like she’s safe and sound, so we stop looking.”

Noah, chiming in from the backseat, interjects, “That makes no sense. Why kidnap her if not to hurt her?”

“I don’t know. But one thing’s for sure – whoever has her isn’t doing it to inflict harm. There’s another motive at play here.”

“So, you’re saying this kidnapper is some kind of moral person? Kidnapping for a cause?”

I keep driving, but my mind starts to wander. The conversation with Izel keeps replaying in my head, every word, every expression etched into my memory. I try to shake it off, focusing on the road ahead.

“Noah, when did the killings in Hollowbrook stop?” I ask, piecing together the fragmented clues in my mind.

Noah frowns, thinking back. “About six years ago. That’s when the Hollowbrook Butcherer stopped. Around the same time, Billy Brooke started his spree in the next town over. And then there was Slasher, who appeared about two years ago, right when Brooke stopped. Ghostface Striker showed up as soon as Slasher stopped.”

“You think it’s possible that all these murderers are the same person? I mean, the timing is too perfect. One stops, and another starts almost immediately.”

Colton, leaning back in his seat, shakes his head. “That’s a long shot. Serial killers have distinct patterns, MOs. It’s rare for them to switch up their methods so drastically.”

Noah interjects, “Wait, wait, wait. First, your speculation was that they were connected. Now you’re suggesting it’s the same person?”

“Think about it,” I say, the pieces starting to fall into place. “Izel was in Hollowbrook when the killings started. She was in Boston when Billy Brooke went on his rampage. She was in Seattle during Slasher’s reign. And now she’s in Virginia, right when Ghostface Striker broke free. And it’s mighty convenient how the killings stopped when she was brought under witness protection.”

“So if we go by your theory, the killer is someone who’s been close to Izel this whole time?”

I nod slowly, feeling a pang of regret for speaking my thoughts out loud. “Exactly. And I might have an idea who it is.”

I pull out my phone and dial Emily. She picks up on the second ring. “Emily, I need you to find any information you can about a guy named Will.”

“Will who?” Emily asks, clearly confused.

I realize with a jolt that I didn’t get enough information from Izel. “Just look for all the Wills in Hollowbrook. It’s a start.”

Noah, looking bewildered, asks, “Who is Will?”

“He’s Izel’s father,” I reply, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

Why am I even suspecting Will? Maybe because I want to avoid working on the Striker case and instead focus on finding Will and making him pay for what he did to Izel. Or maybe because my instincts are screaming that he’s connected somehow.

Colton lets out a low whistle. “So, we’re suspecting that the killer, closely related to Izel, is her father?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “It would explain her sending those letters. Makes sense if she’s warning me without getting too close.” I look at Noah, waiting for his reaction.

He furrows his brows, shaking his head. “That makes no sense, Rick. She was with you in your home for days. If her father’s involved, why didn’t she just say something?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “You remember what I said before, Noah? About suspecting that the person sending those letters might be someone who’s being threatened? She couldn’t say anything because she’s terrified. Izel mentioned her father tried to kill her before. Maybe this is his way of keeping her in line.”

“Or it’s Izel herself.”

“No, it’s not Izel,” I say firmly, looking at them both. “And it’s not because I care about her. Our unsub craves dominance. Izel… she’s not like that. She’s submissive by nature.”

Colton snorts, rolling his eyes. “More information than we needed, Rick.”

He might be joking, but I can tell he’s on the same page as me. We both know Izel doesn’t fit the profile. But Noah’s got that look on his face like he’s recalling something, piecing together a memory.

“We can’t just rule out the possibility that our unsub could be a woman. Dominance isn’t exclusive to men.”

He’s got a point, even if I don’t want to admit it. I’ve been sorting through it while keeping my personal feelings in check. But Noah’s right—our assumptions could be leading us down the wrong path. Izel might not fit the profile, but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t be the one we’re after.

I try to push the thought away, but it lingers. Could Izel be involved? She has been at the center of every major killing spree. But suspecting her feels wrong.

It’s not just that I’m in love with her—though, yeah, that definitely makes me want to give her the benefit of the doubt. The real reason is that the victims are all girls, and while they fit the age range, Izel doesn’t have a solid motive to be behind all this. So, while Noah’s theory stings, it doesn’t fit neatly with what we know about Izel.

I glance at Colton and Noah. They’re waiting for me to say something, to offer some clarity in this murky situation. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We’ll keep investigating, follow the evidence wherever it leads. For now, we need to focus on finding Luna and making sure she’s safe.”

Just then, my phone rings. It’s Wilson. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way to Hollowbrook. Luna’s phone was last traced there.”

“Luna has been found?”

“Well, not exactly,” I admit. “She lied about being on a holiday. I think she’s been taken, and whoever has her is trying to cover their tracks.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line before Wilson speaks again. “I need you back at the bureau. We have to focus on the Striker case. This is a critical time, and we can’t afford any distractions.”

“Wilson, I understand the urgency, but Luna’s life is on the line. We can’t just abandon her.”

“You’re not abandoning her,” Wilson counters. “We have other teams who can follow up on her disappearance. Right now, your priority is the Striker case. It’s bigger than any one person, even Luna.”

“Wilson, I really think—”

“You’ve got your orders,” Wilson cuts me off sharply. The call ends with a decisive click.

I bang my hand on the steering wheel in frustration, the horn blaring briefly. Colton and Noah exchange worried glances as I make a sharp U-turn, heading back towards Virginia. Every second driving away from Hollowbrook feels like a betrayal of Luna.

“Sick bastard,” I mutter under my breath.

Wilson might be the boss, but his callous disregard for Luna’s safety grates on my nerves. I want to scream, to let out the pent-up rage coursing through my veins. But I know better. The hierarchy demands obedience, and my personal feelings come second to the bureau’s agenda.

The office door swings open, and I step inside. Files are scattered across my desk, and Noah, Colton, and Emily circle me like vultures sensing a fresh kill. I shrug off my jacket and loosen my tie. The Ghostface Striker case file sits ominously on my desk.

“Emily, any leads on Will?”

Emily looks up from her laptop. “Yeah, only about five thousand eight hundred and nineteen possibilities. ‘Will’ isn’t exactly a unique name.”

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Fine, get me the list.”

As she starts compiling the information, I pull out my phone and dial Izel’s number. It rings, and rings, and rings. No answer. Damn it, Izel. Why now? I need leads, and she’s the key to finding Will. But bringing her in for questioning isn’t an option. If Wilson gets wind of my speculation, he’ll rush to close the case and pin it on Izel. The man’s more interested in a quick resolution than the truth.

“Alright, let’s start from the beginning,” I declare. “Angie Swayer was the first victim. We need to build our case from there.”

Noah raises an eyebrow. “Why start with Angie? There have been other victims since then.”

“Because Angie Swayer holds the key. Ghostface Striker’s M.O. started with her.”

“So, what’s the plan, boss? Dig into Angie’s life and see what comes up?” Colton asks.

“Exactly. I want everything on Angie Swayer. Her friends, her family, her enemies, her goddamn pets. We need to know every detail, every connection. Ghostface Striker left a breadcrumb trail, and it starts with her.”

“I’ll pull up her online presence, social media, emails, the whole deal. We might find something that slipped through the cracks,” Emily interjects.

“While Emily is at it, I want the files for the Hollowbrook killer, Slasher and Billy Brooke’s case,” I declare.

Emily shoots me a skeptical look. “You think our Ghostface Striker is a copycat?”

“No, I think it’s the same person.”

“How is that possible? Billy Brooke was incarcerated, and later found dead in his cell after he confessed to the murders.”

I lean back in my chair with my fingers steepled. “I think he was forced to do so.”

“Rick, this is a long shot. Also, why do you even suspect it's the same person?”

Noah signals Emily to follow him. “Come on, I’ll explain everything,” he says, leading her out of the office.

I focus on the crime scene photos from Angie Swayers’ case. Colton returns, carrying the files I requested, and places them on my desk.

“Here you go,” he says, sitting down across from me. “Let’s see if your theory holds any water.”

I start lining up the files, sorting through them with a focus that only comes from desperation.

“Any follow-up leads from those letters we released to the media?” I ask, not looking up.

Colton shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing useful. Just a bunch of nutjobs and attention seekers.”

Fuck. I was hoping for a hit, something to point us in the right direction. But if I go with my gut which is telling me that Izel’s father is somehow tied to all this—then there’s a good chance she’s being forced into protecting him. That would explain why — if —she’s sending those letters anonymously, trying to give us a nudge without blowing up her own life.

I pull open the files I’ve got on her on my desktop and slide the letter from the drawer. No records of any physical documents where I can compare the handwriting on the letter to something official.

Colton probably notices what I’m doing and narrows his eyes. “What are you up to, Rick?”

“You said during your visit to Hollowbrook that Izel’s school records checked out, right?” I ask instead of answering.

“Yeah, they did. Why?”

“Pull them up,” I say, already moving things around on my desk to make room. “I want to take a look.”

Colton pulls out his phone and opens his email, scrolling through until he finds what I’m asking for. He hands it over to me, and I start going through the documents.

There’s a handwritten enrollment form.

Colton’s still watching me, and his confusion starts turning into concern. “What the hell are you doing?”

I don’t answer. I’m too busy comparing the slant of the letters, the loops, and the pressure on the paper. The handwriting is not a match.

Well, that was a whole lot of nothing. Part of me was really hoping Izel was just another victim, not an accomplice or something worse.

Colton is still looking at me, clearly expecting an explanation. I owe him one, but the words are stuck in my throat. Instead of giving him the answer he’s waiting for, I just hand him his phone back.

“Rick?” Colton presses, but I’m already turning my attention back to the files, and thankfully he lets it go.

I start comparing the cases. The weapon of choice in all four cases was a knife. Not exactly groundbreaking in the world of serial killers, but it’s a start. A commonality that screams for attention.

I dive into the Slasher case file, scanning through the details. The wood identified as the handle material catches my eye – snakewood. A rare, distinctive type of wood that narrows down the possibilities. But here’s the thing – I don’t have the wood samples from the other three cases to compare side by side.

My fingers tap against the desk. Except for Izel what is that one thing that ties these cases together? The knife, yes, but there has to be more. A pattern, a motive, something that links the victims beyond the brutality of their deaths.

I’m engrossed in my investigation, wrestling with the threads of the Ghostface Striker case, when Emily bursts into my office. She thrusts a laptop into my hands.

“Rick, you have to look at this,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow, taking the laptop from her. As my attention shifts to the screen, my eyes lock onto a Facebook memorial page for Angie Swayer. The image that greets me sends a shock through my system, freezing me in place.

“What the fuck...” I mutter under my breath.