Chapter 29

The flickering glow of the laptop screen bathed the room in an eerie light as I leaned over the police report spread out on the kitchen table. The rest of the house was shrouded in darkness, save for the muted luminescence from the living room where Matt lay sprawled on the couch, the noise of the television seeping through the walls like a distant murmur.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of fatigue pressing down on me. A glance at the clock confirmed it was well past midnight. Yet, there was no sleep for me—not with Nicki Andersson"s case files splayed before me, demanding attention.

A residual scent of roasted garlic and thyme lingered in the air, remnants of the hastily assembled dinner I"d managed to cobble together for the kids. The younger ones had succumbed to sleep"s embrace hours ago, their gentle breathing now part of the house"s nighttime symphony.

Earlier in the evening, a call with Olivia had been a balm to my spirit. Brimming with collegiate excitement, her voice reminded me of life beyond these four walls and the grueling cases that occupied my mind. She spoke of new friends and the sprawling campus of UCF with such vivacity that I could almost forget the pang of her absence.

Now, with everyone settled and the house quiet, the reality of my solitude crept in. I turned back to the photographs, eyes scanning the graphic tableau of Nicki"s final moments. The stark white of the coroner"s marker stood out against the deep crimson that marred the scene.

Something felt wrong—off-kilter. Nicki"s body position and the way her limbs were arranged were all too familiar. An uncomfortable chill traced its way up my spine as I shuffled through other images, hunting for the one that would confirm my suspicions.

There, amidst the chaos of papers, was Steven Chapman"s death scene. My breath hitched as I placed the two side by side. The resemblance was uncanny—the same unnaturally twisted posture and deliberate placement of hands and feet.

The discrepancy that had nagged at me earlier now screamed for recognition. How her body was laid out didn"t match the pattern of blood splatter on the wall and floor behind her. The angles were all wrong, like a jigsaw puzzle forced together without regard for the intended picture. The gun in her hand didn't seem natural. It was placed.

My gaze shifted between Nicki and Steven"s photos, darting from one detail to the next. They weren't just similar—they were identical. The realization hit like a bucket of ice water; the implication of what lay before me was as undeniable as it was horrifying.

Goosebumps rose on my arms, each one a silent testament to the fear that now gripped me. A patterned killer was at large, moving among us with chilling precision. What dark motive drove them to replicate this morbid scene?

With a suddenness that startled even myself, I swept the files into a neat stack, the sharp snap of paper echoing in the stillness. Determination hardened within me like steel. This killer relied on silence, on the shadows that hid their gruesome work. But I would be the light that exposed them, the relentless force that would bring an end to their macabre dance of death.

Matt"s soft snore punctuated the quiet, a grounding reminder of the normalcy that lay just beyond this table. But for now, I was tethered to this world of secrets and shadows, bound by a promise to the silent victims whose voices cried out for justice.

There was work to be done, and I would not rest until the killer was found. Each photograph and report was now a piece of a larger, sinister puzzle, and I was determined to put it together, no matter the cost.