PREYS AT PLAY

9 │PERSISTENCE

VERENA

Heavy rain, accompanied by thunder turned the sky darker than normally. I keep twisting and turning in my bed, unable to get some peaceful rest. When I grow tired of forcing myself to fall asleep, I decide to do something more productive instead and begin braiding my hair in a protective style, using the box braids I purchased a while ago. Sure, I'll be tired in the morning, but at least my hair will look great.

With one last look into the mirror at the final result, I get into bed again. A light headache is spreading from one side of my head to the other and my eyes are burning, yet I still can't fall asleep. I'm either stressed or this is due to the tightness of the braids against my scalp.

I close my eyes anyway. At this point I'm waiting for my alarm to go off, so that I can start the day. Focusing on my alarm somehow makes me doze off, only to get woken up by the elevator-music I've set as my tone.

The sky is still dark, though it's already seven o'clock. When I reach for my phone, the dozens of message notifications make me rub my blurry eyes. I put on my glasses and click on one of the messages. I've been added into a group chat and almost every other member is unknown to me.

Their numbers are not saved under my contacts, none except for Amy's and Tommy's. Scrolling back to the top would take me a whole day to get through reading everything, so I try to connect the dots based on the ones I do manage to read.

I roll to my side and continue until I come across a couple of pictures that make me shoot up into a sitting position. Pictures of the crime scene and the latest victim's body have leaked and are shared in this chat. I have spent the last few days trying to look for anything on this case and everything was a dead end until now.

How did this person get their hands on these.

My stomach turns as I scroll through the pictures. The scene isn't bloody, as a matter of fact it's as clean as a dumpster can be. The victim's body shows marks around his neck, showing that he was strangled. And that face of his is completely burned, black like coal— beyond recognition. Same goes for his fingertips.

Why would the killer go through all this trouble when the police would still end up identifying the victim? What is his strategy. So far, every victim has been murdered in a different way and even though the killer doesn't dispose of the bodies, they never go to this length to try to erase a victim's identity.

I take my notebook and scribble down any details that my eyes cover. It takes me a while to study the gruesome photo's. Suddenly, another text appears at the top of my screen, which catches my attention.

..98554: 'Do you think he did it?',

My finger clicks on it before I allow myself to think of who they might be referring to. No one answers this question, but then the same person sends another picture of the victim's body. This one is clearer, taken more up-close and shows the victim without his shirt. The word Persistence is carved into his skin.

A whirlwind of speculation takes over the chat and I can't keep up with the messages. And when sharing their opinions on whether or not Dr. Xavier is the culprit, in the chat, doesn't bring them the attention they need, they move onto the other social media platforms.

Within a matter of minutes these speculations become the talk of the day. Students who don't even take his classes share their so-called experience with this man in videos of seconds, some of minutes, which upon analyzation don't make sense at all. They just want to ride the wave; to belong.

When Dr. Xavier formally informs us via e-mail that class is once again cancelled, it only feeds further into the speculations. An empty feeling sits deep within me, maybe I'm hungry or maybe I'm displeased that the solving of this mystery didn't fulfill my expectations. I've spent a significant amount of time playing detective, convinced that it's for the greater good, yet now that there's an actual lead on this case, I feel let down.