Petals Fall Once, Never Twice | ONC24

Epilogue: Letter.

Detective Thompson stormed into his office, his steps heavy with frustration. With a forceful slam, he shut the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the room and rattling the windows in their frames.

"Fuck!" he shouted, pounding his fists against his desk.

Months of relentless investigation had led nowhere. Each lead turned out to be a dead end, leaving him feeling defeated and drained. The elusive serial murderer seemed to taunt him from the shadows, slipping through his fingers time and time again. It was a maddening game of cat and mouse, and Thompson was running out of patience.

He couldn't shake the nagging question from his mind: was this truly the calculated vengeance of a simple, scorned woman or the meticulous work of a seasoned serial killer? The lines between the two blurred with each day, leaving him grasping at straws in a maze of uncertainty.

With a heavy sigh, he sank into his chair, the weight of the case bearing down on him like a ton of bricks. His shoulders slumped forward as he stared at the clutter of files surrounding him, each one a reminder of the countless hours spent chasing empty leads. Overwhelmed, he buried his face in his hands, seeking solace from the relentless barrage of unanswered questions.

The elusive nature of their suspect was nothing short of frustrating. She seemed to possess an uncanny ability to evade detection, slipping through their fingers time and time again. She knew when to avoid the cameras, when to keep her head down, and when to strike. It was clear that she meticulously scoped out each crime scene in advance, carefully planning her every move to minimize the risk of being caught.

She always changed her features and disguise and adapted her demeanor to her surroundings, making it nearly impossible to track her down. It was as if she had mastered the art of invisibility, slipping through the cracks of their investigation with ease.

Each time they thought they had a lead based on physical characteristics, it would crumble under scrutiny. Most, if not all, of the information they gathered failed to align. Shoe sizes, body measurements, facial attributes—all of it was inconsistent across crime scenes. 

It was akin to chasing shadows; you knew they were there, and you could see them, but try as you might, you couldn't grasp them.

Thompson heaved a sigh, massaging his forehead. His gaze wandered upward, drawn to an unfamiliar, red envelope that had found its way onto his cluttered desk. It smelled of roses and scribbled on its surface was a single line: "To the ones who failed me."

The detective sprung up, his heart racing as he shakily tore it open.

"Hello, detective.

I'm the girl who was kidnapped and raped by five men.

I have executed my judgment on my rapists, and I've sentenced them to death. I couldn't rely on you to deliver the justice these monsters deserved, since you've failed me more than you should. I had to take matters into my own hands and deliver my form of justice to my assailants. I couldn't rely on you to ensure they faced the consequences they deserved.

They extinguished my dreams, desecrated my body, and shattered my soul. They stripped away even the faintest glimmer of happiness and joy from my existence. I was left hollow, a mere shell of a person. I continue to exist but without purpose or vitality. It's as if I'm merely going through the motions of life, devoid of true feeling or emotion. 

Perhaps this is how zombies are made.

You may not be aware, but allow me to enlighten you. I sought help from the police the moment my violated body was discarded on the sidewalk, after enduring three agonizing days that gnawed away at my sanity. I turned to you, hoping for solace and justice, only to be met with indifference and disrespect. My emotions and mental state were dismissed, and I was treated as an inconvenience, an unwanted burden to be dealt with.