The Mindf*ck Series

Chapter 1

𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦.
- 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘦

𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗔𝗡

“I don’t understand why he let her go. It clashes severely with his profile,” I tell Craig as we pull up to the police station. “A sexual sadist who has been on a killing spree doesn’t just release a victim.”

“I don’t know either. The girl is so traumatized that she wouldn’t let them bring her to us. She said we had to come here, and she’d only talk to you. Her father hasn’t even been allowed in yet. She said she couldn’t speak to him until she spoke to you.”

Confused, I walk quickly into the police station, leaving the introductions to Craig. Why leave her in this town? Why let her go at all?

A thousand questions are flitting through my mind as I walk into the room they’re holding her in. She’s shaking, her eyes wide and panicked, and a blanket is draped around her.

Three men and one woman are in there, all of them giving her a wide berth. She’s terrified, understandably so, and has most likely already had several panic attacks if someone got too close.

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent Bennett,” I say softly, trying to keep my tone warm and non-imposing.

Her eyes dart to mine, and immediately she starts sobbing. Everyone looks as confused as me.

“He…told…me…to contact you…just you,” she says through her sobs. “He said I couldn’t show anyone until…you…No one but you.”

I’m at a loss, carefully taking a step forward.

“Show me what, Erica?” I ask her, gingerly crouching in front of her, making myself appear smaller, less threatening.

“This,” she says, moving the blanket and tugging up her skirt to reveal.her inner thigh that is bandaged. Blood has seeped through the bandage, and I look at the female officer closest to me.

“She wouldn’t let us check her. She refused until you arrived,” she says, answering my silent question.

Erica tears at the bandage, pulling it off, and I see the words he’s carved into her skin.

𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘚𝘈𝘍𝘌.

There’s even a period.

It makes no sense at all.

“Did he tell you where he was going?” I ask her.

She’s a sobbing mess, shaking her head. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t follow his orders. Said he’d come back for me. He took me once; he could take me again. Told me to follow his orders precisely, and he’d let me live.”

“And he ordered you to show me this?” I ask, still trying to follow her.

“Yes. To get you here and show you this. That’s all I had to do, and he’d let me live.”

She’s crying so hard that it’s hard to understand her words, but I think I understand her well enough to spare her more questions. She’s not fit to be interviewed right now.