The Silent City

Chapter 23

A Close Call

Isabelle’s hands trembled as she pulled out her phone and dialed 911. Her heart was still racing, and she could barely catch her breath as she relayed the situation to the dispatcher.

“There’s a man... in the alley,” she stammered, her voice shaky. “He was choking a girl. I hit him with a stick, and he ran off. Please, you need to send someone right away.”

The dispatcher’s voice was calm, a stark contrast to the storm of fear brewing inside Isabelle. “Stay on the line, ma’am. Officers are on their way. Are you and the other person safe?”

Isabelle glanced at the girl beside her, who was still sobbing, her body shaking with fear. Max stood alert, his eyes trained on the dark alley as if expecting the man to reappear at any moment.

“I think so,” Isabelle replied, her voice wavering. “But please, hurry.”

The wait felt like an eternity, but within minutes, the wail of sirens filled the air, and police cars screeched to a halt at the entrance to the alley. Officers quickly swarmed the area, their flashlights cutting through the darkness as they secured the scene.

One of the officers, a tall woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, approached Isabelle and the girl, her expression softening as she took in their shaken state.

“Are you both okay?” she asked, her voice gentle but firm.

Isabelle nodded, though her legs felt like they could give out at any moment. “I think so. I... I saw him attacking her, and I just... I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” the officer assured her, glancing at the girl, who was still clutching her throat. “We’re going to get you both to safety. Can you tell me what the man looked like?”

Isabelle closed her eyes, trying to recall the details, but the memory was a blur of adrenaline and fear. “He was wearing a mask,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I could only see his eyes. They were... cold. Empty.”

The officer’s jaw tightened, and she exchanged a grim look with her partner. “We’ll take it from here. You’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe now. We’ll make sure of it.”

As the officers continued their investigation, Isabelle and the girl were escorted to a nearby patrol car, where they were given blankets and water. The girl was too shaken to speak, and Isabelle’s mind was racing with the realization of what she had just experienced. That man... could he have been the serial killer? The thought made her stomach churn with fear.

In a dimly lit, secluded corner of the city, the killer slumped against a cold brick wall, his breath ragged and uneven. His head throbbed where Isabelle had struck him, and for the first time in his twisted life, something unfamiliar gnawed at the edges of his mind—doubt.

His gloved hands clenched into fists as he replayed the events of the night. He had her. The girl was right there, defenseless, and yet he had been interrupted, blindsided by that girl and her damn dog. And now, for the first time, he had left a victim alive. Worse, there had been a witness.

He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overtake him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was always in control, always one step ahead. But tonight, that control had slipped through his fingers, and the cold, calculated precision he prided himself on had faltered.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering sense of unease. No, this wasn’t a failure. He would adapt, as he always had. But he couldn’t deny the unfamiliar sensation creeping into his psyche—the feeling that his perfect record, his unassailable anonymity, had been cracked. He would need to be more careful, more ruthless. But for now, he would lay low, watch, and wait.

Isabelle finally reached home, the familiar sight of her house offering a small measure of comfort, though the fear still clung to her like a second skin. She opened the door, Max trotting in beside her, his usual exuberance subdued as if sensing the tension in the air.

Her parents were in the living room, talking in hushed tones when they heard the door creak open. Their faces lit up at the sight of her, but their expressions quickly turned to concern when they noticed her ashen face and trembling hands.

“Isabelle, honey, what’s wrong?” her mother asked, rushing over to her, a worried frown creasing her brow. Her father was right behind her, his hand resting on Isabelle’s shoulder as he looked her over, searching for any signs of injury.

Isabelle swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. “I was out walking Max, and... I heard something in the alley. I thought it was just... I don’t know, maybe a couple arguing, but when I looked, I saw a man... he was attacking a girl. I hit him and... he ran off.”

Her mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my God, Isabelle, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m okay,” Isabelle replied, though her voice was shaky. “But... I think... I think it might have been the killer. The one they’ve been talking about on the news.”

Her father’s face hardened, his protective instincts kicking in. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” Isabelle admitted, her eyes filling with tears. “But... I just have this gut feeling. The way he looked at me... it was like he wasn’t even human.”

Her parents exchanged a worried glance, their expressions mirroring the fear that Isabelle felt deep in her bones. They enveloped her in a protective embrace, and for a moment, Isabelle allowed herself to feel safe. But the memory of those cold, empty eyes lingered, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that the nightmare was far from over.