The Devil In Disguise

Unraveled

The December night was bone-chilling, but Gianina hardly felt the cold. She sat in her car, the heater off, her breaths coming in shaky bursts as sobs wracked her chest. Hot tears streamed down her face, turning icy in the frigid air and nearly freezing to her skin. Her hands clenched the steering wheel before releasing, and, in a fit of raw anger, she began pounding her fists against the dashboard. Each impact echoed her heartbreak, her confusion, her sense of betrayal.

It couldn't be real. It just couldn't. But every piece of evidence pointed in the same, devastating direction. The boy she had loved, the boy who'd been by her side through thick and thin, was the killer who'd been picking off her friends. The horrific irony was suffocating.

"Why?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper in the empty car. "Why, Cal?"

There was no logic to his actions, nothing that fit the friend she once thought she knew. If Cal had feelings for her, why hadn't he just told her? Why hadn't he tried to win her over if that was what he wanted? Why the sick, twisted game? She could barely understand how he'd gone from friend to monster. And the more she thought about it, the more her heart shattered. Cal had killed Jamie, a friend since middle school. He'd killed Jordan, a girl he'd once claimed to love, a girl with whom he'd shared memories, even secrets. Destiny, with her quick wit and warmth—why her?

Gianina's thoughts tangled, her chest aching as she tried to wrap her mind around it all. How could someone who seemed so loyal and kind have become this? The taunts, the flirtation, the strange obsession all fit, but the murders? The brutality of it, the violence—it was like she'd never known Cal at all.

She leaned her head back, wiping her eyes, trying to still the fury simmering inside her. She needed answers. She needed to understand why.

The sharp sound of sirens jolted her from her daze. Bright flashing lights bathed the area in red and blue, and moments later, a flood of police officers and detectives surged out of the precinct. Gianina stiffened, watching as Detective Marcum, the male detective, approached her car.

"Miss Holloway," he began, his voice low but urgent. "We're about to release Cal."

Gianina's heart stilled, then pounded harder. She stared at the detective, her shock giving way to confusion and a surge of anger. "Release him? How can you release him? He's the killer!"

Detective Marcum glanced away, his expression tense. "There's new evidence. Rufus's mother was murdered tonight by the same killer."

Her mind reeled, unable to comprehend. "What are you talking about? That's impossible. Cal was in jail. He has to be the killer. There's no way this could've happened..."

Detective Marcum sighed, his tone measured. "Cal was here, in holding, all night. He couldn't have done it."

Gianina shook her head, refusing to accept it. "No. That doesn't make sense! You had the suit, the mask, Jordan's blood—everything pointed to him."

"Listen, we're starting to believe the evidence was planted to frame him," Marcum replied, sympathy in his voice. "The tip, the placement, the timing—it's all too convenient."

Gianina's hands dropped to her sides, her mind racing. If Cal was innocent... Her stomach twisted as she remembered the anger and betrayal in his eyes during their last conversation. How was she supposed to face him now? She had accused him, turned on him in his darkest hour.

But even as her resolve weakened, one thought clawed at her. How did Cal know what the killer had whispered to her? How did he know that phrase?

Cal's shadowed figure approached from the precinct's entrance. His eyes caught the streetlight briefly, flashing with something she couldn't decipher—a blend of anger, hurt, and a glint of something almost predatory. He moved with a new kind of stillness, an eerie calm that unsettled her as he slid into the driver's seat.