The Darkest Hour

Chapter 4: Echoes of the Past

Back at the precinct, the photos from Clara's apartment lay spread out on the desk in front of me, each image a snapshot of violence and control. But it was the message on the wall, I remember you, that gnawed at me. Damon watched from across the room, his eyes sharp as he studied me. It was irritating—and distracting.

"Any idea why he'd think you'd remember him?" he asked, crossing his arms, the casual stance doing nothing to soften his intensity.

I didn't answer right away. Truth was, there were memories I'd long buried. Memories I'd sworn to forget. But this killer was digging into parts of me I wasn't prepared to unearth, and the frustration burned beneath my skin.

"Look," I finally said, more to myself than to Damon. "I've been through enough cases that there's no telling who he could be. We're looking for someone who knew me—someone who knew Clara."

Damon nodded, then turned to the board, his gaze shifting between the photos like he was piecing together a puzzle. "Let's focus on what we have. Clara was close to you once, yeah? Maybe she wasn't his only target. Anyone else who would fit his pattern?"

The question felt like a slap to the face, but he was right. If Clara was a link to my past, there could be others. I scanned the faces in the photos, searching for connections, details I might have overlooked. Then it hit me—a familiar face from years ago, a case where I'd testified. A small-time gang leader I'd put away for attempted murder, someone whose territory had overlapped with Clara's. The idea left a bitter taste in my mouth.

"There is one person," I said, reluctantly. "His name is Evan Marshall. I testified against him years ago. He'd have known Clara—he was from her neighborhood."

Damon's eyes narrowed. "What happened to him?"

I gave him a dry smile. "Released three months ago. Reduced sentence for 'good behavior.'"

Damon's expression darkened. "Sounds like our guy."

"Maybe. But he was barely more than a pawn in the system, running small-time jobs. If he's responsible, he's had a change of heart—and tactics."

"Or maybe he's working for someone bigger," Damon suggested, pacing around the room as he pieced it together. "Someone who knew Clara, who wanted her out of the picture. Someone who thinks you're next."

His words hung in the air, twisting like smoke. If it wasn't Marshall, then who was it? And why now?

Before I could respond, Captain Morris stepped into the room, holding a fresh case file. "New developments," he announced. "Another body was found this morning."

My heart plummeted, the reality of the situation crashing down. "Same pattern?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

Morris nodded grimly, handing over the file. "This one is... worse. The killer left another message, and it's directly addressed to you this time, Olivia."

I opened the file, feeling Damon's gaze burn into me as I skimmed the details. The photo showed another victim, eyes wide with terror. Written above her, scrawled in that same haunting red, were the words: I'm closer than you think.

A chill ran down my spine, a creeping dread that felt almost familiar. Like I'd known it all along, and only now was it making itself known. Damon peered over my shoulder, his voice a low rumble. "He's taunting you. Trying to draw you in."

"Well, he's doing a damn good job of it," I replied, snapping the file shut. My mind was racing, filling with half-formed memories, faces I'd long forgotten. "He's using them to get to me. This is personal. And he's escalating."

Damon didn't flinch. "Then let's give him what he wants."

I looked at him, my brow furrowing. "What exactly do you mean by that?"

"He wants you in the game. Wants to drag you back to something you'd rather leave behind. So let's play along. We make him think he's winning, like he's controlling every move." Damon's gaze was steely, his voice cold and certain. "Then, we flip it on him."

I studied him for a moment, unsure whether to trust his confidence or call it reckless. "You think he'll fall for that?"

Damon smirked. "They always do. The moment you give them what they want, they get sloppy. This guy is obsessed, but he's human. And eventually, he'll slip."

Captain Morris gave a reluctant nod. "It's risky, but it might be our best option. Olivia, you'd have to act as bait, make it look like you're vulnerable."

"Vulnerable?" I scoffed, ignoring the surge of adrenaline that came with the plan. "Not my favorite role, but I'll play it if it gets us closer."

Damon's smirk turned into a full grin, an intensity flaring in his eyes. "Let's get started, then."

As we laid out the plan, I couldn't shake the feeling that Damon was enjoying this a little too much. But as we made our way back out into the rain-slicked streets, I realized something else: so was I. This killer had called me out, dug up secrets I'd buried long ago. And now, I was ready to make him regret it.