The Killer Fix

Chapter 5

She snuck out early in the morning. With everyone dealing with the latest death, Riley decided to leave them be for today. If she wasn't sure they'd refuse, she'd tell Sofia and Bryn to stay out of it completely. The bodies are piling up, it's getting too dangerous. 

After the unexpected death threat two nights ago it has become significantly challenging for her to lie to herself. She's barely sleeping, constantly jumpy. She can't run away from it, but she can't pretend not to be scared anymore either.

It's still dark as she commutes into the unknown. The streetlights flash across her windshield. The navigation system leads her further and further into bad neighborhoods and finally discontinues in front of a neglected old apartment building. 

A train rumbles over the tracks above her as she steps out into the cold morning air. When she hears voices in the distance getting closer she quickly rushes inside. 

An old man is dozed off, leaning back in his chair behind a dusty steel counter. She skims the apartment numbers lined up on the wall by the buzzers. She reads them again when she can't find the right one. And again. Damn it, where is it? Carefully she turns to the counter and approaches the old man. 

'Excuse me.' The man's snoring is louder than her words. 'Excuse me!' 

Startled the man dives forward, the newspaper resting on his chest falling to the floor. 'Wh-what?!' He doesn't strike her as friendly, nor does he seem happy to see her. 'What do you want?!' 

'I'm... looking for this address.' She presents him her phone with the picture of the receipt from the rental place. 

The man squints at the bright screen as he tries to make it out. 'It's downstairs!' He sneers as he points to the open door behind her. He snatches the newspaper off the ground, slumps it over his face and retires back into his coma. 

Slowly she proceeds to the door and looks down into the dark staircase. Of course... it had to be a creepy basement. And she had to come alone. Odds are the killer is down there waiting to ice her. 

She inhales deeply before beginning to descend, carefully peering around the corner once she's halfway there. At first thrown off by what she sees, she gravitates all the way down to then realize the purpose of this basement. PO boxes, rows and rows of PO boxes. 

There it is, the dead end she had predicted. 

Exhaling in disappointment as she walks past the first row, she embarks on her search for the right box. The place gets darker and darker as she distances herself from the stairs. As a result, her heart begins to beat faster again and she thinks of all the possible ways this could end. 

The box could be locked, and she'll have nothing. Or maybe the killer stuffed another body in there for her to find. Or maybe he's waiting for her, to cut her into little bits and then divide the pieces across all the PO boxes. 

Aggravated, she rejects the thought. He's getting to her, exactly like he wants to. She can't surrender to it, she decides.

118, there it is. She remains unmoved, staring at the unlocked box, cracked open just a tiny bit. Is it vacant? Did he clear it out? 

In one swift move she reaches out and slams the little door open. At the sight of the empty box she grants herself breath again. But when she turns to retreat to the stairs she sees it. A little yellow post-it, stuck to the inside of the door. The text, in thick capital letters, mocks her;

NICE TRY.

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