5
Rachel’s voice cut through the chaos as she grabbed Vanessa by the shoulders, her desperation boiling over.
“What about Elijah? You were in there so long! Did they say anything? Is it him? Tell me!”
Vanessa blinked at her, a dazed look in her eyes.
“I don’t… I don’t believe it…”
Rachel froze, the words draining the color from her face.
“You don’t believe it?” she whispered, her knees wobbling before nearly collapsing against the doorframe.
“Elijah… he’s just a kid. How could this happen to him? Why him?”
Vanessa shook her head, muttering to herself as if trying to will the truth away.
“It’s not him. It can’t be him. They didn’t admit to killing Elijah. It’s not him. He even sent
me a package…”
Rachel’s head snapped up at this.
“A package? Elijah sent you a package? Did you open it?”
Vanessa shook her head again.
Rachel’s voice rose in urgency.
“Then where is it? Where’s the package now?
“It’s… in my office…”
Rachel didn’t wait for another word. She stormed toward Vanessa’s office, her
movements a blur of purpose and dread.
I followed helplessly, knowing what she’d find but powerless to stop her.
22:22 Thu, Mar 13 AG
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She burst into the office and tore into the package, ripping away the tape and outer wrapping with shaky hands.
The room seemed to freeze as the contents were revealed–a partially decayed human
head and two shriveled fingers, still bearing the scars that made them unmistakably mine.
Rachel screamed, dropping the box. My head rolled out, coming to a stop at Vanessa’s
feet.
Vanessa’s knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground. Her face turned ashen as she fainted on the spot.
The room erupted in chaos. Officers shouted over one another as they scrambled to
restore order.
“Evidence! Evidence has been recovered!”
“It’s the victim’s head! Get Detective Boone immediately!”
I hovered nearby, torn between sorrow and relief. So, they know now. There’s no more
hiding. It’s over.
Vanessa and Rachel were quickly moved to a quiet room. Rachel sat in stunned silence, her hands trembling. Vanessa hadn’t said a word since regaining consciousness, her face locked in a mask of silent anguish.
Detective Boone stood over the grisly evidence, his voice a low growl as he addressed
the suspects in the interrogation room.
“Who sent this package? Who used the victim’s name to mislead his family? Who’s behind this sick game?”
The
suspects exchanged glances, their smug demeanor slipping for the first time.
“We don’t know anything about that,” the ringleader said, his tone cautious but still
defiant.
Boone slammed his hand on the table, his voice rising.
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“Don’t lie to me! Do you think this will save you? Who delivered that package?”
“We don’t know!” another suspect added. “You have no proof it was us.”
Boone’s jaw tightened as he turned to the evidence team.
“Get this box to forensics. I want every scrap of DNA, every trace of evidence analyzed. We’re going to nail these bastards.”
The evidence was quickly bagged and tagged, the room abuzz with activity. But just like the tools used in the crime, the box and its contents had been wiped clean–no fingerprints, DNA, or anything to tie it to the suspects.
Boone cursed under his breath.
