Different Perspectives

Vivian’s POV:

“What is ‘good’ about this, Harper?” I questioned, my gaze fixed on him through his glasses, the backdrop of a chaotic scene of rushing water and frantic footsteps. Harper's gentle smile in the middle of all this was puzzling. He replied, his voice steady despite the clamor around us, “Because… the killer probably didn’t even plan this murder in the first place,” he suggested, a calm exhale escaping his lips as the acrid scent of smoke mixed with the water vapor in the air, a result of both the burning apartment and the efforts to extinguish the flames. Why couldn’t I figure out what he meant? Am I not cut out for this like I thought? I frowned, letting him explain further.

"Given your circumstances, Ms. Trafelski is unlikely to be wrongly implicated in the murder," Harper asserted, deftly cleaning his glasses from the haze. I swallowed hard, studying him in silence before responding, "But wouldn't it be hitting two birds with one stone if Edna were alive? She might hold the key details or a direct link to the killer." I explained, standing my ground. Yet, despite my rationale, Harper put on his glasses again, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Think about it, Vivian," Harper mused, tucking his hands into his pockets. "This was the first time the killer had an unprecedented accomplice," he continued, and for some reason, his wording suggesting that Edna had died was a better solution. I sighed, and my attention shifted to the apartment, which no longer appeared as dire as before. The wailing sirens of the ambulance and the fading cries of people receded into the background while a contingent of firefighters made their way into the building before me.

I faced him again, and my voice lowered to a gentle murmur. "So, if I understand correctly... you're suggesting that Edna's death was better than fixing it in court?" I inquired. Harper's brow furrowed, seemingly taken aback by how I phrased it. It was evident in his demeanor, mirroring his earlier explanation – yes, this was unprecedented, but it came at the cost of a life. And not just any life, but that of a woman coerced into being an accomplice for a serial killer. Harper just didn’t place his shoes on where she was.

Harper fell silent, his lips moving as if struggling to find the correct response. "No— that's not the message I intended to convey—" he stammered. "Yet, it was what you were discussing, Harper." I expressed my discontent with a frown and my gaze fixed on him as I shared my thoughts. I continued walking, attempting to enter the building, but two firefighters stopped me from my path. I heard a faint grumble from him, his hand extending momentarily before hesitating and pulling me back.

Retrieving my badge from my coat pocket, I promptly displayed it in front of them. After a brief examination, the two firefighters finally let me in while Harper remained outside. With the doors closing behind me, I found myself greeted by the familiar surroundings of their apartment complex. Taking deliberate steps on the marble floor, I meticulously scanned for any signs of damage, the sound of my footsteps reverberating through the quiet corridor. It became apparent that the fire's impact had only been to her room without spreading further. Undoubtedly, the mastermind behind this incident was none other than the killer.

I veered to the left, making my way for the stairs, given the current unsafe condition of the elevator. I sauntered a few steps with a relaxed pace, attentively taking in my surroundings as I moved. The absence of electricity left everything in darkness, with the only illumination filtering through the windows I passed. At that moment, I arrived at the staircase and began ascending to the third floor.

As my foot landed on the third floor, I encountered an ajar door – Edna's door. The entrance appeared even more broken down than before. Approaching carefully, I peered tentatively into the room, the door letting out a creaking sound. The curtains were charred, and the flooring had signs of flames and shattered glass lying about, having fallen from the table. The extent of the damage took me by surprise; I had no idea it was this bad. I gingerly stepped into her apartment, avoiding the shattered glass. The state of the place was so dire that I couldn't help but wonder what, if anything, remained salvageable.

At that moment, I conducted a thorough sweep of the room, and my gaze landed on a card resting on the floor. I moved towards it, retrieving my gloves from my coat and then stooping down to retrieve the card, flipping it over in my hands. It was the identical calling card – the very symbol the killer employed to leave behind a mark. The morbid manner in which the victims of this case met their end struck me with almost a sense of horror. It was a nightmare.

Swiftly, I retrieved a zip lock bag and carefully secured the calling card within it, discreetly tucking it into a seam of my coat. Unraveling the mysteries seemed far from over; I sensed I was only at the tip of the iceberg. Proceeding further, I entered the kitchen area, only to find the floor unusually slippery. A pungent odor reached my senses – gasoline. My nose wrinkled as I involuntarily stepped back, the stench overwhelming. Then, my attention was drawn to a shattered window that connected the kitchen to the outside. A realization struck me – could this be the point of entry and exit the killer used?

Stepping closer, I reached out and touched the window sill, casting a gaze downward that confirmed my suspicions. The height of the drop appeared manageable, and beyond the window lay a cluster of trees – an ideal escape route. My phone began to ring once more, interrupting my train of thought. I rummaged for my phone in my pockets, finally retrieving it and taking it in my hands. Before answering, I checked the caller’s ID, and Harper’s name popped up. Why is he calling now?