Chapter Nineteen

Billie arrives at the crime scene and away from the cracked asphalt, the chill of the evening air settling around her like a shroud. The crime scene tapes flutter in the breeze, a grim reminder of the horrors that lay within. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what's to come.

As she ducks under the tape, the smell of blood and sweat hits her like a punch to the gut. The familiar tang of copper and decay transports her back to a time she thought she'd left behind.

The kitchen. Chicago. The summer of her 17th year.

The memory hits her like a tidal wave, crashing over her and pulling her under. She stands in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the floor where her dad's body lay. The scream that tears from her throat is silenced by the hand clamped over her mouth.

Her mom's terrified eyes meet hers, pleading for silence. The sound of sirens grows louder, but Billie's world narrows to the scene before her. Her dad's eyes, once bright and full of laughter, now stare blankly into eternity.

The pool of blood spreading from his chest seems to pulse with a life of its own. A chill runs down her spine as she remembers the feeling of helplessness, the crushing weight of guilt for not being able to protect him.

Billie's vision blurs, and she stumbles backward, her hand grasping for the doorframe. She feels the wooden frame beneath her fingers, but her mind is still trapped in the past.

She recalls the sound of her ragged breathing, the feeling of her heart shattering into a million pieces. The smell of cooking dinner still lingers in the air, a cruel contrast to the carnage before her.

Her mom's whispered words echo in her mind: "Run, Billie. Get out of here." But Billie's feet seem rooted to the spot.

The memory fast-forwards to the aftermath: the police station, the questioning, the tears. Billie's mom, fragile and broken, clinging to her as if she were the only lifeline.

Billie's gaze drifts back to the present, the crime scene before her. Her mom’s tears and anguish echo in her mind. The smell of blood and sweat still clings to her nostrils, but now it's mingled with the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of crickets.

The juxtaposition is jarring, a harsh reminder that the past is never truly buried.

"Billie?" A voice calls out, breaking the spell.

"Billie, you okay?" Max, her concerned neighbor and classmate, appears before her. She had almost forgotten that he was following her.

Billie nods, forcing a smile onto her lips. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... needing a minute."

Max’s expression softens, and he nods. "Take your time. We'll get through this."

Billie's gaze drifts back to the crime scene, her mind racing with connections and questions. The past and present collide, fueling her determination to uncover the truth.

For Lizzie.

For her dad.

For herself.

As she stands there, the darkness gathering around her, Billie knows she can't turn back. She has to face the demons of her past to ensure justice for Lizzie.

Billie takes a deep breath and begins surveying the crime scene, her untrained eyes scanning for clues.

She notices the eerie silence, the absence of any signs of struggle. It's as if Lizzie vanished into thin air. The police had cleared the scene, leaving behind dried blood and Do Not Cross tapes.

“Max, what do the police know?" Billie asks.

Ryan shakes his head. "Not much. No witnesses, no surveillance footage. Just a 911 call from an anonymous source, I think it was a hiker."

Billie's eyes narrow. "We need to find out who made that call."

Max nods, determination etched on his face. “There’s no need. The police will get to the bottom of this."

But Billie isn't satisfied with that. What did the police ever do anyway? Nothing. They did nothing for her dad and would certainly do nothing for Lizzie.

Sheriff Gallagher sits at his desk, sipping his lukewarm coffee, as he studies the crime scene photos. Lizzie's lifeless body, posed in a twisted mockery of sleep, haunts his gaze. He's seen his share of violent crimes, but this one strikes a chord. Maybe it's the victim's youth, or the brutality of the attack.

He focuses on the details:

A single knife wound to the chest, just above the heart.

No signs of forced entry or struggle.

No visible fingerprints or DNA evidence.

A faint scratch on Lizzie's left hand, possibly defensive.

"Too clean," Gallagher mutters to himself. "Our guy's careful."

Just then, his phone rings.

"Sheriff, the autopsy's ready," the pathologist, Dr. Patel, says.

Gallagher arrives at the morgue, the antiseptic scent hitting him like a punch. Dr. Patel greets him, her expression somber.

"Sheriff, Lizzie's autopsy revealed some interesting findings," Dr. Patel begins.

Gallagher nods, taking mental notes.

" Cause of death was the multiple stab wounds to the chest, piercing the heart. The knife was inserted at a 45-degree angle, suggesting the killer was right-handed."

Gallagher's eyes narrow.

"Any signs of rape or sexual assault?" he asks.

"No," Dr. Patel replies. "But there were traces of fibers wedged between her fingernails, suggesting the killer wore gloves. We're running DNA analysis now."

"Time of death?" Gallagher asks.

"Estimated between 10 pm and midnight. Rigor mortis and livor mortis suggest she died quickly."

Gallagher's eyes narrow.

"Any other injuries?"

"A bruise on her left cheek, consistent with a slap or punch. And the scratch on her hand... it's deeper than I initially thought. She might have scratched the killer."

Dr. Patel pauses.

Gallagher's interest piques. “Concerning the gloves, what kind of fibers?"

"Synthetic, likely from a fibre glove. We're analyzing the material now."

Gallagher's mind whirs with possibilities.

"Get me that DNA analysis ASAP. And review the fiber under her nails. I want to know if our guy left any other evidence."

Dr. Patel nods.

"I'll prioritize it, Sheriff."

As Gallagher leaves the morgue, he can't shake the feeling that Lizzie's killer is still out there, watching and waiting.

He heads back to his office, determined to solve the case.

Gallagher spends the next few hours reviewing the case files, searching for any connection between Lizzie and potential suspects.

He makes a list of people to interview: Lizzie's family, Friends, Classmates, Teachers, anyone who might have seen or heard something suspicious.

As the sun sets, Gallagher can't help but feel a sense of urgency. He remembers his last encounter with her, how she seemed uneasy. Was she being threatened at the time?

If only he had listened to her, perhaps she would have confided in him and the killer would have been caught.

But now the killer is still out there and Gallagher's determined to catch them.