CHAPTER 9

Two days had passed since the horrific incident that shook Nyack to its core. Three innocent lives were lost, leaving the community reeling in shock and grief. According to the police report, the suspect was described as a man wearing black jeans and a black shirt, his face obscured by a ski mask.

The police had pieced together this description based on Brownie's eyewitness account, which provided the only lead in the case so far. The authorities were working tirelessly to track down the suspect, but the investigation was still ongoing.

The brutal murders of Derry, Mendes, and Sam sent shockwaves through the town, leaving an indelible mark on its residents. These pillars of the community had been brutally torn from their lives, leaving a gaping void that seemed impossible to fill. The suspect, a ghostly figure shrouded in mystery, remained at large, evading capture and fueling the town's collective anxiety.

But it was Derry's death that struck at the very heart of the townspeople. The whispers of his gruesome fate - burnt alive, a horrific end that defied comprehension - spread like wildfire, casting a pall of horror over the town. The air was thick with grief and fear, as if the very fabric of their reality had been torn asunder.

The darkness closing in around Brownie was suffocating, a heavy shroud that threatened to snuff out her very breath. Her grandfather's brutal murder had left her reeling, the memories of that fateful day seared into her mind like a branding iron. The weight of her eyewitness account hung over her like a specter, a constant reminder of the horror she had witnessed.

The news of her grandfather's passing had been too much for Sandra, her grandmother, who had fainted from the shock. Brownie's heart ached as she thought of her grandmother's pain, her own grief compounded by the knowledge that she had to be strong for Sandra.

As the reality of her situation set in, Brownie realized that her vacation was coming to an abrupt end. She would have to return to work, resume her duties, and try to find a semblance of normalcy in a world that had been forever altered. The thought of going back to her routine was daunting, but Brownie steeled herself for the challenge ahead, knowing that she had to keep moving forward, no matter how difficult it seemed.

Detectives from the city descended upon Nyack, taking over the investigation into the triple homicide. Brownie, eager to contribute her skills to the case, was infuriated to discover that her role was relegated to that of a mere witness. Her protests fell on deaf ears, as the police commissioner deemed her too emotionally invested in the case.

"The connection is too personal, Brownie," the commissioner explained, his voice firm but sympathetic. "We can't have you compromising the investigation."

Brownie seethed, feeling shackled by the commissioner's decision. But for now, she had no choice but to acquiesce, her hands tied by the chain of command.

Undeterred, Brownie clung to the one piece of evidence she had managed to salvage: the ski mask she had ripped from the robber's face. She kept it hidden away, a tangible link to the perpetrator.

In her mind, Brownie was already working the case, her thoughts consumed by the memory of the bike she had seen at the construction site. It was a fleeting glimpse, but something about the bike resonated deeply, echoing a memory she couldn't quite place. She was determined to catch the killer, no matter what it took.

"Are you going to be okay?" Brownie asked Sandra, her voice laced with concern as she packed her bags for the return trip to the city. She had offered to take Sandra with her, but Sandra's refusal was resolute.

"This is my home, your home, our home," Sandra said, her eyes welling up with tears as she kissed Brownie on the cheeks. Brownie's emotions, held tenuously in check, suddenly burst forth like a dam breaking. She froze in Sandra's arms, overwhelmed by the memories of the tragic incident that had shattered their lives.

The tears flowed like a torrent, as if Brownie was reliving the horror of that fateful day. Sandra held her close, offering what comfort she could as Brownie's body shook with sobs. The grief was so intense that Sandra had to gently wipe away the phlegm flowing from Brownie's nose with a handkerchief, her own eyes streaming with tears as she mourned alongside her granddaughter.

"Make sure to visit," Sandra called out, her voice carrying across the distance as she waved goodbye to Brownie. The taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving Sandra standing alone on the balcony, watching as the vehicle disappeared into the distance.

Her gaze lingered on the spot where the taxi had vanished, before drifting downward to the old Mercedes-Benz parked in front of the house. The car, a testament to her husband's love for classic vehicles, now seemed like a poignant reminder of his absence.

Sandra's eyes misted as she heaved a sigh, the weight of her grief settling heavy on her shoulders. She turned and went back inside, the silence of the house enveloping her like a shroud.

The journey from Nyack to Downstate New York was a bleak and painful one for Brownie. Tears streamed down her face, a relentless cascade that mirrored the rain-soaked evening outside. She gazed listlessly out the window, watching as raindrops slid down the glass like tiny, transparent tears.

The taxi driver's voice broke the silence, a gentle inquiry that cut through the somber mood. 

"Where in Manhattan are we headed?" he asked, his eyes flicking toward Brownie in the rearview mirror. He noticed her red-rimmed eyes and the quiet desperation etched on her face, but he left her be, sensing that her pain was too raw to be probed.

"Fifth Avenue," Brownie replied, her voice flat and detached, still staring out the window into the rain-soaked night.

As the taxi inched through the congested evening traffic, Brownie felt a pang of nostalgia wash over her. She was back in the city, back to the chaos and noise that had once been her lifeblood. But now, it felt suffocating, a constant reminder of the pain and emptiness that had taken up residence in her heart.

The sounds of the city assaulted her senses - the honking of horns, the rumble of engines, the chatter of pedestrians scurrying for cover from the rain. The droplets fell steadily from the sky, casting a rhythmic melody over the concrete jungle. Umbrellas bloomed like colorful mushrooms, shielding their owners from the downpour. Others, less fortunate, darted into shops and doorways, seeking refuge from the deluge.

As the taxi crept forward, Brownie gazed out at the diverse tapestry of New York City. Each person on the sidewalk had a unique story, a distinct experience of the city. Some laughed and chatted, others rushed to and fro, their faces set in determined lines. The city was a kaleidoscope of emotions, a constantly shifting mosaic of human experience. And Brownie, with her heavy heart and haunted eyes, was just another thread in the intricate weave of the city's fabric.

The taxi glided to a stop in front of a sleek, luxury apartment building on Fifth Avenue, a bastion of success and opulence. "And that will be $80," the driver announced, but before he could finish, Brownie handed him a crisp $100 note.

"Keep the change," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as she stepped out of the taxi into the rain-soaked evening. The droplets fell around her like a misty veil, but she stood unmoving, oblivious to the rain's chill.

As she watched the taxi drive away, a sense of desolation washed over her. She stared after the receding taillights, her eyes welling up with tears. The city lights blurred around her, and for a moment, she was lost in a sea of grief, the rain pouring down around her like a symphony of sorrow.

Brownie's body shook as she succumbed to another wrenching episode of tears. She squatted down on the wet pavement, letting the rain pour down on her like a deluge of despair. Her heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles, the pain stabbing and relentless.

She clutched her chest, as if trying to physically contain the anguish that threatened to consume her. "Why me?" she wailed, her voice echoing through the rain-soaked streets. The question was a refrain, a desperate cry that seemed to hang in the air, unanswered and unanswerable.

Daniel and Crystal sat in silence, the tension between them palpable. The events that had transpired in Nyack had left them both shaken, their usual easy banter replaced by an uncomfortable stillness. Daniel sat in the front seat, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, while Crystal sat in the back, his gaze lost in thought.

Daniel's mind began to wander, flashing back to the previous day when he had stumbled upon Crystal at their secret hideout. He had found her curled up in a corner, shivering violently, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and panic. 

"Crystal!" Daniel had exclaimed, rushing to his friend's side.

But instead of embracing him, Crystal had pushed Daniel away, his eyes wild with a desperate warning. It was as if he was trying to protect Daniel from himself, from some dark secret that lurked within. The memory sent a shiver down Daniel's spine, and he couldn't help but wonder what had driven his friend to such a state.

"Please, stay back, I don't want to hurt you," Crystal begged, his voice cracking with sobs. The weight of his actions had crushed him, leaving him shattered and catatonic. The realization of taking Derry and Mendes' lives had unleashed a maelstrom of emotions, rendering him clueless and paralyzed with fear.

Daniel's eyes widened in horror as he took in the sight of his friend, shivering uncontrollably with bloodstained hands. The scene was surreal, like something out of a nightmare. 

"What did you do?" Daniel asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though he knew Crystal was beyond rational thought. The question hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the unspeakable act that had torn their lives apart.

Daniel's hands trembled as he touched Crystal's body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. Crystal's temperature was soaring, and Daniel knew he had to act fast. He noticed the wet shirt clinging to Crystal's torso and gently suggested, 

"Let's take this off." As he helped Crystal remove the shirt, Daniel's eyes widened in alarm.

The stab wound on Crystal's stomach, inflicted during his brutal encounter with Derry, had reopened, and blood was seeping out, staining his skin. Daniel's gaze dropped to Crystal's leg, and he was met with a sight that made his heart sink. Blood was gushing down Crystal's leg, and Daniel realized that his friend must have been shot.

"Aghhh!" Crystal screamed in agony as Daniel tried to help him stand. The sound sent shivers down Daniel's spine, and he knew he had to get Crystal medical attention – fast. But as he looked into his friend's pain-racked face, Daniel wondered if he was already too late.

Daniel's voice trembled with worry as he asked, "What have you done?" His eyes scanned Crystal's battered body, taking in the extent of the damage. But before he could get an answer, Crystal's eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward, unconscious.

Daniel sprang into action, his training kicking in as he tended to Crystal's wounds. With a steady hand, he carefully removed the bullet from Crystal's leg, wincing as he saw the damage it had caused. Next, he expertly stitched the wounds, his fingers moving with precision as he worked to close the gaping holes.

As he worked, Daniel's mind raced with questions. What had driven Crystal to commit such a heinous act? And what would happen to him now? But for now, Daniel pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on saving his friend's life.

Crystal had unburdened his soul to Daniel, sharing every detail of the tragic events that had unfolded in Nyack. Daniel had listened with a heavy heart, but without judgment. He knew his friend was consumed by guilt and self-loathing, and that forgiving himself would be the hardest battle of all.

As Daniel glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw Crystal's reflection staring blankly out the window, his eyes vacant and haunted. Daniel's heart went out to his friend, and he hoped that with time, Crystal would find a way to heal and forgive himself.

The taxi driver's voice broke the silence, 

"We're here now." Daniel's gaze shifted to the front, and he saw that they had arrived at their destination. He paid the driver and helped Crystal out of the taxi, his friend's eyes still lost in a world of pain and regret.

Crystal stepped out of the taxi and onto the bustling streets of New York City. The bright lights and towering skyscrapers seemed to close in around him, a cacophony of sounds and sights that only served to heighten his sense of disorientation. He felt lost and disconnected, a stranger in a city that was supposed to be a symbol of hope and new beginnings.

The irony wasn't lost on him. He had always dreamed of coming to New York, of experiencing the energy and excitement of the city. But now, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of Manhattan, he felt only emptiness and despair. The city seemed to be moving forward without him, leaving him stuck in a sea of pain and regret.