Chapter 3

"Give me your phone."

I had no idea what he was doing, but I grabbed my phone off the couch and handed it over.

It took a long moment before he handed it back.

"I've programmed my number and my partner's in there. You see anything out of the ordinary, you call immediately."

Right after that, an emergency call from the precinct pulled Lucas away.

Before leaving, he posted two patrolmen outside my apartment and gave me strict orders to lock every door and window and stay put.

"Trust me, Evelyn. I'm going to drag whatever piece of garbage is doing this out of the shadows."

The way he looked me in the eye as he left—with that gritty, hardened resolve—did genuinely bring me a sliver of comfort.

But the second he was out the door, I picked up the blood-crusted button from the floor.

Engraved on the back in minuscule lettering were two initials: S.H.

Sacred Heart?

Was he the killer? And why me?

I wasn't the type of helpless idiot to just scream and wait around for some man to save me.

The terrifying realization that someone was maliciously tampering with my mind—treating me like a puppet to be manipulated—ignited a visceral rage within me.

If the killer could waltz in and out of my apartment at will, two cops at the front door weren't going to do a damn thing to protect me. I had to reclaim my missing time myself.

I threw on a dark hoodie and grabbed the pepper spray from my cabinet.

Bypassing the patrolmen out front, I slipped out of the building through the fire escape.

At 2:00 AM, the streets on the bad side of town reeked of decay. The Sacred Heart private clinic sat dead at the end of an abandoned commercial strip, its neon sign long shattered. The place had been shut down six months ago over medical malpractice, the heavy front doors now plastered with faded condemnation signs.

Slipping on my gloves, I used a piece of wire to jimmy the lock on the rusted iron gate around back.

Inside, the air was thick with a nauseating cocktail of mildew and clinical antiseptic.

I flicked on my phone's weak flashlight and hugged the wall as I crept toward the records room. In the dim halo of the light, the patterns on the linoleum tiles warped, looking like a mosaic of mocking faces.

The records room had been tossed; files littered the floor in a chaotic mess. Fighting to keep my racing heart in check, I frantically dug through the piles of discarded paperwork bearing recent dates.

Finally, reaching into a half-charred metal trash can, I pulled out a few fragmented medical charts.

The name scrawled at the top hit me like a bolt of lightning: Evelyn Carter.

Date of Visit: Three days ago.

Treatment: Traumatic memory repair.

Attending Physician: [Blank]

I was here three days ago? I stared wide-eyed at the paper, desperately trying to unearth even a fraction of a memory from the depths of my mind. Nothing. Just an absolute void.

Suddenly, a sharp click echoed through the silence.

The backup generator at the far end of the hallway roared to life, and the dim, sickly-yellow overhead lights flickered on.

My entire body went rigid. I instantly killed my flashlight, shoved the chart into my hoodie, and pressed my back flat against the door, holding my breath.

Heavy, unhurried footsteps echoed down the corridor.

"The game of hide-and-seek is over, Evelyn."

The voice wasn't loud, but it slithered into my ears like a venomous snake.

It was Elijah. The same handyman who had been fixing my ceiling fan just hours ago.

My sweaty palms tightened around the canister of pepper spray hidden in my pocket.

The footsteps halted right outside the records room.

"I know you're in there. You've always been so clever; it's the thing I admire most about you." Elijah's tone carried that same sick, cloying quality as before. "But the clever ones always die the most painful deaths."

The door exploded inward with a vicious kick!

Without a second's hesitation, I squeezed my eyes shut and unloaded the pepper spray blindly into the doorway.

The man let out a strained grunt, but before I could bolt for the exit, a powerful hand twisted into my hair, violently slamming me headfirst into a steel filing cabinet.

The room spun violently. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

I struggled to lift my throbbing head. Through blurring vision, I watched Elijah peel away a silicone prosthetic from his face, revealing the terrifying features hiding beneath his disguise.

He towered over me, carelessly twirling a syringe filled with a clear liquid between his fingers.

"You forgot to take your medicine, Evelyn," he smiled, dropping his heavy knee squarely onto my chest, pinning me to the floor.

"Why... me?" I gritted my teeth, locking eyes with him.

"Because you make the perfect vessel." He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a lover's whisper. "Now, let's just wipe this unpleasant little memory away for good."

The needle punctured the skin of my neck, and the ice-cold fluid plunged into my vein, carrying with it the undeniable chill of death.