Chapter 4

A chill ran up my spine, not from the cold, but from the thought. Someone out there was doing what we couldn’t. And they were doing it like a goddamn professional.

"We're missing something, Ben," I muttered, almost to myself. "A connection. Something that links these men, beyond just their rap sheets."

"We'll find it, Dave," Ben said, but it sounded hollow, even to him. He knew these cases were going nowhere fast.

I rubbed my temples, a dull ache behind my eyes. I just wanted to go home. To the quiet apartment, to her. She was my anchor, the one good, simple thing in a world that felt more twisted every day. The light keeps me from drowning in the city’s shadows.

Little did I know, the hunt was on, and I was chasing a ghost, a phantom who more conniving that I could understand. I just needed a break, a fresh lead, or maybe, a miracle. But miracles don't happen in my line of work. Only consequences. And someone was making sure those consequences were delivered, one by one.

I leaned in, rubbing my temples. “Someone who deals with their victims. Someone in social services? Law enforcement, even? We’ve looked at parole officers, social workers who dealt with their past victims. Nothing. Everyone’s cleared.”

“What about someone connected to the victims of these guys?” Ben mused. “Like… support groups? Shelters? Legal aid clinics?”

My breath hitched for a second. Gracie, she worked at a women's shelter. She dealt with women, and kids, who had been hurt by men like these. She heard their stories. She knew the darkness these guys represented. The thought was a fleeting phantom, a dark wisp that vanished as quickly as it appeared. No. Impossible. She was… she was everything good. She was the reason I could even face these grim cases every day. She was the exact opposite of the darkness I hunted.

“We’ve looked into that,” I said, dismissing the thought almost immediately. “All those places cooperate with us. They have records. We’ve cross-referenced. No direct link to any of our victims among their clients or staff.” I pushed the thought away, hard. It was ridiculous. My mind was just grasping at straws.

The day stretched on, hours blurring into a cycle of frustrating phone calls and unproductive leads. By late afternoon, the Commissioner called me into his office. His face was a thundercloud.

“Corbin,” he started, his voice a low growl. “This ‘Phantom Killer’ is making us look like fools. The mayor’s breathing down my neck. Public confidence is dropping. We need a break. Now.”

I stood stiff, shoulders back. “Sir, we’re pursuing every lead. The killer is meticulous. No forensics, no witnesses. It’s a ghost.”

“Then find a ghost hunter, Detective! I don’t care! I want answers! You’re on point for this. You were the lead on the Vance case, the O’Malley case. You know these types.” He slammed a fist on his desk, making the coffee cup jump. “You get me results, Corbin. Or someone else will be leading this investigation. Understand?”

“Understood, sir,” I said, my jaw tight.

I walked out of his office feeling the weight of the city on my shoulders. The pressure was immense. My job, my reputation, hell, even my sanity felt like they were hanging by a thread. I went back to my desk, slumped into my chair. Ben gave me a sympathetic look.

“He reamed you, huh?”

“Standard pep talk,” I grumbled, pulling out my phone. I needed a break. Needed to hear a normal voice, someone who didn’t talk about victims and perpetrators all day. I tapped her number. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Hey, you. Everything alright?” Her voice was warm, a steadying presence.

“Yeah, just… long day. Commissioner’s getting antsy. This case is driving me nuts.” I leaned back, closing my eyes. “Another dead end. This Tommy Jenkins guy, he was just like the others. Another predator off the streets, but damn if we can figure out who’s doing it. It’s almost like… karma. But with a knife.”I heard her chuckle softly. “Karma usually doesn’t carry a blade, Babe. You’re just tired. Come home. I’ll order your favorite Chinese food.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, a genuine smile finally touching my lips. “See you in an hour.”

Hanging up, I felt a flicker of relief. She was my escape, my calm in the storm. She listened without judgment, offered comfort without pity. She was the good in the world, the counterbalance to all the darkness I faced. I looked at the corkboard one last time, at the faces of the dead men, at the empty spaces where clues should have been.

Someone out there was delivering justice that the system couldn't. And as much as it frustrated me, as much as it terrified me, a tiny, almost imperceptible part of me wondered, just for a second, if maybe, just maybe, that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. Then I shook my head, clearing the thought. My job was to find the killer, not to understand them. And I would. Or I’d lose everything trying. The thought made my stomach clench. I gathered my things, pulling on my jacket. Time to go home. Time to step back into the light.

Gracie

The streetlights in the park had just flickered on, painting long, stretched-out shadows that danced with the evening breeze. I was on my way home from an extra session at the shelter, just trying to clear my head after another rough day. You know, listening to stories that would make your stomach churn, seeing faces marked by fear. It was usually a good walk, pretty quiet, a nice way to decompress, from the stories before heading home, But tonight, something felt… off. Like the air itself was buzzing with something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

I zipped up my light jacket, even though it wasn't really cold out. Just a nervous habit, I guess. I kept my pace steady, trying not to look like I was in any kind of hurry, but my eyes were doing overtime. They were sweeping over the few people around. A couple walking their dog, a kid on a skateboard doing tricks on a bench, an old man sitting alone, staring at nothing. All pretty normal. But this feeling, like cold breath on the back of my neck, just wouldn't quit. It was a prickle under my skin, like when you just know someone’s staring at you, even if you can’t quite catch them looking.

It started subtle. A shadow moving too quickly at the edge of my vision, just a flicker. Then, a car that seemed to pass me, but then showed up again a few blocks later, sitting idle at a light when it should’ve been long gone. I tried to tell myself it was just nerves. All those heavy stories, seeing the fear in people’s eyes all day could make you jumpy, make you see threats everywhere. But this felt different. This was sharper. More persistent.