Chapter 14
Emily's POV
"I'm not afraid of anything," I replied automatically. "She only made that incorrect diagnosis because my performance was too convincing."
Daniel cleared his throat, interrupting our conversation. "We also checked Brian's VR headset. It's similar, with fear levels for electric currents."
"What about Christine Moore's headset?" Michael asked.
"Unrecoverable," Daniel replied.
"Just as I suspected, these VR headsets are the treatment tools," I turned to Michael. "The victims were testing themselves. They thought they had conquered their fears. But they overestimated themselves and underestimated the power of phobias."
"Then these VR headsets are the key to solving our case," Michael said.
---
That evening, Michael drove me home. The city lights of Riverstone glimmered against the night sky, the scattered stars barely visible through the urban glow.
"I hope your dreams tonight don't feature dark, confined spaces," I teased as we pulled up to my building.
Michael shook his head, the ghost of what might have been a smile passing through his eyes.
As I got out of the car, I watched him drive away.
---
Early the next morning, I was awakened by the buzzing of my phone. Michael's text read: "Outside your building. Don't make me wait."
Fantastic. Another day of solving murders while being chauffeured around by Detective Stone-Face. I shuffled to the window and peeked through the blinds. His black sedan was indeed parked by the curb, engine running.
Twenty minutes later, I slid into the passenger seat, clutching my travel mug of coffee like it contained the elixir of life.
"You look like shit," I mumbled, noticing Michael's disheveled appearance. His normally meticulously styled hair stuck out in odd directions, with one particularly rebellious tuft standing straight up from his crown. My fingers itched to smooth it down, but I restrained myself. That would be crossing a line.
"Good morning to you too," he replied, pulling into traffic. "I lost an hour of sleep to pick you up. You know, being your free chauffeur wasn't part of our agreement."
"Trust me, driving across town to pick me up will be worth it. I've been thinking about the case all night."
---
The precinct buzzed with morning activity when we arrived. Daisy stood by our desks, distributing breakfast items from a paper bag.
"Emily! I got you green tea smoothie and a whole wheat bagel," she announced, thrusting both items toward me.
I eyed the smoothie with suspicion. "Just the bagel, thanks. I brought my own coffee."
Daisy frowned, her short blonde hair swinging as she shook her head. "You can't keep running on caffeine all day. It's not always good for you."
I took a deliberate sip from my travel mug. "Correlation isn't causation, Daisy."
She sighed dramatically. "Your liver will thank me someday."
I studied her face. "Did someone in your family have health problems?"
Her enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "My grandmother died of liver cancer. And my uncle had pancreatic cancer. Both heavy coffee drinkers."
"I'm sorry," I said, putting down my mug and accepting the smoothie. I took a tentative sip. "It's... not terrible."
Daisy's face lit up. "It has spinach, avocado, and a touch of honey!"
"Bring me a blueberry muffin tomorrow instead of the bagel, and we have a deal."
"Deal!" She beamed, then moved on to distribute the rest of the breakfast items.
---
Michael called everyone to the conference room after hurriedly finishing his breakfast. "Let's sync up on where we are," he said, standing at the head of the table. "The lead on Megan Weber's counseling center seems to be a dead end; she has no direct connection to these VR headsets. So our next step is to identify other organizations that Christine Moore was involved with."
I cleared my throat. "I've developed a comprehensive profile of our killer."
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to me.
"He's male, between 25 and 35 years old, unmarried. Likely works as an assistant or aide at a psychological institution, not as a certified counselor or therapist himself. He has never conducted counseling or therapy independently."
I paused, taking a sip of Daisy's green smoothie before continuing.
"He likely suffers from phobias himself, and his interaction with these people is probably related to his own fear issues. He somehow convinced the victims their phobias were cured, then had them verify this by facing their fears directly. But they underestimated the severity of their phobic responses, experienced freezing reactions, and couldn't escape the situations they put themselves in."
Raymond crossed his arms. "Why are you so sure it's a man?"
"Because Brad was a misogynist, determined from descriptions by his students," I replied. "He wouldn't have trusted a female therapist with his deepest fears."
"And the age and marital status?" Michael asked.
"Statistical probability based on criminal databases and onset age for certain psychological disorders. Most serial killers struggle to form normal intimate relationships, so they're highly likely to be unmarried."
Raymond leaned forward. "Why not a professional therapist?"
"Ethics. No legitimate therapist would allow patients to test their progress unsupervised, especially in potentially fatal situations. Professionals follow protocols."
Michael frowned. "How could a non-professional convince victims their phobias were cured?"
I nodded. "That's the mystery. These victims believed they were cured. Something convinced them so thoroughly that they were willing to test it by placing themselves in deadly situations."
"Why do you think the killer has phobias too?" Thomas asked.
"Partly intuition, partly analysis of case patterns," I admitted. "People are often drawn to fix in others what they can't fix in themselves."
---
Michael assigned the team to investigate local psychological counseling services, acknowledging the challenge. "Regular institutions are limited and easy to check, but there are dozens of alternative practices and online platforms."
"We'll focus on the VR headsets first," he concluded.
Thomas and Raymond exchanged glances before Thomas spoke up. "We actually have good news on that front. We found the supplier and buyer for the VR headsets."
Raymond nodded. "They were purchased by something called 'Oak Tree Mindful Energy Center.' They bought 150 units total. The three from our victims were among them."
Thomas pulled out a glossy brochure. "They offer mindfulness therapy, energy clearing, yoga meditation, sound baths—the works. Their courses cost a fortune, but they offer free trial sessions."
Raymond snorted. "It's new age bullshit wrapped in psychological terminology."
"That's the problem with the mental health industry," Michael said. "Professional mental health services are tightly regulated, but alternative therapies flourish with minimal oversight."
I flipped through the brochure, studying the images of serene people in meditation poses. "Did the supplier know what the headsets were being used for?"