Chapter 9

Emily‘s POV

"Hypnosis," Michael suggested, his voice breaking the silence. "Maybe he was hypnotized into a state where he couldn't escape."

Daisy nodded eagerly. "I've read studies showing deep hypnosis can alter pain perception."

"It's possible we're looking at a series of murders using hypnosis and psychological manipulation," Thomas theorized, excitement building in his voice.

I shook my head. "Close."

I displayed a diagram of the human brain. "What killed Brian wasn't hypnosis, but what we call 'fear paralysis.' When confronted with their specific phobia, some people experience a freeze response so severe they physically cannot move."

Olivia nodded slowly. "That's medically documented. The amygdala floods the body with stress hormones while simultaneously sending contradictory signals—fight and freeze at once. The person becomes literally paralyzed by fear."

"So Brian died from what he feared most," Michael summarized, his gaze still fixed on me.

"I need to learn more about the other two victims before drawing conclusions," I replied. We needed more clues.

---

Later that afternoon, Daisy and Thomas were screening potential matches for Anna's mysterious boyfriend "Chris."

They identified twenty men matching the description, but Anna couldn't recognize any of them.

The man had used a false identity to deceive Anna. Even the bar surveillance footage they tried to retrieve had been cleared. This lead was also cut off.

---

Michael and I drove to Brad Thornton's house to investigate our second victim.

"Officers, have you caught who killed my husband?" Brad's wife asked when she saw us, her eyes gleaming with hope.

Michael gently shook his head. "Not yet. We have some questions we'd like to ask you."

"It's been so long..." she complained softly, her voice filled with disappointment.

"We suspect your husband might have committed suicide," Michael said bluntly.

"He would never kill himself," she insisted as she led us into the living room. "He just got promoted. We were planning to have another child."

"Had he been acting differently lately?" I asked gently.

"He wasn't sleeping well. Said he needed to 'fix something' about himself." Her voice cracked. "I thought he meant his work habits."

"Would you mind if I looked at your husband's room or study?" I asked, hoping to find some clues.

"Go to the study. I moved all his things there. Every time we see those things, my child and I can't help but cry, so I had to lock everything in the study."

She led us to a small study. The room had a bookshelf with a variety of books, ranging from educational theory to popular science.

I scanned the bookshelf and noticed several books on psychological therapy.

Michael noticed my interest. "Mrs. Thornton, did your husband have any specific fears?"

She shook her head. "Not that I know of."

As we examined the room, I found a VR headset in his study. But we couldn't view the content inside.

"Is this your husband's?" Michael asked.

"Yes."

"What did he use it for? Playing games?"

Based on our investigation, Brad was quite a conventional person, not particularly enthusiastic about technology products or games.

"I'm not sure," she shook her head. "He brought it home about a month ago. During that time, he often locked himself in the study using it. When I asked what it was for, he impatiently said it was a teaching tool."

"We need to take this VR headset back for examination," Michael said.

"Take it," she had no objections.

After leaving Brad's home, Michael voiced his suspicion. "Do you suspect he's also afraid of something?"

"Yes."

"But everyone has things they're afraid of, right?"

"Fear and phobia are different," I explained. "Fear is a normal emotional response, while phobia is an irrational, excessive reaction accompanied by significant physical symptoms. I suspect he had claustrophobia, so I need to confirm how severe his fear was."

The sky had darkened to a gray. The temperature had dropped since morning.

"Damn, it got cold fast," I muttered, hugging myself as a sharp wind whipped around us.

Back at the car, Michael reached into the trunk and pulled out a thick, navy blue jacket with "POLICE" emblazoned across the back in bold yellow letters.

"Weather report said temperatures would drop today," he said, holding out the bulky garment. "If you're cold, you can wear this."

I eyed the jacket with undisguised disgust. The boxy cut and utilitarian design screamed "government issue" in the worst possible way. It was practically fashion suicide.

"I'm fine," I insisted with as much dignity as I could muster. "This little chill is noth—" My body betrayed me with a sudden sneeze. "—nothing to worry about."

Michael raised an eyebrow but didn't push. He simply placed the jacket on the backseat and slid into the driver's seat.

As we pulled up near the school, the wind had intensified. Riverstone's cold was different from what I was used to—this was a penetrating chill that sliced right through clothing.

"Achoo!" I sneezed again, then a third time in rapid succession. My nose was already turning red.

Michael glanced at me. "You sure you don't want that jacket?"

"I just realized I left my ID in the car," I said, avoiding his question. "Give me a minute."

I hurried back, grabbed the police jacket from the backseat, and quickly removed the badge pinned to the chest. No way was I walking around looking like an actual cop. I slipped it on, instantly feeling blessed warmth envelop me. The thing was huge on my frame, almost below my hips, but right then I didn't give a damn.

When I rejoined Michael, a flicker of amusement crossed his eyes—the only part of his face that ever seemed to express emotion.