Chapter 61 Mara's Shelter
When they arrived at the nearest police station at the edge of the woods, it was a chaos of voices and flashing lights. Officers moved in and out, their faces grim. The night air smelled of wet soil and pine, heavy with the kind of silence that followed horror.
Detective Mara stood in the middle of it all, a dark coat wrapped around her, eyes fixed on the evidence bag in her hand and the typed note found beside Ava Addams. Her jaw was tight. The exhaustion behind her expression couldn’t hide the storm brewing in her gaze.
She had seen this before. Too many times.
Lila sat on a wooden bench by the hallway, her hands clasped tightly together. Her clothes were still damp from the mist, her eyes glassy and unfocused. The hum of voices, the flashes of camera bulbs, and the murmurs of students it all blurred into white noise.
Mara turned, saw her there, and for a moment, her posture softened. She handed off the evidence bag to an officer and walked over.
“Lila.”
The girl looked up, startled, as if pulled from a nightmare.
“You shouldn’t stay here tonight,” Mara said quietly. Her voice was firm but warm. “Come with me.”
Lila didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength to. She didn't even ask where she was being taken to. Lila just wanted to stay in a calm place, a place far away from the noise and chaos of what just happened.
The drive was long and quiet. The headlights cut through the fog like tired eyes searching for something that refused to be found.
They drove back to the city. It was a long, tiring trip. Two hours later, the car pulled up in front of an apartment. Mara’s apartment was a small, square building on the other side of the city, modest but clean. The moment Lila stepped inside, she was hit by the scent of strong coffee and something faintly metallic, like old typewriter ink.
The living room was lined with bookshelves and stacks of case files. A bulletin board stood near the kitchen, crowded with photos and maps marked in red pen.
Lila froze at the sight of one photo in the corner, Serena’s photo. Her sister’s smile, captured mid-laugh. It felt like a punch to the chest.
Mara noticed her staring. “That one’s old,” she said softly. “It stays there to remind me that this isn’t over.”
Lila nodded faintly. “You really think it’s the same person, don’t you?”
Mara didn’t answer right away. She poured coffee into two mismatched mugs, set one in front of Lila, and leaned against the counter.
“I don’t think so,” she said finally. “I know.”
Lila’s throat tightened. “But why… Why her? Why Ava?”
Mara’s expression darkened. “Patterns evolve, but obsessions don’t. The killer seems to have a fixation, on appearance, on identity. I'm yet to understand what the killers want. They see red hair, and it triggers something. It’s not random, Lila. It never was.”
“Killers?” Lila asked. She looked at Mara with teary eyes.
“Yeah, killers.” She sipped her coffee and cleared her throat. “More than twenty red-haired female students have been killed. We noticed two patterns, some have no sign of strangulation mark and others have the mark, just like Ava.”
Lila took a deep breath. “That's creepy.”
“I've been on this case for about four years and the strangulation mark was seen last year.” Mara paused and looked at the bulletin board. “I owe them justice and I owe the ones alive, safety and protection.”
The coffee in Lila’s hand trembled slightly. She set it down before she could spill it. “I keep thinking if I hadn’t sat next to her, if I hadn’t talked to her..”
Mara’s voice was sharp. “Don’t do that.”
Lila looked up, startled.
“Guilt is how he wins,” Mara continued. “You didn’t cause this. You didn’t bring this here. But he wants you to think you did. That’s how he isolates you.”
Lila swallowed hard, eyes burning. She wanted to believe her, but every memory screamed otherwise Ruby’s laugh, Serena’s call that night, Ava’s soft voice saying, “Some people don’t like when you look like someone else.”
Mara sat down across from her, the exhaustion in her movements visible now. “You’ll stay here tonight,” she said quietly. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we’ll go through everything you remember, every text, every note, every rose.”
Lila nodded weakly.
“Do you have any clothes or personal things back at the Lodge?”
“A few,” she whispered. “But I don’t want to go back there.”
Mara hesitated for a moment, then stood. “I’ll have someone bring your bag tomorrow.”
They ate in silence, toast and eggs, nothing fancy. The ticking clock in the kitchen filled the air between them.
Mara occasionally scribbled notes in a small pad. Her pen tapped twice every time she thought too long.
Lila finally broke the quiet. “You… you’ve been working on this since my sister?”
Mara looked up. “Since before that. But in Serena's case that one stuck.”
“Because she died?”
Mara’s eyes softened. “Because she shouldn’t have.”
Lila’s lips pressed together. “None of them should have.”
The detective said nothing. She took a slow sip of coffee, gaze fixed on the window where rain had begun to patter lightly against the glass.
After a long silence, she said, “He’s watching closer than before.”
Lila blinked. “What do you mean?”
“The timing,” Mara said, almost to herself. “The escalation. The way he leaves gifts then waits. He wants to see what happens. How you react. Whether you’ll reach out to anyone. He’s studying you.”
Lila’s stomach knotted. “You think he’s here? Watching?”
“I think he’s always been here.”
The words sank deep, cold and heavy.
Lila looked down at her hands, they were pale, small, trembling. She clenched them together, trying to feel solid again.
“Why me?” she whispered. “Because of Serena?”
“Because you remind him of her,” Mara said quietly. “And maybe because you lived when she didn’t.”
Lila’s breath caught.
Mara closed her notebook gently. “Get some rest, Lila. The couch is yours. I’ll be in the study if you need me.”
Lila nodded and tried to smile, but it barely lifted her lips. “Thank you.”
Mara’s reply was soft, but final. “Lock the door behind me.”
The clock read 11:37 p.m.
The apartment had gone still except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of paper from Mara’s study.
Lila lay on the couch under a light blanket, staring at the ceiling. The faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. Somewhere, a faucet dripped.
Her mind wouldn’t quiet down.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Ava lying by the stream, pale, flowers in her hand. Ruby’s laughter echoed faintly behind it. Then Serena’s voice, distant and broken, calling her name.
Lila turned over, pressing her face into the pillow. “Stop,” she whispered to herself. “Please stop.”
But the images came anyway.
She remembered the road trip laughter, the way Ava had smiled shyly and said, “Maybe we’ll get matching shots of the sunset.”
And now there would be no more sunsets.
Tears welled in her eyes, quiet and hot. She wiped them quickly, afraid Mara might hear.
The detective’s words looped through her head: He’s watching closer than before.
Her chest tightened. She glanced toward the curtained window. It was closed, but the faint outline of the city lights outside flickered against the glass.
He can’t find me here, she told herself. He doesn’t know where I am.
But even as she thought it, a small voice in her head whispered, “He always knows every moment his victims make.”
When she finally drifted into sleep, it wasn’t restful.
The dream came slow, like fog creeping in through cracks.
She was standing in the woods again, barefoot, surrounded by red petals that glowed faintly in the dark. Serena stood a few steps away, her white dress soaked and torn, her eyes clear and sad.
“Serena?” Lila’s voice cracked.
Her sister smiled. “You shouldn’t be here, Lila.”
“I don’t know how to leave.”
Serena reached out, fingers brushing against hers. “He isn’t done yet.”
The words echoed through the trees, growing louder, deeper until they weren’t Serena’s voice anymore, but a man’s. The voice was low Low, smooth, and almost amused.
“Red suits you, my darling.”
Lila gasped and jolted awake.
For a second, she didn’t know where she was. The dark apartment, the low hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking clock all seemed strange and unfamiliar.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
“It was just a dream,” she whispered. “Just a dream.”
But something felt wrong.
The air in the room had shifted. It was cooler and sharper. A draft brushed against her arm.
Lila slowly sat up, her blanket falling to her lap. The curtains near the window fluttered slightly, though the glass was shut.
Her gaze moved to the windowsill and froze.
There, resting delicately against the white paint, was a single red rose petal.
Her heart dropped.
It wasn’t there before.
The petal trembled slightly, as if freshly placed.
Her first instinct was to call out for Mara but her throat locked. What if he was still here? What if he was inside?
The apartment was silent.
She forced herself to stand up, her bare feet cold against the floor. Each step toward the window felt heavier.
When she reached it, she stopped. The petal gleamed faintly under the light looking crimson, soft, and fresh.
Her breath fogged the glass.
And then she noticed something that made her stomach twist. The petal wasn’t outside the window.
It was on the inside.
Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
For a long, breathless moment, Lila just stood there, staring.
The killer had found her again. Even here. Even in Mara’s home.
Her pulse thundered as her thoughts scattered in every direction. How did he get in? When? Was he still close?
She turned, her eyes darting toward the dark hallway that led to Mara’s study. The door was still closed, a sliver of light beneath it.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Detective Mara?”
No answer.
Only the faint creak of wood as the old apartment settled.
Lila stared back at the rose petal.
And for the first time, she didn’t know if she wanted the detective to open the door or if she was terrified that she already had.