Chapter 53
Chapter 53
David
He started yelling, not at the reporters anymore, but just into the air, his voice getting louder and higher. "The truth won't stay buried! He said it! He said no one is safe from the truth! He built this! He built it all on lies! The foundation! It's all rotten!"
His tie was crooked, his expensive suit looked like a rumpled rag. He looked absolutely insane. He was pointing his finger, wildly, at nothing, then at the camera, then at the sky.
"Lost souls! All of them! He made us lose our way! Lost path! He killed them! But Davies! Davies was the real monster! He silenced everyone! He forced us to stand by! To be blind! To be silent!"
He was just rambling now, shouting out phrases from the Killer's messages, mixing them with his own terrified thoughts. He wasn’t even making sense, but the fear was so real, it practically jumped off the screen. He was melting down, right there, for the whole world to see.
My mind, still fuzzy from the meds, started putting pieces together. The "LOST PATH" note with the broken compass Rhodes got. The "FOUNDATION" spray-painted in his car. The Killer wasn’t just striking; they were playing a head game with Vance, pushing him until he broke. And he broke hard. He was screaming out all the dirty secrets, confirming everything I’d suspected about Davies and his network.
A nurse walked in, a quiet shadow, and saw me awake. "Oh, Inspector! You're awake! How are you feeling?" She started checking my IV, her movements gentle.
"Fine," I mumbled, my eyes still glued to the screen. "What's going on with Rhodes?"
She sighed, shaking her head. "It's all over the news. Assistant Commissioner Rhodes just had a complete breakdown live on air. Sounds like he might have been involved in some old corruption with former Commissioner Davies. City's gone crazy, sir. Protests everywhere. People are terrified."
Terror. I could feel it, even in this quiet room. The Killer had gone straight for Rhodes, making him expose the rot himself. It was a risky move, bold as hell. And it worked. The city was finally seeing the ugly truth, not from some official report, but from the terrified, screaming face of its Assistant Commissioner but I knew Vance was next, not after this.
My shoulder ached, but a different kind of pain, a frustrated energy, started to buzz through me. I was stuck here, watching the biggest thing in this case explode, and I couldn’t do anything. I needed to get out. I needed to be there. Rhodes was spitting out information, even if it was just desperate rambling. The city was in chaos. The Killer was running the show, making their point loud and clear.
My mind raced, even with the fuzz. This wasn't just revenge. This was about tearing down an entire corrupt system, piece by piece, forcing the truth into the light. And the Killer was using me, using Rhodes, using the whole city, to do it.
"Can you get me a pen and paper?" I asked the nurse, my voice a little stronger now. "And a phone. I need to call Ben."
I needed to know everything Vance said. Every single word. Every panicked accusation. Even if he sounded like a lunatic, there would be truth in his fear. The Killer was pushing him to reveal the 'foundation' of the corruption. And I was damn sure I was going to be the one to finish mapping it out. This forced rest was over.
Ben
The city wasn’t just on edge anymore; it was teetering on the damn brink, one wrong step from a full-blown freefall. Rhodes’s meltdown, live on every damn news channel, had been the match dropped into a barrel of gasoline. He’d gone from being the stern, silver-haired Assistant Commissioner to a babbling, sweating lunatic, screaming about Davies and "lost paths" and "foundations built on lies." He literally confirmed everything David had been busting his ass to prove, only he did it while having a public nervous breakdown. It was a sick joke, really. Rhodes had tried so hard to bury the truth, and in the end, he dug it up himself, live for millions to see.
The precinct was pure bedlam. Every desk phone was ringing, vibrating with calls from pissed-off citizens, frantic media, and even higher-ups from City Hall, all demanding answers no one had. The buzz of terrified chatter was so loud it was like a swarm of angry bees trapped in the building. Cops were running around, eyes wide, bumping into each other, all trying to look busy and important, but really, you could see the fear in their eyes. They knew. We all knew. The Killer wasn’t just out there; they were playing us, using the whole damn city as their personal chessboard.
My own desk felt like ground zero. Reports piled up like dirty laundry, emails screamed for attention, and my personal cell wouldn’t stop buzzing with messages from friends and family, all asking if I was safe, if the city was going to burn. I kept glancing at David’s empty chair, a fresh wave of dread washing over me each time. He was still in the hospital, out of the action, and frankly, lucky to be out of this particular shitstorm. I’d visited him that morning. He was looking a bit better, conscious, but still pale as a ghost, still hooked up to all those tubes and monitors. He’d seen the news, of course. His eyes, even while half-lidded, had been burning with that familiar intensity. He probably wanted to rip out his IV and come back here and run the show, God bless him.
Rhodes was the focus of all the immediate fury, though. The mayor’s office was breathing down our necks, demanding Rhodes’s resignation, an apology, a miracle—anything to stop the hemorrhaging of public trust. But Rhodes was nowhere to be found. After his spectacular public implosion, he'd vanished. His security detail, the one he’d beefed up after the "Lost Path" message, couldn't find him. He’d apparently slipped away from City Hall in the chaos, leaving his bewildered staff to deal with the fallout.
"Reynolds!" Lieutenant Gerald, a grizzled old-timer who usually looked like he’d rather be fishing, barked my name. He was pale, his usually calm face creased with genuine alarm. "Get your ass in here! Rhodes's security just called again. They found his car. Abandoned near the old docks. They’re getting eyes on it now, but… it doesn't look good."
My stomach dropped. The docks. An isolated, grimy part of the city, full of old warehouses and forgotten corners. A perfect place for the Killer to do their dirty work, away from prying eyes. And "doesn't look good" from Gerald? That meant it was already bad. Real bad.