Death after Death

Death after Death
The newsroom had begun to thin out for the evening. Reporters shuffled papers, monitors hummed softly, and the low buzz of conversation drifted in the air like static. Alisha, Joel, and Sam were gathering their things, ready to leave after a day that already felt heavier than most. The shadows stretched long against the office walls, and the fluorescent lights flickered once, briefly, before returning to their dull glow.
Just as they reached the elevator, a voice cut through the chatter.
“Did you hear? Allan Gomez is dead.”
The words seemed to freeze the entire floor. A handful of reporters stopped mid-sentence, eyes darting toward the young intern who had spoken. He held his phone awkwardly, as though even reading the words aloud had cursed him.
Alisha turned slowly. “What did you say?”
The intern’s face was pale. “I—I just saw the news alert. Our old station commander… they found him dead.”
Joel grabbed the phone from the boy’s hand, scanning the screen. His lips pressed into a hard line. “It’s true. No details yet on how. Just that it was sudden.”
Sam swore under his breath. “What the hell is going on? First Archie, now Gomez?”
Alisha’s chest tightened. The names were stacking up like gravestones, each tied to the same web of unanswered questions. Archie Rivas, suspected in the disappearance of Aubrey Moore. Now Allan Gomez, who once ruled their newsroom with an iron hand. Both gone. Both without closure.
“This can’t just be coincidence,” Alisha whispered. “It’s connected. It has to be.”
Joel looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Connected how? Gomez wasn’t a suspect. He was just… difficult. Corrupt maybe, but not part of this.”
Alisha shook her head. “You don’t get it. Every time we dig deeper, someone ends up dead. What if whoever’s behind these disappearances is cleaning house? Erasing anyone who might know too much?”
Sam leaned closer, his voice low. “So you think Gomez knew something about the missing women?”
Alisha didn’t answer right away. Her thoughts were racing, but her gut screamed yes. Gomez had ties to people with power, connections stretching across the city like dark roots under the soil. If he’d stumbled across something, or worse—been part of it—then his death might not be natural.
The elevator doors opened, but none of them moved.
“I don’t like this,” Joel muttered. “Every step we take, it’s like someone’s watching. Waiting. And now Gomez is gone.”
Alisha’s eyes flicked toward the newsroom windows. The city lights glittered outside, but she felt no comfort in their glow. She swore for a moment she saw a figure in the reflection, standing still behind them. When she turned, there was nothing. Only the silent desks.
Her voice was steady when she finally spoke. “We need to find out how he died. If the police won’t tell us, we’ll find out ourselves. Because if this is part of the same pattern… we’re next.”
The words sank into the quiet. Even Sam, usually the most cynical, didn’t argue.
They stepped into the elevator, the doors sliding shut with a metallic sigh.
The ride down was suffocatingly slow. The hum of the machinery echoed too loudly in the confined space, and each floor seemed to crawl by. Alisha felt the weight of the phone in her pocket. The unknown number that had been sending her messages hadn’t spoken since last night. But she knew, deep down, that silence didn’t mean safety.
When the doors finally opened to the lobby, the three of them were greeted by the sterile brightness of overhead lights and the faint smell of floor cleaner. Yet even there, the world felt off-kilter, as though the news of Gomez’s death had cracked something unseen.
Outside, rain had begun to fall, light but steady, beading against the glass doors. Alisha stopped just short of stepping out.
“What’s wrong?” Joel asked.
“Doesn’t it feel like… we’re being funneled?” she murmured.
Sam frowned. “Funneled?”
“Like someone’s guiding us. Cornering us.”
Neither man replied, but their silence was answer enough.
They walked out into the wet night, the sound of rainfall like soft static. Cars hissed across the slick streets, their headlights casting brief beams through the dark. The city looked alive, yet hostile. Every shadow seemed too deep, every alley too quiet.
Joel’s phone buzzed, making them all flinch. He pulled it out quickly, then showed the screen.
A message.
“One by one. Until she is found.”
There was no sender. No number. Just the words, glowing stark against the screen.
Sam’s throat tightened. “That’s about Aubrey. It has to be.”
Alisha’s hands trembled, though she clenched them into fists. “Or it’s about all of them. The women who vanished. Whoever this is—they’re not done. Gomez was just another piece.”
The rain fell harder now, drumming on their coats and hair. Lightning flashed briefly in the sky, illuminating the street corner. For an instant, Alisha thought she saw someone standing at the far end, hooded, motionless. But when the thunder rolled and the light vanished, so did the figure.
Joel shoved his phone back into his pocket, his jaw set. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
They hurried toward the car, the night pressing closer with every step.
Yet Alisha couldn’t shake the words from her mind. One by one.
Was that a threat? A promise? Or a countdown?
As she slid into the back seat, the thought refused to leave her. Gomez had died without warning. Archie had been buried alive. The circle was closing tighter. And Aubrey Moore was still missing.
The car pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurring in the wet glass. Alisha looked out into the storm, her reflection merging with the streaks of water. For a moment, she thought her reflection smiled back at her, even though her lips hadn’t moved.
She jerked back, heart pounding, and whispered under her breath.
“This isn’t over. Not even close.”
But somewhere in the distance, as if carried by the rain itself, a faint sound reached her ears.
A rope creaking. Slowly. Steadily.
As though someone, somewhere, was swinging in the dark.
And the night swallowed the sound whole.