Chapter 70

Chapter 70
I hung up the phone and walked back to David, standing over him. He was still humming, a soft, repetitive sound. His eyes still vacant. He was truly gone, lost in the labyrinth of his shattered mind.

"It's over, David," I whispered, my voice no longer feigning emotion. It was cold, final. "Your chase is done. You finally caught the Killer. But you paid the ultimate price for it."

I went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, making sure my eyes looked red and puffy. My acting had to be flawless. For Ben. For the world. And as I looked at my reflection, I saw Gracie Reed, the worried partner, ready to play her last, most heartbreaking scene.

The wait for Ben felt like forever, even though I knew it was only a few minutes. Every second ticked by, echoing in the quiet apartment, highlighting the heavy breathing of a broken man. I stood near the window, my back to David, pretending to stare out at the faint glow of the sunrise, but really listening, every nerve alive. My hands were balled into fists, tucked into my pockets. It was an involuntary reaction, a release of the tension that coiled in my gut. Even now, with everything going to plan, there was a cold knot of dread. Not for getting caught. Never for that. But for watching the final, ugly unraveling of someone I had once, in a twisted way, genuinely cared for.

Then I heard it. The squeal of tires outside. Ben. He didn't even bother to shut off his engine, just left the car idling, probably blocking half the street. He was frantic. Good. That meant he was reacting exactly as expected.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, then a frantic pounding on the door. I waited for a beat, just enough time to compose myself, to let a fresh wave of 'distress' wash over my face. Then I rushed to the door, pulling it open.

Ben stood there, disheveled, his eyes wide with alarm, already scanning past me into the apartment. He looked rough, like he'd just thrown on clothes and bolted. "Gracie! What's going on? Is Dave...?"

I didn't let him finish. I burst into fake tears, throwing my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. My body shook, but it was from the effort of holding back a chilling sense of triumph, not genuine fear. "Oh, Ben! It's awful! He's just... he's gone! He's completely gone!"

I pulled away, wiping at my eyes, forcing my voice to tremble. "He's in the living room. He's been like this since I got here. Just... staring. And humming."

Ben pushed past me, his gaze fixed on David. He stopped dead in the doorway, his broad shoulders slumping. He saw the scattered papers, the frantic scrawls on the maps, the general chaos that screamed of a mind collapsing. And then he saw David, slumped in the armchair, humming that low, tuneless drone, eyes vacant.

"Dave," Ben whispered, a raw, pained sound. He rushed over, dropping to his knees in front of David's chair. He put a hand on David's shoulder, gently. "Dave? Hey, buddy? It's Ben. Can you hear me?"

David didn't even flicker. The humming continued, monotonous and chilling. He just stared, not at Ben, not at anything in the room. Just through it, into a place no one else could see.

Ben put his hand on David's forehead, checking for a fever. He looked at his eyes, trying to make sense of the vacant stare. Then he glanced at the scattered files on the coffee table, picked one up. It was full of David's frantic notes about the 'Foundation,' about 'them,' about 'the truth.' It all looked like the rambling of a madman.

"He's completely lost it," Ben muttered, standing up slowly, turning to me, his face pale and drawn. "This case... it finally broke him. All that pressure. All those late nights. He snapped, Gracie. He truly snapped."

I nodded, my lower lip trembling, playing my part to perfection. "He… I shouldn’t have left him alone, I…." I trailed off, letting the silence imply the unbearable trauma of my discovery.

Ben ran a hand through his hair, looking around the messy apartment, then back at David. His best friend. Gone. It was heartbreaking to watch, even for me. But necessary.

"We have to get him help, Gracie," Ben said, his voice firm now, the cop in him kicking in. "He can't stay here. He needs professional care. A facility. Somewhere he can be safe and get the help he needs."

"I know," I whispered, nodding vigorously. "I called 911 before you got here, but I didn't know what to say. I just told them... he wasn't responsive. I told them his name." That was a lie, of course. I had waited for Ben. This had to come from him. His credibility was crucial.

Ben pulled out his own phone, dialing rapidly. "This is Detective Ben Reynolds. I'm at David Corbin's apartment, 42 Grove Street. I have a 10-57. Mental health crisis. He's unresponsive and agitated. We need an ambulance. A mental health crisis team. ASAP."

His voice was clipped, professional, but beneath it, I could hear the raw pain. This was hitting him hard. I watched him, calculating every move. He was doing exactly what I needed.

Within minutes, the sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder. The apartment building, usually so quiet, was about to become a hub of activity. Lights flashed through the windows. The familiar sounds of first responders.

Two paramedics came in first, their faces grim as they took in the scene. They spoke softly to Ben, then approached David carefully. They tried to get his attention, asking his name, touching his arm. He didn't respond, just continued that low, tuneless hum.

"Looks like a severe psychotic break," one paramedic murmured to the other. "He's completely withdrawn."

"Possible stress-induced psychosis, given his recent high-profile case and the pressure he's been under," the other added, looking at the scattered papers.

It was all so perfect. They were confirming my narrative without even knowing it. They saw the 'evidence' I had left for them, and drew the obvious, convenient conclusions.

They gently guided David out of the chair, supporting him, speaking to him in soothing tones even as he remained unresponsive. He didn't fight them. Didn't even seem to notice them. He just allowed himself to be moved, a vacant hum accompanying his every step.

Ben walked beside them, his hand on David's back, his face a mask of profound sorrow. He looked at me, a silent plea in his eyes, asking if I was okay. I nodded, forcing a brave, heartbroken smile. "I'll be right behind you, Ben."

They loaded David into the ambulance. I watched from the doorway as the doors closed, the flashing lights reflecting off the wet asphalt. The sirens slowly faded into the distance, carrying away the last vestiges of the man David Corbin used to be. Ben turned to me, his arm going around my shoulders. "Come on, Gracie. Let's get you out of here. You can't stay here anymore. Not after this."