Amber said, “Yeah, I… I heard about this. It was just announced a couple of days ago. The police are already investigating, so… what is all of this? What are you doing?”
Adam said, “What do you mean? There’s a serial killer out there, Amber. This is important. Someone needs to find…” He was going to say ‘her,’ but he stopped before he could reveal Miki’s gender. He grunted, then he said, “Someone needs to find whoever is doing this.”
“And you think that someone should be… you? No offense, Adam, but you created a timeline that the police have most likely already created by themselves. Don’t you think the cops already know all of this? They know more than this, right? It’s not like they release every piece of evidence to the public. What you’re doing here, it sounds… it sounds unnecessary and unhealthy. I don’t think you should be obsessing over this stuff, especially with Riley here. You should be spending time with her, not reading about… about dead kids.”
Adam knew more than the police. He knew the prime suspect’s full name and country of origin—enough information for the authorities to track Miki down and capture her. He thought about reporting it anonymously, but he feared no one was going to believe him. And if he tried to lie and create a fake backstory, he believed the police could track the tip back to him and confront him about it, causing him more legal and marital problems. He was convinced that he could only help the police by confessing to the crimes he had committed in Japan.
But a confession was out of the question. His family’s safety, his survival, and his freedom were his primary concerns. He could only hope the cops could catch Miki before she could catch him.
He said, “You’re right. I’m just overthinking things. Guess my mind is just looking for something… ‘important’ to do. You know I don’t like feeling useless.”
“I get it,” Amber said as she rubbed his shoulder. “Just remember that you’re not useless to us. You never will be. We need you, and I… I hope you need us, too.”
“Of course I do. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t important to me. I’m acting this way because… because you two are the most important people in my life.”
Amber said, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get through this together.” She looked at his corkboard and said, “You know, you really should think about writing a book. You have the time and the imagination for it. I think you could write one hell of a horror novel. Maybe even a true crime book.”
Adam huffed, then he gave her a half-smile and said, “Maybe I will.”
“Well, before you get into that, you want to come to the kitchen and grab a bite to eat? Maybe spend some time with Riley?”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Pleased by her husband’s progress, Amber smiled and shed tears of relief. She hugged him and thanked him repeatedly. Adam wrapped his arms around her, rubbed her back, and kissed her head. He whispered words of comfort into her ear—‘I love you. Everything’s okay.’ But he continued staring at his monitor, images of Miki’s bloody, swollen face flashing in his mind.
16
APRIL FOOL’S
The text message read: She’s still following me!!
It was sent to a contact labeled ‘Mom’ from a nine-year-old boy named Evan Tate. His little fingers shaking uncontrollably, he sent his mother another text message.
It read: What do I do??
He crouched in the storage closet of an abandoned apartment. Through the doorless doorway in front of him, he could see the living room. Sunshine fell through a broken window, shining light on the messy floor. The room was flooded with garbage—ripped newspapers, torn trash bags, tattered clothing, food wrappers and pizza boxes and oyster pails, and burnt spoons and broken condoms.
He could hear wind whooshing, leaves swishing, and birds twittering outside. He even heard a couple of coughing car engines. But he couldn’t scream for help without exposing his position.
He sent his mother another message: I’m scared.
Evan wasn’t supposed to be there. He had promised his mother that he was going to stay inside while she went to work at a local grocery store—and he broke that promise. While walking to a friend’s house, he ran into a woman in a trench coat on the streets of Compton. She had tried to speak to him, but he ignored her.
It wasn’t until he walked two more blocks that he realized the mysterious woman was following him. He sprinted down the sidewalk, juked this way and that way, and zigzagged across the street, but he couldn’t lose her. He even yelled at her and screamed for help, but no one came to his rescue. So, he ran into the abandoned apartment building and hid in the closet.
Sniffling and whining, he sent his mother a fourth text message: I’m sorry.
He covered his mouth to catch his gasp. He heard footsteps on the concrete walkway outside, growing louder with each step.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud!
Evan tried to call his mother, but the call went straight to her voicemail because she always turned off her cell phone during work hours. If there was an emergency, he was supposed to call the store directly and ask for her. Emergencies, however, were usually accompanied by intense panic, and intense panic had a way of killing rational thoughts.
No one was ever really prepared for a real emergency. Children were especially unprepared.
Tears dripping from his eyes, Evan bolted out of the closet. Broken glass crunched and plastic bags rustled under his sneakers. He slid to a stop in the hallway. He saw the back of a woman’s head as she ascended the stairs in front of him. Before she could reach the landing and turn to face him, he dashed up the stairs to the third floor.
He stopped in another hallway, launching clouds of dust and slivers of wood into the air. He looked everywhere for an escape route or a hiding place. He heard the stairs creaking behind him. He lurched up the stairs and headed to the fourth floor. He didn’t see a viable exit or decent hiding place, so his sweaty palm slid across the handrail as he ran up to the fifth floor.
He was surprised to see it was the top floor of the building—a dead end. He ran to the end of the hallway to his left and looked out the broken window. He thought about jumping, but he was afraid of heights. He looked back at the stairs upon hearing a squealing floorboard. She was getting closer. He ran to the other end of the hall.
He slid into the last apartment to his left and found himself in another living room. All of the doors and furniture had been removed from the apartment, replaced with trash. There was nowhere to hide. He spotted the rusty railing of a fire escape outside of the living room window. It was his only escape route. The footsteps accelerated in the hallway behind him. He took a big gulp of air before running towards the window.
“Help!” he cried as he ran. “Help me! She’s—”
The floor collapsed as he reached the center of the living room. He fell through the floor and landed in the apartment below. The explosive crashing sound echoed through the neighborhood, followed by the boy’s bellows of agony. His legs had snapped at the knees. Below his busted kneecaps, his fractured tibia bones stuck out of his skin. He couldn’t hear the floor groaning under him over his own screaming.