Page 21 of Rest In Peace

Sarah's eyelids fluttered open, her consciousness surfacing like a diver breaking through a murky sea of sleep. She lay still for a moment, disoriented by the abrupt return to wakefulness without knowing what had summoned her from her dreams.

The room was shrouded in darkness, save for a thin sliver of light that sliced under the bedroom door, casting an amber glow across the foot of their bed where Steven’s shape should have been.

Her heart thumped a slow, heavy beat; the other half of the bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. A thread of unease began to weave its way through her chest as she turned her head toward the source of the light: it was coming from Victoria's room.

The hospital had released Victoria weeks ago, but the battle scars of cancer treatments were still fresh, painting dark circles under her fragile eyes and sculpting her small frame even smaller. Steven had become her unwavering guardian, ferrying their daughter to the relentless chemo sessions that left Victoria listless, often retching into the early hours of the morning.

With a soft rustle of cotton sheets, Sarah pushed herself up, her feet finding the cold hardwood floor. Her movements were automatic, propelled by a mother's instinct that whispered of something amiss. She padded down the hallway, each step bringing her closer to the unusual light, her mind grappling with scenarios that might explain Steven's absence from their bed at this ungodly hour.

As she neared Victoria's bedroom, strange, disjointed sounds reached her ears—a symphony of distress that quickened her pulse. It was a guttural noise, interspersed with sharp gasps, unlike anything she had heard before. Her hand trembled slightly as it reached for the doorknob, her breath catching in her throat.

The door swung open with a soft creak, unveiling the scene within. There, in the dim glow of a bedside lamp, was Steven, his broad shoulders hunched protectively as he cradled their daughter in his arms. Victoria's body was convulsing, her limbs jerking uncontrollably as if pulled by invisible marionette strings.

"Call 911!" Steven's voice was raw, laced with panic as he locked eyes with Sarah, his plea slicing through the haze of terror that threatened to choke her.

In an instant, Sarah was sprinting back to their bedroom, her thoughts scattered like shards of glass. The phone seemed impossibly far away, her fingers fumbling over the digits as she punched them in with desperate haste. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the terror that seized her.

"Please, please hurry," she begged into the receiver, her voice barely more than a whisper strained with fear. The operator's calm, steady instructions were a lifeline in the chaos, grounding her enough to relay their address, to stutter out the words “seizure” and “cancer” and “daughter.”

She dropped the phone as soon as they confirmed help was on the way, her legs carrying her back to Victoria's room, where time seemed to have slowed to a crawl. Steven's face was a mask of anguish, his strong arms now a fortress around their little girl, his whispers a litany of comfort and love.

"Shh, it's okay; Daddy's got you. Help is coming, my brave girl."

It tore through Sarah, seeing her husband, usually a pillar of strength and resolve, frayed at the edges with fear for their child. Dropping to her knees beside them, she reached out a shaking hand, brushing back the damp curls from Victoria's forehead, murmuring reassurances that felt brittle on her tongue.

"Mommy's here, baby. You're going to be okay," she said, though her gaze flickered to Steven's, seeking silent confirmation, shared hope amidst the dread that clawed at her insides.

They waited together, a family united by love and the shared helplessness of watching their daughter fight a battle neither of them could take on for her. Each second stretched into eternity, filled only with the sound of Victoria's labored breathing and the distant wail of sirens growing ever closer.

And in that quiet room, as the first hints of dawn began to seep through the blinds, Sarah held onto two things—the warmth of Steven's hand gripping hers and the fierce determination that somehow, someway, they would see their daughter through this night.

Chapter 29

The flickering glow of the laptop screen bathed the room in an eerie light as I leaned over the police report spread out on the kitchen table. The rest of the house was shrouded in darkness, save for the muted luminescence from the living room where Matt lay sprawled on the couch, the noise of the television seeping through the walls like a distant murmur.

I rubbed my temples, feeling the weight of fatigue pressing down on me. A glance at the clock confirmed it was well past midnight. Yet, there was no sleep for me—not with Nicki Andersson's case files splayed before me, demanding attention.

A residual scent of roasted garlic and thyme lingered in the air, remnants of the hastily assembled dinner I'd managed to cobble together for the kids. The younger ones had succumbed to sleep's embrace hours ago, their gentle breathing now part of the house's nighttime symphony.

Earlier in the evening, a call with Olivia had been a balm to my spirit. Brimming with collegiate excitement, her voice reminded me of life beyond these four walls and the grueling cases that occupied my mind. She spoke of new friends and the sprawling campus of UCF with such vivacity that I could almost forget the pang of her absence.

Now, with everyone settled and the house quiet, the reality of my solitude crept in. I turned back to the photographs, eyes scanning the graphic tableau of Nicki's final moments. The stark white of the coroner's marker stood out against the deep crimson that marred the scene.

Something felt wrong—off-kilter. Nicki's body position and the way her limbs were arranged were all too familiar. An uncomfortable chill traced its way up my spine as I shuffled through other images, hunting for the one that would confirm my suspicions.

There, amidst the chaos of papers, was Steven Chapman's death scene. My breath hitched as I placed the two side by side. The resemblance was uncanny—the same unnaturally twisted posture and deliberate placement of hands and feet.

The discrepancy that had nagged at me earlier now screamed for recognition. How her body was laid out didn't match the pattern of blood splatter on the wall and floor behind her. The angles were all wrong, like a jigsaw puzzle forced together without regard for the intended picture. The gun in her hand didn’t seem natural. It was placed.

My gaze shifted between Nicki and Steven's photos, darting from one detail to the next. They weren’t just similar—they were identical. The realization hit like a bucket of ice water; the implication of what lay before me was as undeniable as it was horrifying.

Goosebumps rose on my arms, each one a silent testament to the fear that now gripped me. A patterned killer was at large, moving among us with chilling precision. What dark motive drove them to replicate this morbid scene?

With a suddenness that startled even myself, I swept the files into a neat stack, the sharp snap of paper echoing in the stillness. Determination hardened within me like steel. This killer relied on silence, on the shadows that hid their gruesome work. But I would be the light that exposed them, the relentless force that would bring an end to their macabre dance of death.

Matt's soft snore punctuated the quiet, a grounding reminder of the normalcy that lay just beyond this table. But for now, I was tethered to this world of secrets and shadows, bound by a promise to the silent victims whose voices cried out for justice.

There was work to be done, and I would not rest until the killer was found. Each photograph and report was now a piece of a larger, sinister puzzle, and I was determined to put it together, no matter the cost.

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