Page 1 of When You're Gone

PROLOGUE

The London fog was a living,breathing entity, a thick, palpable presence that enveloped the city like ashroud. It hung heavy in the air, muffling the usual sounds of the metropolis,turning the familiar streets into an eerie, otherworldly landscape. EmilyStanton navigated this surreal world with a mixture of excitement andtrepidation; her phone held high to capture every unsettling detail for herever-present online audience.

At twenty-four, Emily had built alife and a career on sharing her experiences with the world. Her followers wereher constant companions, a digital entourage that accompanied her on everyadventure, every foray into the unknown. Tonight, they were with her as shedelved into the mysterious heart of nocturnal London, eager to experience thecity's secrets through her eyes.

"Can you believe thisfog?" she whispered into her phone, her voice tinged with a combination ofawe and unease. The camera panned across the scene, capturing the way the mistcurled around the old, worn buildings, transforming the ordinary into somethingsinister and unfamiliar. "It's like something out of a Victorian ghoststory. I keep expecting to see Jack the Ripper lurking in the shadows, or maybeDr. Jekyll prowling the streets in search of his next victim."

The comments flooded in, acascading stream of thumbs up, heart emojis, and words of encouragement. Someof her followers urged her on, eager for more of the atmospheric footage,thrilled by the prospect of vicarious thrills. Others expressed concern for hersafety, urging her to be careful, to watch her step in the treacherous fog.Emily smiled, drawing comfort from their digital presence. She wasn't alone outhere in the mist – her followers were with her every step of the way.

As she rounded a corner, a shapeloomed out of the fog ahead, stopping her dead in her tracks. It was abuilding, but not like the others she'd passed on her nighttime stroll. Thisone seemed to emanate a sense of history, of secrets long buried and forgotten.It was as if the structure itself was whispering to her, beckoning her to comecloser, to uncover the mysteries that lay within its walls.

Intrigued, Emily zoomed in on thefacade, trying to make out the details through the swirling fog. The buildingwas old, that much was clear, with crumbling brickwork and boarded-up windowsthat spoke of long neglect. But there was something else, something that tuggedat the edges of her mind, a nagging sense of familiarity that she couldn'tquite place.

"Look at this, guys," shebreathed, her voice hushed with excitement. "I’d heard it was here. It'san old, abandoned bathhouse. I've never seen anything like it before. I wonderwhat stories it could tell, what secrets it might hold..."

Her followers were quick torespond, some sharing her excitement, others urging caution. A few claimed toknow the history of the place, spinning tales of dark deeds and restlessspirits. They spoke of a Victorian-era bathhouse, once a place of relaxationand rejuvenation, now reduced to a crumbling ruin, haunted by the ghosts of itspast. Emily felt a thrill run through her, a mix of fear and anticipation. Thiswas the kind of moment she lived for – the chance to explore the unknown, touncover the secrets that the city kept hidden. But all was not as it seemed.She herself was performing. She had prepared somewhat for the destination,unbeknownst to her viewers. It was not as happenstance as it appeared.

With a deep breath, she approachedthe bathhouse, her footsteps echoing loudly on the damp pavement. The buildingseemed to grow as she drew near, looming over her like a slumbering giant,waiting to be awakened. A part of her wanted to turn back, to retreat to thesafety of the well-lit streets and the comforting glow of her phone screen. Butshe pushed the feeling aside, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead. She hada responsibility to her followers, to her own sense of adventure. She couldn'tback down now, not when she was so close to discovering something trulyextraordinary.

The door groaned as she pushed itopen, the sound echoing through the cavernous space beyond. Emily steppedinside, her phone's light cutting through the gloom, casting eerie shadows onthe crumbling walls. The interior of the bathhouse was a testament to neglect,a once-grand space now reduced to a shell of its former self. Cracked tiles,stained walls, and pools long since drained of water greeted her, a starkreminder of the passage of time and the inevitability of decay.

"I can't believe thisplace," she murmured, her voice sounding small and muffled in the vastroom. "It's like something out of a dream... or a nightmare. I can almostfeel the weight of the years pressing down on me."

She moved deeper into thebathhouse, her phone capturing every eerie detail, every haunting vignette. Thecomments continued to pour in, some of her followers sharing her sense ofwonder, others growing increasingly worried for her well-being. Emily tried toreassure them, to laugh off their concerns, but she couldn't shake the growingsense of unease that gnawed at her stomach, the feeling that she was beingwatched by unseen eyes.

And then, in the periphery of hervision, a flicker of movement. A shadow, darting across the far wall, too fastto be a trick of the light. Emily spun around, her heart hammering in herchest, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The beam of her phone scannedthe room, searching for the source of the disturbance, but there was nothingthere. Just the empty, echoing space, and the relentless press of the darkness.

"It's okay, guys," shesaid, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Just myimagination playing tricks on me. There's nothing to be scared of here. It'sjust an old, abandoned building, right?"

But even as the words left hermouth, she knew they weren't true. There was something in the bathhouse withher, something that didn't belong. She could feel it watching her, could senseits malevolent presence lurking just beyond the reach of her phone's light. Itwas as if the very walls were alive, pulsing with a dark, ancient energy thatthreatened to consume her.

She took a step back, ready toflee, to abandon this place and never look back. But it was too late. A figureemerged from the shadows, a specter clad in Victorian finery, its face hiddenbehind a grinning mask that leered at her with a twisted, mocking expression.Emily's scream caught in her throat, her phone tumbling from her suddenly numbfingers as she stared at the apparition in mute horror.

The figure loomed over her, adisjointed poem spilling from its lips, a hymn of madness and despair thatechoed through the cavernous space.

"Dark, the time in which welive. No peace, not life, we shan't forgive. For those who fame above all craveshall lie within an unmarked grave."

Emily tried to run, to push pastthe specter and escape into the night, but her legs wouldn't obey, rooted tothe spot by a terror deeper than any she'd ever known. The last thing she saw,before the darkness claimed her, was the glint of a blade in the figure's hand,and the endless, pitiless gaze of the mask, staring into her soul.

Her phone lay forgotten on thecracked tile, a mute witness to the horror that had unfolded. On its screen,the comments continued to scroll by, a litany of confusion and growing dread asher followers tried to make sense of what they'd just seen. And then, abruptly,the feed cut out, leaving only a final, chilling image – the masked figure,bending down to stare directly into the camera, its eyes glittering with amadness born of ages past.

In the silence that followed, thefog seemed to thicken, swallowing the bathhouse and the secrets it held. Thecity slumbered on, unaware of the horror that had just taken place in itsmidst. And somewhere in the depths of the mist, a figure in Victorian garbslipped away, melting into the shadows like a ghost, leaving only a trail ofwhispered poems and the memory of a scream in its wake.

CHAPTER ONE

Finn Wright felt a familiar senseof unease as he and Amelia Winters approached Rob's aunt's cottage in the quietvillage of Great Amwell. The peaceful surroundings, with their quaint housesand well-tended gardens, stood in stark contrast to the purpose of their visit.Max Vilne, the killer who had haunted Finn's thoughts for far too long, hadbeen sighted in the area, and Finn was determined to bring him to justice onceand for all.

As they pulled up to the cottage,Finn saw that the police were already on the scene, their cars parkedhaphazardly on the narrow lane. He exchanged a glance with Amelia, seeing hisown determination mirrored in her eyes. They were a team, a partnership forgedin the heat of countless investigations, and he drew strength from herpresence.

Rob greeted them as they exited thecar, his usually cheerful face creased with worry. "Finn, Amelia, thanksfor coming so quickly," he said, shaking their hands. "We've beensearching the area, but so far, no sign of Vilne."

Finn nodded, his jaw clenching withfrustration. Vilne had proven to be a slippery target, always one step ahead ofthe law. But Finn refused to let him slip away again. "What about thesightings?" he asked, his voice tense. "Are they credible?"

Rob sighed, running a hand throughhis hair. "They seem to be. Several people reported seeing a man matchingVilne's description in the village yesterday. We're taking it very seriously,but you know how elusive he can be."

Finn felt a surge of anger mixedwith a hint of guilt. Vilne was his responsibility, his failure. He should havecaught him long ago before more innocent lives were lost. "We'll findhim," he said, his voice low and intense. "We have to."

“Is it your fault he escaped afteryou caught him in the US? While you were here in England?” Amelia asked with araised eyebrow. “Is it your fault he pulled strings to put you under pressure,manipulated people, then smuggled himself to the UK to have revenge on you? Allbecause you had the audacity to catch him in the first place?”

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