Page 56 of Girl, Reborn

The three elements swirled in her mind,merging and separating, dancing around each other in a macabre waltz. And then,like a lightning bolt splitting the sky, it hit her.

Time of death.

Midnight for Toledo. Eight AM for Ayers.Four PM for Clancy. Regular eight-hour intervals, precise as a metronome. Notrandom. Not opportunistic.

Planned.

Timed.

‘Son of a bitch,’ she breathed.

Luca perked up, sensing the change in theair. ‘What? What is it?’

Ella snatched the marker from his hand,nearly taking off a finger in the process. She scrawled the times of death nextto each victim's name.

‘It’s a clock,’ she rasped. ‘A goddamnclock. Every eight hours, like clockwork. A cycle of victims, constantly beingreplaced.’

Tucker and Luca crowded around the board.‘Christ, Ella. The clock,’ Luca said. ‘The water clock in the town.’

Pieces fell into place with thesatisfying click of tumblers in a lock. The steady drip of time, lives snuffedout like tears in the rain. A killer obsessed with water in a town dying ofthirst. It was poetry, sick and twisted as a pretzel in hell.

It all led back to that monstrosity ofmetal and gears. A symbol of progress turned harbinger of doom.

‘Goddammit, Hawkins, I could kiss you.’

‘You think the killer's using it somehow?As inspiration or-’

‘Don't know,’ Ella cut him off, alreadymoving towards the door. ‘But I'm gonna find out. You two stay put. I need tosee that thing again.’

But Ella was already gone, out the doorand into the night. She was onto something big, could feel it in her bones. Andsomewhere out there, a killer was watching, waiting for the next tick of hisdemented timepiece.

The hunt was on.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ella skidded into the dried-up backside ofLiberty Grove’s town square. She ditched the car and made the rest of the journeyon foot, each step bringing her closer to that damn water clock. The night airwas thick as molasses, heavy with the promise of rain that never came. Justanother broken promise in a town full of them.

Her lungs burned, muscles screaming inprotest, but Ella pushed on. She'd run herself into the ground if that's whatit took to crack this case. The faces of the victims flashed through her mindwith each pounding step. Toledo. Ayers. Clancy. Dead men walking, right upuntil the moment they weren't walking anymore.

The square loomed ahead, a sorry excusefor a public gathering spot if there ever was one. Scraggly trees and patchygrass surrounded the clock like mourners at a funeral. Streetlights flickeredweakly, as if even they couldn't be bothered to shine in this godforsaken town.

And there it was, the star of the show –that monstrosity of metal and gears, ticking away the minutes of a dying town.It stood in the center of the square like some alien artifact, with itsgleaming brass and intricate machinery. In better times, it might've beenimpressive. Now, it just looked like a middle finger to a place that couldn'teven keep its taps running.

Somewhere to her left, the busker stirredin his sleep. He jolted awake when he sensed the presence of another soul. Ellaguessed the poor guy didn’t have a home to go to. Or maybe sleeping here waspreferable to his domestic life. Both thoughts were terrifying.

‘You again,’ Clyde breathed. ‘Back for anencore?’

Ella ignored him, laser-focused on theclock. She circled it slowly, keen eyes dragging over every inch of pittedmetal and scummy glass. Some cop's mind instinct itched at the base of herskull, screaming that the answer was here. This overgrown sideshow attractionwas the key to everything – killer, victims, the whole ball of wax. She justhad to find it.

The clock was a marvel of engineering, shehad to admit. A goddamn work of art. Gears meshed together in an intricatedance, pipes and valves snaking around like metal vines.

But art didn't explain the bodies pilingup like clockwork.

The basins squatted empty, dry enough tospit cotton. No water gurgling between levels, no gears grinding their teeth tothe beat of passing hours.

And there, at the bottom of the finaltank, something glimmered wetly. A drop of moisture in this desert at the endof the world. Ella leaned in, every nerve howling like they'd been dipped inbattery acid. Her hand snaked out; poked the oily smear. Came away damp andchill.

She raised glistening fingers and sniffed.

---