Page 7 of Malevolent Secrets

I watch as Mike frowns, delving deeper into the car’s internal workings. His expression grows more serious with each passing minute.

"Dani," he calls finally, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Come here."

I step closer, my heart pounding. "What is it?"

"The brake lines," he says, pointing to the severed lines. "They’ve been cut."

I stare at him, my mind reeling. "Cut? Are you sure?"

He nods grimly. "Positive. Someone tampered with the car. I don’t think this was an accident."

A cold shiver runs down my spine. "A-are you sure? I mean, I know you’re an expert but…you’re telling me that someone intentionally did this?”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn't true, kid. I’m sure.”

My mind is reeling. Someone has yanked the earth from underneath my feet and I feel like I’m falling. I clutch my purse tightly as if this will restore my equilibrium.

“Why…who…who would do something like that?"

Mike looks at me sympathetically. "I don’t know. Tell me what happened that night.”

I shake my head, trying to clear the clouds gathering in my brain.

“We went out for dinner and we were taking a late-night stroll when he got a call. It looked serious because after he finished speaking to whoever he was speaking to, he wasn’t smiling. He told me he had to go somewhere for something work-related and I just assumed it was his boss ignoring the rules of work-life balance again. He dropped me off at home and drove off and…I never saw him again.”

“All right. Shouldn’t you tell someone? The police, maybe?” Mike asks, but I shake my head again.

“I don’t know. I need to report this, but I’m scared. If someone did this on purpose, then it means his death wasn’t an accident. I don’t want to be the next person to ‘vanish’ conveniently just because I went to the police.”

“Why would someone want to hurt Jeremy?”

I spread my hands. I have no idea either.

“That’s why I need to go into this prepared. I need to go to the police, but I need proof. I guess we should take some pictures of the damage to start with.”

“There’s no data to collect since the car is so old. Only newer cars collect information during and after a crash,” he tells me.

I sigh and nod before starting to take pictures. I don’t know if this is enough to actually help figure out who killed Jeremy, but it’s a start.

I had a bad feeling that night and now I know why. I just don’t understand how Jeremy could have been involved in something dangerous like this. He was just a sweet boy who worked in an office.

“Want to stay for dinner?” Mike offers.

I shake my head. If this new development turns out to be something dangerous, I want him and his family to be as far from it as possible.

“No, I’m going to go straight to the cops. Thank you, Mike.” He hugs me again, and I hop in my car and drive off.

As I drive, my mind is whirling with possibilities. Someone did this intentionally. Someone tried to kill Jeremy and they succeeded. I need answers.

The drive to the police station feels surreal, thoughts of the cut brake lines weighing on my mind. The city's evening hustle is in full swing, but the usual buzz of downtown feels distant, muted. Streetlights cast long shadows on the asphalt and the occasional honk of a car horn barely registers with me.

The police station looms ahead, a stark, concrete building with bars on the windows. Its facade is austere and almost imposing. I park the car and take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead.

Inside, the station is a flurry of activity. Officers in navy blue uniforms bustle about, some typing furiously at their desks, others talking animatedly on their phones. The scent of stale coffee and paper mingles in the air, a testament to long hours and hard work.

I approach the front desk, where a young officer with a kind face and short, cropped hair is seated.

"Good evening, ma'am. How can I help you?" he asks, his voice steady and professional.

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