Page 43 of Girl, Haunted

‘Hawkins, look.’

Luca followed her line of sight. He kneeled down and swept a finger through one of the spots. ‘Fresh, but congealing at the edges. Can’t be more than an hour old.’

She focused on the trail. The drips led to a battered metal door. A faded sign read ‘Emergency Exit’.

The killer’s escape route.

Ella glared at the door, picturing the unsub sliding through and melting into the day, untouchable. She imagined putting her fist through the rusted metal. Imagined it was the killer's face.

‘Dammit, Hawkins. Our guy knows this place like the back of his hand.’

***

While Sheriff Redmond oversaw the forensics team at the body and the escape route, Ella and Luca went through the interview process with the nine patrons still locked in the Crypt of Despair's final room. One hour in and they'd already grilled eight of them, jotting names and checking IDs until her wrist ached. None of them were aware of the very real homicide that had taken place fifty feet away, but Ella guessed that they all suspected something serious had gone down.

Their stories all lined up – ten people went in, only nine came out. The missing link was a tall man in a leather jacket, gloves and mask. A white mask with blood streaks around the eyes, to be precise. The same one the killer had then planted onto his victim’s face.

And much to her irritation, no one caught this mysterious tenth person’s name.

One jumpy kid still needed questioning though. Ella sized him up; a skinny scarecrow in a ‘This Is My Costume’ t-shirt. He clutched his knock-off Freddy Kruger hat in white-knuckled hands and visibly shook in his Converse.

She fixed him with a stare and moved in his direction. ‘Name?’

The boy gulped. ‘Jared Evans, ma’am.’

Ma’am. Ella always felt like the word added twenty years. ‘Got ID, Jared?’

He fumbled for his wallet with shaky hands then passed over his driving license. Ella gave it the once-over. ‘Says here you’re 21. You in college?’

'Yes, ma'am. Senior at Glenville U.'

‘So how come you’re not there on a Tuesday afternoon?’

Jared bit his lip and said, ‘No lectures on Tuesdays, miss. Plus these haunts are less busy about now.’

Ella wasn’t the college police, but she just wanted to assess the guy’s capacity for honesty. ‘Okay, Jared. Level with me. This tenth guy in your group – you remember anything about him? Anything at all?’

Jared's gaze flicked away, feet shifting towards the door. ‘No, not really. Guy had a mask on the whole time.’

‘Is that normal?’

‘Yeah. Some people like to immerse themselves.’

‘Even on Tuesday afternoons?’

‘Sure,’ Jared said.

‘You notice anything about this guy? The way he talked, walked? Tattoos? Hair? Moles?’

Jared shook his head, but Ella caught the subtle tells of deception. His gaze darted to the left, a classic sign of accessing constructed memories rather than genuine recollection. He fidgeted with the brim of his Freddy Krueger hat, a self-soothing gesture, one she'd seen countless times in interview rooms. His stance had shifted too, feet now angled towards the exit as if his body was preparing for flight even as his mind tried to maintain the lie.

But most telling of all was the slight tic in his left eye. It was an involuntary muscle spasm that often accompanied stress or anxiety.

‘Jared, there’s a neon sign above your head right now that tells me you’re not giving me the full story.’

Beads of sweat gathered on the poor kid’s forehead, then the dam broke. ‘Alright, I did talk to him. Just a little.’

Ella arched a brow. ‘And?’

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