Page 66 of Girl, Unseen

‘Not now.’ He pulled the pipe back. The vase wobbled like drunk trying to dance. ‘Don't you dare?'

The glass wasn't supposed to dance like that. Victor blinked hard, and the world stretched like warm honey. Something was wrong with the shop's air - maybe a gas leak. He'd had them before, back when the regulators were as old as the bricks.

‘Focus.’ The word came out thick. Syrupy. His tongue moved like it belonged to someone else.

The vase needed attention. The glass wouldn't wait while he fought whatever this was. But the room had started doing things rooms shouldn't do - stretching at the corners, breathing with the furnace's pulse. Even the glory hole looked different. Hungrier.

'Just need to finish...' But what was he finishing? The shape of his pipe didn't make sense anymore. Clear glass bled into cobalt like a wound that wouldn't clot.

His knees buckled. The concrete floor felt like it was floating. Victor caught himself on the bench and the metal burned cold through his palm. Wrong. Everything felt wrong. The furnace watched him with its ancient eye while sweat poured down his neck.

Something moved in his gut. Not nausea - something deeper. Like his insides were rearranging themselves without asking permission. The tools on his bench multiplied then divided. Two sets of pliers became four became eight.

The pipe slipped. Glass worth two months' rent headed for the floor. Victor caught it on pure reflex, but the save cost him. His legs forgot their job, and the corner barely caught his sick.

He tried to remember what came next. Safety procedures. Emergency protocols. Things you learned to keep fire from eating you alive. But his thoughts ran like that taffy-pull glass, stretching thin then snapping. Glass shards from the ruined piece glittered nearby. They looked like stars. Like pieces of sky caught in amber.

The glory hole's heat pressed against him. Had it always been this bright? Colors shifted at the edges of his vision – cobalt bleeding into clear into something that didn't have a name. Victor was dimly aware that he was vomiting or had already vomited and was waiting for his body to adapt.

Then movement caught his fading vision. A figure stood by the door - just a shadow against November light.

‘You...’

The sales rep hadn't left. Had never left.

Understanding came too late. Victor's legs folded like wet paper. The concrete rose up to meet him as darkness crowded in. His last thought was of the glass - how it lived between states, how it danced between form and chaos.

Darkness took him before he could finish the thought.

Fire had lived in Victor's bones for fifty years. Now it was time for it to claim its own.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Outside the holding cells in the 23rd Precinct, Ella leaned against a filing cabinet while Luca paced trenches in the floor. Three feet of concrete separated them from Ezra Crowley, and for the first time in days, Ella felt something close to relief.

Now, it was time to look at the evidence.

‘He fits.’ She ticked points off on her fingers. ‘Narcissistic personality disorder with messiah tendencies. High intelligence mixed with grandiose delusions. Technical aptitude for complex planning. Even his presentation screams control freak - did you see how his tattoos line up perfectly with his neck muscles?’

‘Plus the whole cult thing.’ Luca stopped pacing long enough to crack his knuckles. ‘Building a following, manipulating vulnerable people. Classic power dynamics.’

‘Exactly. Most serial killers are failed cult leaders. He just succeeded where they failed.’

The profile lined up like bullets in a clip. Crowley had the ego, the charisma, the need to dominate others. Even the way he dressed was theater. Everything about him was engineered to create an image and inspire devotion.

Luca said, ‘The symbols too. Aside from conveniently standing at one of the crime scenes, the symbols are our best shot at charging this guy. You think he recognized me?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

‘It’s weird though. Last night at the meeting, he was all Lord of the Rings. Today he just seemed...’

‘Scared?’

‘Normal.’ Luca shrugged.

‘Psychos are the best actors. Ted Bundy taught at Sunday school. BTK was a church deacon. Nobody suspected they had summer homes in crazy town.’

Ella couldn’t deny the evidence staring her in the face. A part of her didn’t want to accept that Ezra was her unsub, perhaps for her ego’s sake because she’d overlooked him last night. But seeing him on that mountain, mere feet away from victim number three, the dice had rolled snake eyes.

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