Page 3 of Hacker Beloved

My eyes stayed on the father for a moment before moving to the mother, who turned to her left and cut a piece of steak on her daughter's plate. On the other side of the mother was a baby in a highchair. The wallpaper on the wall struck a deep memory I had long ago buried. It was the same pattern on the walls from my childhood. A place I hadn’t stepped foot in since the night both my parents were murdered and my sister disappeared.

Except the police report Detective Conti wrote explicitly stated, my father had killed my mother and sister before taking his own life. My memories of the night were quite different. The horrible events from that night flashed across my mind. I heard my mother, and father yelling in the dead of the night. The shouting ended when I heard a popping sound. Than a door opened moments later a second pop sounded. I wouldn’t learn until later in life that the sound was a muffled gunshot. After the faint bangs, heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and stopped outside my baby sister's room. I hid under the bed and waited for hours even after the footsteps headed for the front door. My nanny had arrived the next day. She pulled me from under the bed and tried to shield my eyes as she took me out of the condo, but I saw my parents' dead bodies on the floor in the dining room.

I shook my head to clear away the awful memory and attempted to focus on the present. Dwelling on my past was not an option.

My body was rigid, and my heart pounded as I tried to make sense of the cold metal table beneath me. I couldn't recall how I had suddenly found myself bound with thick leather straps. My mind stirred, struggling to revive my memory. Chills rose along my skin as I remembered the floor creak near my back door. Immediately I knew someone had broken into my home. Carefully I made my way to the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind me. Without hesitating, I dove headfirst into the tiny walk-in closet and scrambled toward the back wall. I inwardly cursed as I remembered I'd left my phone next to my laptop on the kitchen counter. Except I wasn't quiet enough since the intruder found me. Before I could react, he'd pressed a needle into my arm, and the world faded.

There was a ninety-nine percent chance the man at the computer was the person I’d spent the last six months reporting on during my podcast. From my research, once he abducted his prey, he killed them within twenty-four hours and it meant I would die soon.

For weeks a woman named Kat Ross had reached out, wanting to assist with my research.

Since I started my podcast, I'd encountered some pretty crazy fans. But nothing could have prepared me for Kat Ross. She was a force of nature—passionate, driven, and unafraid to speak her mind. And it only made it worse that she was right about the dangerous killer I’d been researching. She'd written in her email that she felt this killer would come after me, and I needed a bodyguard. Kat went on to offer the help of her husband's company. After a couple of days and two more emails from her, I politely declined her offer in an email. Five minutes after I hit send, I received a mysterious call from a blocked number on my private line. A cheerful voice echoed through the receiver claiming she was Kat. She had insisted I take a second look into AA Security for help.

After I’d hung up, I wasn’t sure if I needed to get a restraining order. I pulled up AA Security's website, which didn’t have much information on it. But I figured the company should know if there was a person calling around claiming to be the owner's wife. A cheerful woman named Stacey Carol answered the phone. She’d burst out laughing and transferred me, when I had asked to speak to Antonio Ross because a woman claiming to be his wife kept calling me. Antonio had set me straight that it was his wife, and he would send me what I needed.

That very night instead of digging into the unsolved case for my podcast, I took a break and dug into the Ross family. Technically anyone who stood in line at a grocery store had seen pictures of the family members. A few weeks ago, a tabloid cover had a story on how Kat was the perfect stay-at-home wife to billionaire Antonio Ross. This left me puzzled since Kat had claimed in her email she would assist with the case if her husband didn’t.

I’d hit a dead end in my research, so I figured a second look wouldn’t help. So, I contacted Kat. Her brother-in-law and co-owner of AA Security, Asher Ross, would reach out to me. During the first video meeting, Asher and his partner CJ insisted on helping for free. This had made me hesitant because I’d learned from my adoptive parents nothing in life is free.

So, I’d decided to think about the offer a while longer. Except Asher kept calling, wanting to have an in-person meeting. Kat had started to blow up my email again, so I called Asher and agreed to meet. They were supposed to arrive at my house tonight. Now I wondered if I hadn’t delayed them and if they arrived weeks prior, if I’d be strapped onto this medical bed.

Asher and CJ would show up to an empty house. I had no clue if they would try and find me or even knew I’d been taken. With each passing moment, regretting my decisions was another precious second wasted. Except I had no clue how to escape. For years I’d spent my time researching how killers planned each of their kills. I'd even done extensive research into the processes they used to clean up crime scenes. Not once did I research how to escape if someone was ever kidnapped.

My heart thudded as the person’s head swiveled to the left, only for a second before he went back to typing on the keyboard. Somehow, I had to escape. Only I had no tools, no weapons, and I was bound so tightly that I couldn't pull my hands free. I twisted my wrist and tugged with all of my strength. I almost gave up when I felt the faint brush of something across my skin. The edge of the table was sharp enough to saw at the frayed leather strap. My breath hitched in my throat as I inched the old leather back and forth, desperate to cut through it. With every second that passed, I got closer to freedom. Finally, after one last firm swipe, the strap snapped in two and relief flooded me. Before I could revel in my success, a loud clanging filled the room and alerted my kidnapper.

The creaky office chair groaned in protest as he swiveled around to face me. I expected a gruff male voice, but instead a monotone robotic sound broke the silence. “You’re finally awake,” he said.

My throat clenched shut as I managed a weak whisper, "Please, let me go."

The figure slowly rose, his movements eerie and unnatural. The person who had taken me from my home stopped just inches away from the table. A glint of metal peeked out from his right hand. My gaze flitted between the knife and the kidnapper's face, yet I couldn't make out any features as he was concealed behind a tattered clown mask. A voice changing black box was sewn over the clown mouth, and two soulless eyes stared back at me, piercing my skin. The person behind the mask had a smaller frame and delicate fingers.

"In time," he said. "But first, we need to go over the rules of the game."

He set the knife down beside me with a clank. Before I could react, he grabbed onto my wrist. His fingers were rough and ice-cold against my skin as he quickly bound my arm onto the table again.

"Now," he said slowly. "Let's talk."

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my nerves. “Why are you doing this?”

"Zayla, you’re the one who decided to report on my life and bring attention to me. The police had no clue what I’d done for years right under their noses, but now they have started to dig…it’s causing me problems."

The man grabbed the knife, and his fingers tightened around the handle. He ran the blunt edge of the knife’s blade against the exposed skin on my arm.

"I'll forget about everything and change my podcast to another case," I whispered.

He leaned forward, his face only inches from mine.

"That’s no fun for me, Zayla. You claim to want to know how killers think. Well, welcome to my game."

I had no idea what he meant. None of my research about this killer had made me think he played a game with his victims. Each person bodied was found on the Greenway trail with different causes of death.

“Game? Like the movie Saw?”

He pressed the knife in his hand against my arm, and I winced as he cut through the skin. “Does this feel like a fictional movie?”

Tears filled my eyes, “No.”

My captor stepped away from the table and set his knife down next to his keyboard. He moved the mouse, and a picture of my parents’ dead bodies appeared on the screen. The ties to my old life were severed when Child Protective Services changed my name and shipped me to my adoptive parents in San Francisco.

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