Page 33 of No Escape

Just as he arrived at the entrance, he heard the footsteps of another nurse, coming from around the corner. She was talking to someone. John Murphy froze in his tracks as her voice carried down the hallway. “…Who’s going to change Mr. Barlow’s colostomy bag?”

The killer instinctively shrank back, clinging to the shadows like a forgotten specter. He waited around the corner for what seemed an eternity before finally retreating, disappearing into the night from where he had come.

John turned the corner now, knowing he was alone. And there it was.

Room 217 loomed ahead, the door slightly ajar, inviting the killer inside.

Too perfect, he thought.

He paused at the threshold, his heart pounding with anticipation. He could almost taste the thrill that awaited him on the other side.

With a final, deep breath, he stepped into the room, his dark deeds ready to unfold.

The woman in the bed before him looked up. John was thrilled to see that she wasn’t connected to any monitoring device that could warn the nurses.

The woman looked terrified, her eyes wide, her mouth trembling.

“They shouldn’t have left that note.” John grinned.

He rushed forward, grabbed a pillow from the bed, and pushed it down on top of her face.

The screams were deadened.

Redtree General Hospital, once a beacon of hope and healing, was now the stage for a chilling performance, and the curtain was about to rise.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Valerie tried her best to think through the case. But no matter how much she combed her memories, the whereabouts of John Murphy’s other relatives eluded her.

As the sun began its slow descent, casting an ethereal golden glow across the landscape, Valerie and Suzie sat in the truck, which sat next to a tranquil park. The serene beauty of the scene before them contrasted sharply with the turmoil that churned in their hearts. A large lake stretched out, its surface shimmering and reflecting the warm hues of the sky, while birds skimmed gracefully across the water, their wingtips occasionally kissing the surface.

Valerie’s gaze followed the birds as they danced and weaved through the air, their graceful movements seemingly choreographed by an invisible hand. She wished she could join them, to escape the weight of her responsibilities and the relentless pursuit of a killer whose motives seemed to evade her understanding.

Suzie sat beside her, her face a mirror of the weariness that gripped them both.

“You don’t need to keep going with me,” Valerie said. “You can hand yourself in and be done with all of this. At least you’d be alive.”

“No,” Suzie said, simply.

“But you were about to be released,” Valerie continued.

“I’m not going to turn on the news to find out you’re dead,” Suzie said, somberly. “Then I’d have to live with that for the rest of my life, wondering if I could have done something. I’m here till the end, sis.”

“Thank you,” Valerie almost whispered.

As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the park, the sisters sat in companionable silence, seeking solace in the beauty of nature and the knowledge that they still had each other.

Valerie leaned back in the truck seat, her eyes still tracking the birds, her mind racing as she tried to piece together the puzzle that was John Murphy. Where would he go next? What was driving him to commit these atrocities against his own family? The questions gnawed at her, demanding answers that she couldn’t seem to grasp.

Suzie broke the silence, her voice soft and hesitant. “Val, what if we can’t catch him in time? What if he kills again?”

Valerie turned her gaze to her sister, her eyes filled with a determination that belied the uncertainty that haunted her. “We have to try, Suzie. We owe it to his victims, and we owe it to ourselves. We can’t let him win.”

As Valerie and Suzie sat together, their determination to find John Murphy’s family unshakable, a sudden flash of memory flickered through Valerie’s mind. She recalled a conversation from over a year ago, back when she had first apprehended Murphy. At the time, she had been going over the details of the case with her team, trying to piece together a pattern to his heinous acts.

One name in particular stood out in her memory—Emily Murphy, John’s sister. Valerie remembered Emily lived on a street with a unique name. The memory, however, was still hazy, and she couldn’t quite recall the exact address.

“Emily,” Valerie murmured, her eyes wide with sudden realization. “John’s sister, Emily. I remember her address had something to do with a tree, a peculiar tree name.”

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