THE FIRST ONE WAS YOU
THE FIRST ONE WAS YOU
At 3:14 in the morning, my phone lit up.
One message.
One photo.
And my blood turned cold.
It was a picture of me sleeping in my own bed.
Taken from inside my bedroom.
The caption underneath was only seven words:
“You look peaceful when you don’t know you’re being hunted.”
I stopped breathing.
I was a detective.
I had spent fifteen years chasing monsters.
But nothing prepared me for the moment I realized the monster had been standing beside me.
I sat up slowly, my hand reaching beneath the pillow for my Glock 19.
The apartment was silent.
Too silent.
The kind of silence that tells you someone else is listening.
Then I saw them.
Wet footprints.
Fresh.
Leading from my open bedroom window…
Across the floor…
And stopping inches from where I had been sleeping.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Another warning.
“Don’t look behind the closet door, Detective Miller.”
A second later, another line appeared.
“Look up.”
Every instinct I had screamed at me to move.
To run.
To call for backup.
But I forced myself to look toward the ceiling.
And there it was.
Five words painted above my bed.
The red liquid was still dripping.
Still fresh.
Still shining under the pale Chicago streetlight.
THE FIRST ONE WAS YOU.
My fingers tightened around my weapon.
Because I knew those words.
I had seen them before.
Three years ago.
Written at a crime scene by the man I sent to death row.
A killer who was supposed to be gone forever.
A killer whose DNA was now dripping onto my floor.
A cold chill moved through my apartment.
Then came the sound.
A slow creak from the hallway.
Not the building.
Not the pipes.
Footsteps.
Someone was walking toward my bedroom.
Slowly.
Confidently.
Like they knew I was awake.
Every rule in my training told me to call dispatch.
Wait for backup.
Secure the scene.
But whoever was outside my door already knew my name.
Already knew my secrets.
And somehow…
They knew I was next.
I pulled back the slide of my Glock.
The sharp metallic sound cut through the darkness.
I aimed at the doorway.
“Come on,” I whispered.
My voice was calm.
But my hands weren’t.
“Let’s finish what you started.”
The footsteps stopped.
May you like
Right outside my room.
Then the door handle slowly began to turn.
