Chapter 1 - THE MESSAGE AT 3:14 AM
The first thing I noticed was the silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The dangerous kind.
The kind of silence that makes every instinct inside a detective’s mind wake up before the body does.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand.
3:14 AM.
I opened my eyes.
For a few seconds, I didn’t move.
Fifteen years as a homicide detective had taught me one thing.
If something wakes you up in the middle of the night, there is usually a reason.
I reached for the phone.
And the moment I saw the screen, my entire body went cold.
A photo.
A photo of me.
Sleeping.
In my own bed.
Taken from the corner of my bedroom.
The person who took it had been standing less than ten feet away from me.
The message underneath was simple.
“You look peaceful when you don’t know you’re being hunted.”
I stared at the words.
My brain refused to accept what my eyes were seeing.
Someone had entered my apartment.
Someone had stood inside my bedroom.
Someone had watched me sleep.
And I never noticed.
I slowly reached beneath my pillow.
My fingers wrapped around the grip of my Glock 19.
I didn’t turn on the lights.
I didn’t call for backup.
Not yet.
A detective learns to trust evidence before fear.
Then I saw the window.
It was open.
The cold Chicago air pushed the curtains slightly.
And below the window…
Footprints.
Fresh.
Wet.
Leading across the wooden floor.
My heartbeat slowed.
Not because I was calm.
Because my training took over.
I followed the footprints with my eyes.
They crossed the room.
Passed my desk.
Stopped beside my bed.
Exactly where the person had stood while taking the picture.
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
This time, only five words.
“Don’t look behind the closet door.”
I froze.
Then another message appeared.
“Look up.”
For a moment, I hated myself.
Because I actually listened.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
I raised my eyes toward the ceiling.
The words were there.
Painted above my bed.
Still dripping.
Still fresh.
Five words.
Five words I had seen once before.
THE FIRST ONE WAS YOU.
My hand tightened around my gun.
Because those words belonged to only one person.
A man who had murdered six people.
A man whose crimes had haunted Chicago for two years.
A man I personally arrested.
A man who had been executed three years ago.
Elias Voss.
The Butcher of Lakeview.
Impossible.
That was the only word my mind could find.
Impossible.
Then came the sound.
A creak.
From the hallway.
Someone was outside my bedroom.
Not hiding.
Not running.
Walking.
Slowly.
Confidently.
Like they wanted me to know they were there.
I raised my weapon.
The bedroom door remained closed.
The footsteps stopped.
My phone vibrated one more time.
A final message.
“Detective Miller…”
“You finally remembered me.”
The doorknob began to turn.
May you like
And for the first time in fifteen years…
I was afraid of what I would find on the other side.
