Elena’s POV:
My heart fell as I looked around the room, the blood draining from my face. The light I had flicked on illuminated a space that was both a gallery and <b>a </b>crypt, filled with pictures. No, not just pictures.
There were paintings as well, scattered among the photographs. But it wasn’t the art that made my stomach churn. It was the familiarity of the faces, the women in the pictures. A sick, cold dread settled over me, a chilling realization that was so monstrous, so impossible, that I wanted tough.
My eyes first caught onto the most familiar picture, the image of a woman with long, dark hair and a wide, easy smile. There were three of her pictures tacked to a wall, and all three had red darts stuck in her face, a ck marker staining a cross on one picture, thergest one, over her features. But I recognized her either way. Priya. This was her picture, her smiling face.
What the fuck? What the actual fuck?! My mind reeled, trying to process the impossibility of it all. Why would her picture be here? Why would it have a cross over it? The implications were so horrific <b>I </b>couldn’t bear to think about them. I pulled out my phone immediately, my fingers trembling so badly! could barely type.
I typed in a search: The Phantom Killer. A list of victims, their names, and their faces appeared on my screen. I felt a wave of nausea so powerful it made me gag. I began to match each picture and person with the images on the walls of this macabre room. Zahra Ahmed, Isabe Garciam, Ananya Sharma, Nia Jones, Sofia Hernandez, Jam Diallo… All of them, all of them were here. And the fact that all of them, all of them had a cross on their face<b>, </b>an unmistakable symbol of death and finality. It was as though he was telling the viewer that they were dead. Discarded.
What did this mean? What did all this mean? Why was this ce in Sergei’s estate? Why? What the fuck was all this? A thousand questions screamed in my mind. But I was too afraid to think of a conclusion. Of the only conclusion that came to mind.
I felt bile rise in my throat, a sour, acrid taste. My head snapped around, my eyes catching arge, ominous–looking wall covered in a white cloth. The cloth was pinned at the corners, a silent invitation, a hidden secret that I knew, with a gut–wrenching certainty, I had to see. I didn’t know what fueled me, sadness, anger, fear, or foolishness. But I ran forward, my feet stumbling over the concrete floor, and pulled the white cloth away.
A gasp escaped me, a short, sharp intake of air that was more like a cry. I pped my hand over my mouth, my fingers trembling so badly I could barely hold them still. What stared back at me wasn’t a picture of another dead girl. No. It was a wall filled with the picture of just one girl. One girl in multiple ces, with multiple expressions, and with multiple <i>people</i>.
It was me.
Every inch of the wall was covered in pictures of me. Pictures I had no idea were taken. Me in a cafe with Niki. Meughing with Fiona at a park. Me shopping, eating, walking. Me with a small baby in my arms. Me with arge, unmistakable red cross on my face.
My name was written in bold font on top. ELENA MOROZOV.
No. My name wasn’t Morozov. But something told me this person, whoever wrote this, wouldn’t care. The thought of it, of being a victim, of being a trophy, made my legs go numb. A gasp escaped me, and I almost fell down, my body swaying. I gripped my phone tight. I turned to quickly record this ce, my mind a chaotic mess of fear and rage. I didn’t know if this was going to do fuck all, if it would even be seen, but I did what I could. I recorded every single picture, every single face, the quiet.
I then covered the wall back with the white cloth, à small, futile attempt to hide my own traces. I turned and ran up the stairs, my feet flying over the wooden steps. I almost fell in the process, my body shaking with the force of my fear. I covered the trap door with trembling hands, pulling the thinyer of weeds and dirt back into ce. I turned around, my eyes looking up at the estate, my heart jumping furiously as if the next second someone would lock eyes with me, as if he would find me.
No. I didn’t have time for this.
Come on, Elena. Run. Run. And with that in mind, I ran. My feet pounded against the damp earth, the cool night air stinging my lungs. I ignored the sharp pain from my stitches. I ran until I was breathless and I reached the gate. My hands, still shaking, fumbled for the button.
Benjamin seemed startled to see me like this, a wild–eyed, disheveled mess. His face was etched with concern. Roy, who was standing beside him, seemed equally shocked.
20:56 <b>Wed</b>, 27 Aug
“Something wrong, young miss?” he said.
I shook my head, trying to appear normal, to force my panicked breaths to slow down. “No… I just got a call. I need to leave.” The lie felt hollow and flimsy, but it was the best! coulde up with.
Roy seemed skeptical, his brows furrowed in a deep frown, but he nodded and buzzed the door open. I sighed in relief as I stepped out. I headed to the car, grabbing the door open and jumping inside, my body copsing into the soft leather seats.
Lara got in and Benjamin, just as quick, started the car, the engine purring to life. My eyes, in a final, frantic nce, caught Roy’s who picked his phone <b>up </b>with a frown. I read his lips as he conversed with the person on the other side of the line, his lips forming a single, terrible word. “Boss.”
I understood that one word, and my heart felt like it would jump out of my chest. “Hurry!” I said, my voice sharp with a fear I couldn’t hide.
Lara nodded, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. “Yes, ma’am.”
That’s when I noticed Roy waving his hand at Benjamin, as though motioning for us <b>to </b>stop, but I shook my head, my jaw tight. “No. No. Don’t fucking stop. We are leaving now.” With that order given, Lara didn’t stop. She backpedaled at high speed, swerving the car around and leaving the estate in the dust. The world outside the window was a blur of motion.
The entire way back, I stayed on edge, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. I expected someone to tail the car, maybe even fire bullets. But none of <b>that </b>happened. The ride was silent, and we reached the hospital right as the clock hit eleven.
I didn’t wait for the car to stoppletely. I pushed out of the car and, without a second nce back, I ran. I ignored the security guards who were standing at the entrance. I ran up the stairs, my lungs burning, not bothering with the elevator, not bothering with Benjamin who was following me. He was probably worried since I hadn’t answered his questions back in the car, but what the hell was I supposed to say when I myself didn’t understand anything? I felt like my mind was going haywire, a chaotic storm of fear and disbelief.
As soon as I reached the room, before I even needed to knock, the door opened itself. Niki stood in front of me, a deep frown on his face. “Elena-”
I didn’t let him finish. I moved forward and hugged him tight, my arms wrapping around him, my face buried in his chest. Sobs wracked my entire body, a loud, ugly sound. I hadn’t even registered how utterly scared I had <i>been </i>earlier. I had been so focused on running, on escaping, that the fear had been an after thought. Only now that I felt like I was safe, did I rx and feel my legs go numb. I leaned all my weight on Niki.
He grabbed me back, his arms a steel cage around my body. He didn’t say another word. He dismissed Benjamin with a flick of his hand and closed the door, pulling me into the room, into the quiet, safe haven of his arms.