2.

Every second Sunday, Ellie checked to make sure that her security system was working. She always watched the fast-forwarded footage seven times over. She didn’t know why, but it always had to be seven. She watched the footage seven times each. She checked every room in her manor at night seven times, always peaking out the window to the back next. It was far too cold for a night in March so Ellie did not open the door to step outside, although she probably would not have stepped outside this time of night if the weather was more suitable.

This was what being a reclusive author who survived a murder attempt as a child did to you. Her therapist said she was being paranoid. She lived in a safe, rich neighborhood. She would be fine. Nothing was going to happen to her. She had responded to that by saying that she had obviously never been nearly stabbed to death before, and stopped going to her because it was obvious that she was not going to be a good fit.

It was cold for March. Yet there had been a lot of people milling about at night, some without a jacket or in pajamas, but Ellie did not go out to see if there was something going on. She just went to her room to go to bed and ignored the bright lights filtered through the blind as her eyes began to close.

That was what Ellie told the detective, in any case, when he asked her about what she had seen and done in the night before. Apparently, one of her neighbors was found dead in her vegetable garden. She had been stabbed to death. Ellie had signed, ‘Oh, my. I didn’t know.’ And informed the detective that she did not know anything else that could help. The detective thanked her for her time and left, which Ellie was thankful for. She didn’t want the detective getting the wrong idea when her hands started to tremble and her throat felt like it was going to constrict. She struggled to lock the four locks on her door.

After that she staggered through the house, checking all windows and locks 1…2…3…4…5…6…7 times. Now the security footage again. She felt like she was going to be sick.

‘Just breathe, just breathe.’ She thought to herself.

Luckily, her cameras did not catch anything. Still, someone in her neighborhood had been killed and the killer was not caught yet. She sank onto the sofa, still shaking. She hated it when she got like this. Panic attacks always left her feeling cold and sore and alone. All that she could do was ride it out.

*

“That is not my job,” Were words that Jack never thought he would hear coming oout of his mouth, “I work smuggling, not homicide.”

“I know,” his boss, Nick, said. “And I don’t care. This is a high priority case,”

“Ah, yes. An aristocrat dying. Such a high priority.” Jack hoped that Nick could hear him giving him the bird on the phone.

“You know what the press is like. Pretty white woman in a rich neighborhood dies and they are all over that shit. You need to be more of a team player. Your flight itinerary will be emailed to you. End of discussion,” Nick hung up the phone before Jack could get another word in.

“Fucking asshole,” Jack groaned. He was not looking forward to this, but he knew that he was going to have to play ball. So, he looked up all of the information that Nick had emailed him and started reading so he could prepare. There were some things that Nick had neglected to tell him on the phone that piqued his interest. He became less and less irritated with the fact that he had been sent out to investigate as he read through the case file.

This was oddly familiar to him. At first, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe after a while in his line of work, crimes started to blend together. He couldn’t write it off so easily though. The posing of the body just seemed familiar. Almost—artistic, even. “Huh,” He furrowed his eyebrows together, “That’s…odd.”

What was it?

Maybe he was too tired to figure it out right now or needed to be in the moment. But he didn’t mind going now. He was curious.

The next couple of hours were filled with fast packing, several cups of coffee, anti-nausea medication, and airplanes with frustrating layovers. He was grateful when he finally got to his hotel. He had exactly one hour to catch some sleep before he would have to call an Uber and get to work, and he was going to cherish every minute of sleep that he got.

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