Dead Girls and Quiet Streets

Duskvale – Eastside Payphone Booth | 12:02 P.M.

The payphone rang before he even touched it.

Elias’s hand hovered in the air for a second, heart still.

He hadn’t dialed. He hadn’t even reached out.

It rang again. Shrill. Urgent. Like the city itself was calling him.

He picked it up.

??? (distorted voice):

“You should’ve let her die quietly.”

Click.

Static.

Then nothing.

The line went dead.

Elias stood there, the dial tone humming like an old wound reopening. He stepped away slowly, scanning the street. No footsteps. No watchers. But the silence was too heavy.

Too planned.

Scene Shift – Riley Marez’s Childhood Home | 1:38 P.M.

The house was on the edge of the city—one of those neighborhoods that didn’t get repaved after the funding cuts. Weeds choked the fences. The porch sagged inward. A mailbox dangled open with old newspapers jammed inside like forgotten time capsules.

He knocked twice.

An old woman opened the door.

Eyes dull. Shoulders sunken. Grief carved into every wrinkle of her face.

Mrs. Marez:

“You’re too late.

She died ten years ago. You had your chance.”

Elias:

“I know. But I’m not here as a cop. I’m here for answers. About what was taken.”

Mrs. Marez stared at him for a long, empty moment. Then, without a word, she stepped aside and let him in.

The interior smelled of stale cigarettes and dust. Pictures lined the hallway—Riley as a child, birthday parties, a dance recital, a graduation that never happened. A life captured in frames, frozen just before the fall.

Mrs. Marez:

“After they buried her, I stopped trusting men with badges.

But you… you look worse than they did.”

Elias (softly):

“I am.”

She handed him a faded folder. Inside were photos, newspaper clippings, handwritten notes. Pages that should’ve been logged into evidence, but never made it that far.

And at the bottom—a letter.

Written by Riley.

Riley (handwritten):

“If anything happens to me, it wasn’t an accident.”

“He said he’d ruin me. Said his father would make it disappear.”

“He gave me a choice—silence or death.”

Elias (inner monologue):

“She tried to fight. She knew what they’d do.”

“And I walked away like a coward.”

He clenched the letter, jaw tight. The Architect wasn’t exposing new crimes. He was digging up Elias’s old sins—the things he never had the courage to finish.

Scene Shift – Rooftop Across DPD Headquarters | 3:09 P.M.

Elias lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. Below, the precinct buzzed with the illusion of order—officers moving like ants with no queen. Surveillance vans. Caution tape. Checkpoints. It was a city trying to pretend it still had a backbone.

But Elias knew better.

He held the photo of Riley up to the skyline.

Elias (inner monologue):

“I wasn’t there for her. But I’m here now.”

“And if The Architect thinks he’s the only one willing to burn the system down…”

“…he hasn’t watched me bleed yet.”

He turned to leave—

—and froze.

Taped to the door behind him was another envelope.

This one was fresh. Sealed. No stamp.

Inside was a photo.

Of him.

Taken that morning at the payphone.

On the back, one line in red ink:

“She’s not the only one watching.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

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