Dad grabbed Miller’s pant leg, his composure
gone, tears streaming down his face. “Please…find him. You have to find him.”
Miller squeezed his shoulder. ““We will, David.
I promise.”
The department put Dad on leave. I followed
him as he walked home, a broken man, his
hair almost completely white now. He walked
through the pouring rain, a grotesque, tragic
clown.
A girl’s scream echoed from a nearby alley.
Chloe.
Dad pulled out his phone, typed a quick
message, and then, like a cheetah,
disappeared into the rain–swept alley.
A tall figure in a black raincoat stood over
Chloe, a scalpel glinting in his hand. He
turned at the sound of Dad’s approach, his
eyes, the only visible part of his face, glinting
My phantom body ached. I recognized that look: the cold, calculating malice, the thrill of
the hunt, the perverse satisfaction…
The dark room. The restraints. The cold steel
of the scalpel. The bags of…me. The chilling
laughter…
Dad saw the scalpel, the raincoat. His eyes
went red. ““You…you killed my daughter! I’ll
kill you!“” He grabbed a discarded piece of
lumber and swung.
Dad was strong. He had combat training. He
had the attacker pinned against the wall.
The attacker just laughed. “Really, Detective? You think you can just hand me over to the
cops?”
<
“This is where I found your little girl, you
know. Screaming and crying, texting for help.
Such a naughty girl. I had to…teach her a
lesson. I peeled her skin off, layer by layer…
She screamed so beautifully…”
“You monster! I’ll kill you!” Dad’s rage
exploded. He pressed the wood against the
attacker’s throat, intent on choking the life
out of him.
He’d let his guard down. The attacker’s hand
snaked out, a scalpel flashing. He slashed
Dad’s wrist. Dad’s grip loosened.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The attacker
tried to run.
Dad tackled him, pinning him to the ground, his arms and legs wrapped
