Page 14 of Mourning Wings
EverytimeIclose my eyes, her gaze pierces through the darkness, making me feel thingsIcan’t quite describe.There’ssomething about the way she looked at me that stirs something deep in my gut.
I’vealways tried to understand people, to get inside their heads and uncover the truth.Ican’t ignore the possibility that she might be involved with whatIsaw on those monitors.
EachtimeIreplay our encounter in my mind,Ianalyze every gesture, looking for clues, but she didn’t give me much to go on.
Shewas so guarded and barely spoke a word, leaving me nothing to work with but her silence.Itwas like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.Shewas a mask of calm, giving nothing away, but her gaze was telling a different story.Itwas intense.
Ineed to understand her, to figure out what those eyes were trying to tell me.There’sa connection between her and the screens,Ijust know it.
“Valeria?”
Nathaniel’svoice jolts me back to the present.Iblink, suddenly aware of my surroundings again.I’min the coffee shop, and my colleague is standing in front of me, holding out my to-go cup and a danish.
“Youokay?I’vebeen calling your name for a minute now.”
“Oh,”Istammer, feeling a rush of heat to my cheeks. “Sorry,Iwas lost in thought.”
“Mustbe some pretty deep thoughts,” he says, handing me the goods. “Here, this might help,” he says with a gentle smile.
Itake the cup, and the warmth of the drink seeps into my hands, grounding me. “Thanks,Nate,”Imumble, trying to shake off the lingering fog in my mind.
Hestudies me for a moment, concern flickering in his eyes. “Yousure you’re okay?Youlook like you haven’t slept in days.”
Iforce a smile. “I’mfine, really.Justa lot on my mind.”
“Well, if you need to talk,I’mhere.”
Inod, grateful for his kindness. “Iappreciate that.”
Itake a sip of the coffee, letting it jolt me further awake.Ineed to pull myself together.Thereare too many questions swirling in my head, andIcan’t afford to let them consume me, not whenI’mon the cusp of figuring out what happened toCamila.
Ithas been six years sinceIfound out about her death.Sixyears of searching, digging, chasing every leadIcould find.I’veinvestigated theWhitmoresfrom every angle, tried to expose them, tried to find anything that ties them toCamila’ssudden end.Butthey’re too powerful, too rich, and have everyone in their pockets—even the police commissioner.EverytimeIthinkI’veuncovered something, it turns out to be another dead end.
Twothousand one hundred and ninety days of dead ends.
Partof me—the tired, worn-out part—wants to just accept the story they’ve fed everyone: thatCamilakilled herself.Yetthere’s a part of my mind that won’t let me believe it, not for a second.Ican’t shake the feeling that theWhitmoreshad something to do with her death.Iknow they’re involved.Ican feel it in my bones.
Throughmy digging,I’vemanaged to link some of the mysterious deaths of other women inEbonridgeto theWhitmores.There’sa pattern, but without hard evidence,Ican’t prove it.Noone believes me, or they’re too afraid to even try.
Thekillings appear to be focused on young women.Thevictims are usually found in secluded spots where they wouldn’t be immediately discovered, each crime scene with little physical evidence left behind.
Butthey all have the same cause of death: a slit throat.
I’vepoured over photos and reports, trying to piece everything together, but it has been a struggle, to say the least.
Idon’t know what it is about those murders that have me so intrigued, butIfeel connected to them somehow.
They’remeticulous and controlled, yet seemingly driven by impulses that break through that façade.Thekillings are precise and riddled with ritualistic aspects, suggesting a need to regain control.
I’vealways had a fascination with death and what causes people to act so heinously.It’sironic, given my appearance.Youwouldn’t thinkI’minto that kind of darkness.Idress invibrant colors, my hair always perfectly styled, makeup carefully applied.
Butlooks can be deceiving.
Beneaththe surface, there’s a part of me that has always been drawn to the macabre, to the shadows that linger in the corners of the human psyche.
SinceIwas a teenager,I’vebeen captivated by the darker aspects of human nature.Ispent countless hours reading about infamous serial killers, studying their methods, trying to understand their motivations.Therewas something intriguing about the contrast between their outward normalcy and their hidden monstrosities.Iwanted to know what made them tick, what pushed them over the edge, and if there was a way to predict and prevent such horrible acts.
Everyinsight, every breakthrough, brings me closer to understanding the depths of human depravity.