Page 95 of Girl, Unseen

Cute. Real cute. She read the headline on a cracked screen as the rain come down like icy needles. It was the kind of headline that probably had Agent Dark preening like a peacock at her partner’s heroism. The kind of headline that made cops feel clever while they congratulated themselves on another case closed.

But cases were never really closed. Not in this game.

The story beneath laid it all out, but she wasn’t all that concerned with the details. Still, she would file it away alongside all her other pieces about Special Agent Dark's illustrious career. She had quite the collection now.

She turned her attention to the house across the street. A modest affair, painted a nondescript beige that blended into the night. No lights shone from within, no signs of life. Just another anonymous dwelling on a block full of them.

But she knew better.

She'd been watching this house for weeks. Learning its rhythms, its secrets. The comings and goings of its lone occupant. An older woman, silver-haired and stooped. Unremarkable in every way.

Except for the company she kept. If those hacks at the Times had any idea what their precious Agent Dark was really capable of, they'd run screaming. The deals she'd made, the lines she'd crossed. All in the name of justice, of course. The magic word that absolved all sins.

But she knew the truth. Knew that the only difference between Ella Dark and the monsters she hunted was the badge clipped to her belt. A badge that would look mighty fine pinned to her basement wall.

The article had mentioned Ella Dark's ‘breakthrough profile’ that led to Amelia's capture. The golden girl of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit, adding another triumph to her perfect record. Her fingers traced the outline of a small bottle in one pocket, a cloth rag in the other. Soon enough, Agent Dark would learn that some puzzles weren't meant to be solved.

Headlights pierced the gloom as a Mercedes crawled up the street. Her pulse quickened - not from fear or anticipation, but from the pure mechanics of the hunt. This was just another sequence of movements, like a dance learned by heart.

Right on schedule. The old woman always went to her sister's on Thursdays. Always came home just before midnight. Like clockwork.

People were funny that way. They thought routine meant safety. Thought if they lived their lives by the numbers, nothing bad could touch them. But routine was just another word for predictable. And predictable people were so easy to hunt.

The car parked. A dome light flicked on. The woman emerged clutching grocery bags, fumbling with an umbrella. Such a mundane scene. Such a normal night. The kind of night that happened a thousand times in a thousand places.

She watched the old woman struggle up the path. Mid-sixties. Silvered hair shorn into a sensible bob. The no-nonsense uniform of the retired and the reclusive. From this angle, she looked ancient, bent nearly double under the weight of her groceries. Hard to believe she'd once been Agent Dark's anchor in this city. Hard to believe she knew the things she knew.

The old woman reached her door. Keys jingled. Then she closed the distance in a few steps like a predator on oblivious prey. Three steps. Two. One.

The door creaked open, but a leather-gloved hand clasped her around the mouth before the old woman took a step inside. The chloroform rag found its mark with perfect accuracy. She pushed her inside, kicked the door shut behind her. The grocery bags hit concrete with a wet thud as strong arms locked around fragile ribs.

The struggle was short lived. They always were, for the civilians. A few twitches, a gurgle smothered by the rag, then nothing but dead weight. She waited an extra ten seconds – just like her mentor had taught her – then dropped her to her hallway floor.

Time to work.

Somewhere in the dark, Ella slept, unaware of the nightmare already in motion. Unaware that her cages were made of paper and her victories of sand. And that every monster she'd ever put away was a mirror.

She couldn't wait for their reunion. For the moment, it all fell into place.

After all, every good hero needed a villain.