Chapter 3 THREE

BLAIRE

The following week slipped back into its usual routine, although “usual” wasn’t exactly the right word anymore.

The nightmares never really left.

Some nights I managed to sleep for four or five uninterrupted hours before waking up drenched in sweat. Other nights I barely slept at all because every time I closed my eyes, I found myself standing in the middle of that endless darkness again.

I never saw the person’s face.

I never remembered how it ended.

I only woke up with my heart racing and the same crushing headache waiting for me every morning.

Eventually, I remembered Gavin.

He had mentioned becoming a psychologist during Rita’s wedding, and although I had laughed when he told me, his words kept replaying in my mind every time another nightmare dragged me awake.

One afternoon, after spending nearly an hour staring at his contact without gathering the courage to call, I finally pressed the dial button.

He answered before the second ring.

“Blaire?”

“You remembered my number.”

He laughed.

“You sound a little off. Is everything alright?”

I looked through the window of my apartment, watching people hurry along the busy streets below.

“I think I need your professional help.”

There was no teasing in his voice when he replied.

“Ohhhh… Whenever you’re ready then.”

That simple conversation became the beginning of something I hadn’t realized I needed.

Once a week, sometimes twice whenever work became particularly overwhelming, I found myself sitting across from Gavin in his office while he patiently listened to everything I could remember about the nightmares that had haunted me for the past three years.

He never rushed me.

He never tried forcing memories out of me.

Instead, he asked gentle questions that encouraged me to think instead of panic, and although I couldn’t say the nightmares had disappeared, I slowly found myself sleeping a little better than before.

Life gradually settled into something that almost resembled normal again.

Almost.

Then everything changed on an ordinary Tuesday morning.

The police headquarters buzzed with its usual energy as officers hurried through the corridors carrying files from one department to another. Phones rang constantly, conversations drifted from nearby offices, and somewhere downstairs somebody was arguing loudly over a parking ticket that had somehow become everyone else’s problem.

I had barely finished reviewing the latest case reports when my phone vibrated against the desk.

Unknown Number.

I frowned.

Very few people contacted me through my personal number unless it was important.

Thinking it might be another witness from an old case, I unlocked the screen and opened the message.

There wasn’t any text.

Just a video.

For several seconds, I stared at it without pressing play.

Something about receiving a random video from an unknown sender immediately made my stomach tighten, but curiosity won anyway.

I tapped the screen and the recording began with nothing but static before a grainy security camera image slowly came into focus.

A quiet street.

Rain.

Headlights passing by.

The footage looked old, almost damaged by time.

I leaned closer.

Then my breathing stopped.

A appeared on the screen. She couldn’t have been older than 24.

She wore her yellow raincoat.

The same yellow raincoat that had appeared in every nightmare I’d had for the last three years.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“No…”

The word escaped before I even realized I had spoken aloud.

The footage skipped.

The camera shook violently for a split second before another figure entered the frame.

The image wasn’t clear enough to identify anyone.

All I could make out was movement.

Someone covering her nose, and before I knew it the girl was knocked out.

Then…

Nothing.

The video ended.

I remained frozen in my chair, because the girl was me.

Every breath suddenly felt too shallow.

Fragments of my nightmares crashed into my mind so violently that I had to grip the edge of my desk just to steady myself.

The crying.

The darkness.

Someone calling my name.

The smell of rain.

I knew those images.

I knew them.

So why couldn’t I remember what had actually happened?

Another notification appeared.

Unknown Number.

This time there was a single sentence.

Remember now?

My heartbeat slammed painfully against my ribs.

Whoever had sent the message knew exactly what they were doing.

They knew about the kidnapping.

They knew about my memory.

More importantly…

They knew how to reach me.

“Blaire?”

I looked up sharply.

Chief George stood outside my office with two folders tucked beneath one arm.

He frowned the moment he saw my face.

“What happened?”

Without saying a word, I handed him my phone.

His expression remained neutral at first as he watched the recording, but somewhere around the middle of the video, something changed.

It was subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.

His jaw tightened.

The hand holding my phone became noticeably still.

When the recording ended, he didn’t immediately return it.

Instead, he kept staring at the dark screen for several long seconds, almost as though he’d expected something else to appear.

“Chief?”

He blinked.

“Hm?”

“Have you seen this before?”

He slowly handed the phone back.

“No.”

“It was sent to me a few minutes ago.”

“I see.”

I searched his face carefully.

Three years working under George had taught me how to read people almost as well as I read crime scenes, and although his voice remained steady, there was something uneasy about the way he avoided looking directly at me.

“Back then…” I began cautiously. “When my… my kidnapping investigation was still active… was there anything the team couldn’t explain?”

George remained quiet for a moment.

“We followed every lead we had.”

“But did you miss anything?”

His eyes finally met mine.

“We did everything we could, Blaire.”

I wasn’t convinced.

“I know you did.”

He gave a tired smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“Sometimes that’s all an investigation can be.”

The silence between us stretched just a little too long.

Then he glanced toward the hallway before clearing his throat.

“If you’ll excuse me, I suddenly remembered I have somewhere I need to be.”

Before I could ask another question, he turned and walked away much faster than he normally did.

I watched him disappear around the corner, unable to shake the strange feeling twisting in my stomach.

George wasn’t running from work.

He was running from something.

The question was…

What?

A gentle knock sounded against my office door before I had the chance to follow him.

“Come in.”

My subordinate stepped inside, though she looked noticeably more uncertain than usual.

“Detective Hayes…”

“Yes?”

“There’s someone here asking to see you.”

I frowned.

“Who is it?”

She stepped aside and I looked toward the doorway.

Time seemed to stop.

Standing casually in the corridor with one hand tucked into the pocket of a black jacket was the same tattooed man I’d seen at Rita’s wedding.

He met my gaze without the slightest hint of surprise before the familiar smirk slowly spread across his face.

“Fancy seeing you here, detective.”