“Are you watching the news?”
Michael’s message appeared just as the screen filled with red markers across the city.
Crazy world, he wrote.
Then came the knock.
Three slow, steady strikes that didn’t sound like a mistake.
I muted the television.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
The second knock was louder. More certain.
Through the peephole — two detectives.
Neutral faces. Patient eyes. No urgency… which somehow felt worse.
“It concerns your husband,” one of them said.
He’s working.
He always checks in.
He always knows where I am.
So why did the headline flashing behind me suddenly feel personal?
Why did the map of crimes start to feel like it was closing in?
And why did I need just a second longer than I should have… to answer a simple question?
“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere.
And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”–Ted Bundy
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