Evil Within

CHAPTER 23

The cold winter breeze whistled through the quiet streets, carrying with it the faint scent of snow. The once-bustling marketplace had fallen silent as shopkeepers shuttered their stores for the night. Only the faint neon glow of a nearby 24x7 convenience store remained, a lone beacon of light in the growing darkness.

Inside, Mira Fernandez finished counting the register for her shift, her hands cold despite the store’s modest heating. She glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. Her replacement was late again.

The bell above the door jingled as Daniel, her co-worker, finally strolled in, a sheepish grin plastered across his face. He was bundled in a thick jacket, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if the cold were a mere inconvenience.

“You’re late, Daniel,” Mira snapped, her frustration evident. “You know I hate leaving at this hour, especially with everything that’s been happening.”

Daniel chuckled, brushing off her concern with a wave of his hand. “Relax, Mira. It’s not like the killer’s lurking outside, waiting for you. You’re just being paranoid.”

Mira scowled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Paranoid? You do realize three women have been killed in the past month, right? And all of them were walking alone at night.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Daniel said, holding up his hands defensively. “But trust me, you’ll be fine. No one’s going to mess with you.”

Mira didn’t reply. Instead, she pulled out her phone and booked a cab. She didn’t trust Daniel’s easygoing attitude—it wasn’t his safety on the line. She checked the app. The estimated arrival time was seven minutes.

“Goodnight, Daniel,” she said curtly, heading for the door.

“Goodnight, Mira,” he called after her, his tone lighthearted.

The icy air hit her face as she stepped outside, making her shiver. She tightened her scarf around her neck and glanced down at her phone. The app showed her cab as “arriving soon,” but she couldn’t see any headlights on the empty street.

Minutes passed, and her unease grew. Mira glanced around, her breath visible in the cold air. The streets were too quiet, the kind of quiet that made her skin crawl.

Then she felt it—that prickle at the back of her neck, as if someone was watching her. She spun around, but there was no one there. The faint hum of a distant streetlamp was the only sound breaking the silence.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. “Cab canceled due to unforeseen circumstances,” the app read.

Mira’s heart began to race. She felt exposed, standing there under the flickering light of the 24x7 store’s sign.

“It’s fine,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll just walk. It’s not that far.”

She started walking briskly, her boots clicking against the pavement. The chill seeped through her coat, and her breath came out in hurried puffs. She stuck to the main road at first, but when the familiar shortcut appeared—a narrow alleyway between two rows of buildings—she hesitated.

It would cut her walk in half, but the darkness inside the alley seemed almost alive, like it was waiting for her. Mira steeled herself. It was just an alley. She’d walked it dozens of times before.

She stepped in, her footsteps echoing against the brick walls. Halfway through, the feeling returned—eyes on her, watching, waiting.

Mira froze, her breath hitching. “Hello?” she called, her voice trembling.

Silence.

Then came the sound of footsteps—soft, deliberate, and closing in.

Mira turned to run, but before she could take another step, a figure lunged from the shadows. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream. She struggled, but the attacker was strong, dragging her down onto the cold, hard ground.

Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering onto the pavement. She kicked and thrashed, her muffled cries echoing in the empty alley.

“Shh,” the figure hissed, their voice low and menacing.

Panic consumed her. Mira clawed at the hand covering her mouth, her nails scraping against leather. Her vision blurred with tears as she realized the truth—this wasn’t a random attack. This was him.

The serial killer had found her.

The 24x7 convenience store was brightly lit, a stark contrast to the somber mood of the agents who had gathered outside. Sophia Green stood at the entrance, her hands shoved into her coat pockets as she braced against the biting morning wind. The call had come early—Mira Williams, a young woman who worked the night shift, hadn’t made it home.

Andrew James approached, his expression grim. “Her family reported her missing this morning. No sign of her, and her phone’s location was last tracked somewhere near here.”

Sophia nodded, her jaw tightening. “Let’s get inside and see what they have.”

Inside the store, the manager, a middle-aged man with worry etched across his face, fumbled with the security system. “I told the officers everything I know,” he stammered, glancing nervously at the agents. “Mira left after her shift. She seemed fine. I didn’t think anything was wrong.”

Sophia fixed him with a steady gaze. “We’re going to need access to your security footage, any records you have from last night. This is critical.”

The man nodded quickly and began pulling up the files. Meanwhile, Andrew spoke to Daniel, Mira’s coworker, who stood nearby, his hands trembling.

“She seemed upset,” Daniel admitted, avoiding Andrew’s piercing gaze. “I was late for my shift, and she gave me an earful about it. She was worried about walking home alone, but I didn’t think—” He trailed off, guilt written across his face.

“Did she mention seeing anyone suspicious?” Andrew asked.

“No,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “She booked a cab before she left. That’s all I know.”

Sophia turned her attention to the grainy footage displayed on the screen. Mira appeared on the monitor, walking out of the store bundled in her coat. She lingered outside for a few minutes, glancing at her phone. Then, after what looked like a canceled cab notification, she began walking toward the alleyway that led to the main road.

“The camera doesn’t cover the alley,” the manager said apologetically, wringing his hands. “But that’s the last place she was seen.”

Sophia frowned. “Expand the footage. Let’s see if there’s anyone else in the area.”

The manager complied, rewinding and enlarging the feed. The team watched as a shadowy figure appeared across the street moments after Mira left. The person lingered for a few seconds before following her path toward the alley.

Sophia’s heart sank. “That’s him,” she said under her breath.

Andrew crossed his arms, his expression dark. “No clear view of the face. Just like before.”

Sophia turned to the team. “We need to check that alley.”

The alley was colder than the open streets, the narrow passageway trapped in perpetual shadow. A faint smell of dampness lingered in the air as the team combed the ground for any trace of Mira.

“Over here,” one of the officers called out, holding up a phone.

Sophia hurried over, her breath visible in the cold air. The phone was cracked, its screen still faintly glowing with the last app Mira had used.

“It’s hers,” Andrew confirmed, checking the background of the lock screen—a photo of Mira with her younger sister.

Sophia knelt beside the spot where the phone was found, her gloved fingers brushing against the dirt. Drag marks. Subtle but unmistakable.

Her stomach twisted. “He dragged her,” she murmured.

Andrew crouched beside her, following her gaze. “This was deliberate. He knew the alley wasn’t covered by cameras.”

Sophia stood, her jaw set. “This is his work. The pattern matches—targeting a woman alone at night, no immediate witnesses, and leaving just enough evidence to remind us how close we are but never close enough.”

She looked back toward the main street, her mind racing. “He’s watching us. He’s always one step ahead.”

Andrew’s voice was quiet but firm. “We’ll catch him, Sophia.”

She met his eyes, her resolve hardening. “We have to. Before someone else ends up like Mira.”

As the team continued to collect evidence, Sophia felt a deep sense of unease. The killer wasn’t just careful—he was calculating. And now, with Mira’s disappearance, the stakes had risen higher than ever.