Chapter 19 The Timeline Collision
the timeline collision [trope]
the pivotal moment in a rom-com when the present finally collides with that dramatic flash-forward we glimpsed at the beginning; cue the exact showdown and awkward confession, now unfolding with every bit of chaotic energy and dramatic flair we were promised
Hunting down a serial killer is not as glamorous as they say.
For one thing, my teeth have been chattering throughout the drive to the library, so now my jaw hurts.
And once I finally got here and found the door had been forced open, I hid behind the shelves, squeezing my little pink Taser.
I accumulated so much tension in my shoulders that I can actually feel the muscles cramping.
I tiptoe between the towering bookshelves, clutching the Taser like it’s a medieval sword. I really hope my heart doesn’t betray me by bursting out of my body entirely.
A faint rustling sound catches my attention, and I freeze mid-step.
The noise comes again—somewhere in the far corner of the library.
I inch forward, weaving through the shelves, my breaths shallow and my steps quieter.
My palms are clammy around the Taser’s handle, and my breath feels obnoxiously loud in the silence.
Then I see him. He’s there, at the end of the aisle, all dark and brooding, with that stupid, soft, infuriatingly perfect hair.
It’s him. Rafael.
I can’t believe it’s Rafael.
Eyes closing, I try to push every single feeling down, the disappointment screaming so loud in my head it might just kill me, then peek out from behind the shelf. He’s still there, silently waiting like he has nowhere else to be. Meanwhile, I’m pretty sure I’m about to faint.
God, it’s really him.
I move forward, inching closer and closer until I’m right behind him. My heart’s hammering, and I can almost feel the electricity of the Taser pulsing in my hand. One more step, and I’ll have him.
My hand is poised to strike, but just as I’m about to make my move, he turns around with startling speed. His speckled gray eyes lock onto mine, and I see the recognition flicker in them. His hand moves in a blur, pulling a gun from his jacket and pointing it directly at my forehead.
Rafael has a fucking gun. And it’s not pink, either.
“Really?” I mutter, blinking at him. “You had to bring a gun?”
He arches an eyebrow, a half smirk that would be incredibly attractive if I wasn’t so busy internally screaming. He’s dressed in all black, the usual leather jacket worn and creased at the elbows, and under it, a fitted black turtleneck that clings to his broad frame.
“Were you planning on… stunning me with that?” He gestures to the Taser in my hand like I’ve just brought a rubber duck to a knife fight.
I glare at him, desperately trying to retain some level of dignity while simultaneously trying not to wet my pants. “I promise it won’t feel as pink as it looks.”
His eyes sparkle as he chuckles. Chuckles. Like this is all some grand joke. “You know, I had you pegged as smarter than this,” he says, his chin jerking down. “You lead me here and show up with that? What did you figure would happen next, exactly?”
Goddamn it, he knows this is a trap. Just as well, because, though it worked, based on the gun pointed at me, it clearly didn’t work. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
He pulls at the collar of his turtleneck, tattoo ink curling up his neck like smoke. “Yes, I’m here. And you’re coming with me now.” He jerks his gun to the right, his eyes flicking behind me. “After you, Freckles.”
There’s no point in running. I’m fucked.
I turn around, a sharp pain settling over my chest. Like a stomachache, but where my heart is.
A chest ache.
Maybe this is what heartbreak feels like.
I walk, aware that his gun is still pointed at the back of my head.
That the man I started to feel something for wants to kill me, and probably will.
Because, of course, I can’t take him with a stupid pink Taser.
And I didn’t tell anyone where I am—all Ethan knows is that I’ll be out for a while, and if he needs something, he should call Paige.
But he’ll never recover from this, will he? From losing someone else?
“How could you do this?” My voice echoes faintly off the library walls and through the stale air.
Rafael doesn’t say a word behind me.
“I defended you,” I continue, the words ripping out of me like shards of glass. “Even with everything pointing at you—even when common sense and evidence told me otherwise—I still defended you. I believed you.”
When he says nothing, I face him, and he glances around. I’m done. I’m not going anywhere, not until he explains. If I’m dying, I want to know why.
A horrifying thought punches through my chest like a wrecking ball. “Did you… did you do all of this for me? The podcast, the murders?”
Still no answer.
“Say something!” I yell, the Taser sparking faintly as my hand jerks.
Finally, he speaks, his voice calm but weighted with something dark. “Why are you here, Scarlett?”
The question throws me, and I look at the gun in his hand like I’m first noticing it now, my stomach twisting into knots. It’s still pointed at me. A motherfucking gun.
“Why are you here?” he asks again, softer this time, but his gaze darts to the shadows around us like he’s expecting company.
I straighten, my grip tightening on the Taser. “I led you here. I picked this book, this place—to force you into the library and catch you.”
His shoulders drop, and to my surprise, he steps back, his expression thoughtful. “Of course you did.”
What?
“Tell me about Reddit,” he says, his tone oddly casual, as if we’re discussing grocery lists instead of murder.
“Reddit?” I snap.
“The post. It was you, right? You wanted people to notice the pattern. You wanted more people to listen to the podcast.”
“No. How could you even think—” My breathing turns shallow, and my grip on the Taser loosens for just a second. “Do you actually believe I wanted this?”
“Don’t you? Your podcast was struggling,” he says, his tone infuriatingly calm. “Your job’s on the line.”
“You’ve killed people!” I scream. “This isn’t about a podcast or a job. This is murder.”
He exhales slowly, tilting his head. “The flowers, then. Can you explain those?”
“The… what?”
“The flowers you ordered two weeks ago. You signed for them.”
I stagger back a step, my brow furrowing.
“What are you talking about? You used my podcast, Rafael,” I insist, tears stinging my eyes.
I don’t know why he’s stalling—talking about Reddit and flowers—and I honestly don’t care.
“You’ve tainted my work and made me feel responsible for these murders.
You lied to me about everything.” I take a shaky breath.
“Whatever reason you had… it’s over. You’re done.
I’m going to the police.” My heart pounds so hard it hurts. “Unless you’re ready to kill me, too.”
Slowly, he lowers the gun, the tension in the room snapping like a taut string. He sets it into the back of his pants and calls out, “Is this enough?”
“What?” My head whips around, and before I can process his words, officers emerge from the shadows of the library, their guns drawn but not aimed. Wes and Chief Donovan.
My heart stops. The police. They’re here.
Thank God they’re here.
“It’s h-him,” I stammer. “He’s the murderer. He…” My words trail off as I realize Rafael just talked to them, didn’t he? Before they revealed themselves. He knew they were here.
What the hell is going on?
“Y-you’re a cop? You’re a…”
“I’m not,” Rafael says, his gaze soft but unbearably heavy. “Are you okay?”
He reaches for my hand, but I yank it away like his touch burns. If he’s not the murderer, but he’s not the police, either, then… “Who are you?”
“I’m a private investigator,” he says in a worried voice. “Scarlett, you need to come with me.”
“No.” I back away, shaking my head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Scarlett, please.” For a second, he looks like he’s in pain. Like he knows he just ruined everything. “You’re safe now, okay?”
“N-no.” I cross my arms, trying to get my body to stop shaking. It must be the adrenaline drop. “Y-you pointed a gun at m-me.”
“I know.” His hand falls to his side. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
Promise? Sure, I’m relieved he’s not a murderer, but he still lied about everything. Just how many promises has he made and broken already? “I think I’m tired of your promises, actually.”
Chief Donovan steps closer. “Better listen to your boyfriend, sweetheart. You need to straighten out a few details, and things aren’t looking good for you.”
“Seriously, Chief? I’m your suspect?”
“You knew details about the crimes that weren’t disclosed to the public.”
I breathe out slowly, letting the implication sink in. “So… this whole time, you’ve been focused on me? Please tell me you have other suspects.”
His eyes dart to Rafael, who raises both hands in frustration.
Un-fucking-believable.
“And now they might finally start focusing on actual suspects,” Rafael says, his voice sharp enough to cut. Then, softer, to me, “But we still need to talk.”
“Why?” I croak. I can barely stand to look at him right now.
He reaches forward, as if he’s going to tuck my hair behind my ear. Noticing the way my gaze darts to his fingers, his fist clenches and settles back at his side. “Because someone’s trying to frame you for these murders.”
So this is why Rafael never let me into his place—because the walls of his living room are smothered with photos, papers, and notes scribbled in a chaotic network of suspicion. Celeste, Vanessa, Theo. There’s a shot of Mrs. Prattle watering her garden, one of Paige laughing.
And he’s done this in the space of weeks?
It’s so eerie, so invasive, that it feels like my skin is crawling.