Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
Fun House loomed ahead. Its silhouette jagged against the dimming sky.
Zoe stood in front of it, feeling like the only person in this world.
Peeling paint curled at the edges like dead skin, wooden beams bowed inward as if the whole structure were exhaling a slow, rattling breath.
The wind blew softly as if it were assessing her, gauging her response, trying to understand her.
The shadows on the uneven ground were long, shivering, but here—right in front of the house—there was only stillness.
The wind stirred. The old porch groaned like it was shifting in its sleep. Loose shutters clapped softly against the warped frame. Zoe stood motionless, her gaze tracing the details—the skeletal remains of a house, the windows gaping and black, like sockets where eyes used to be.
The air around it was infested with the tragedy.
Six teenagers died inside while the carnival outside raged on.
Why would the killer send her the hair of one of the victims?
She swallowed, her pulse drumming in her ears.
It was just an old house. A carnival attraction.
A collection of wood and dust and neglect.
But it was hiding more than the lives it had stolen.
Was it hiding injustice? A secret that was threatening to spill out?
So why did it feel like it was waiting for her? She exhaled slowly, trying to shake the feeling that the house was… watching her. But then her antenna started blaring. It wasn’t the house that was watching her. It was something else.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a black sedan with tinted windows a block away from where she stood. It was just the two of them on the stretch of the road. The window was slightly rolled down. It was too far for her to determine who it was. But something was visible.
A bright Hawaiian shirt. There was only one person who dressed like that in Zoe’s memory. Someone who Aiden said might have followed her to Pineview Falls. Darren Galanis.
Zoe took off like a bullet leaving the barrel, her legs sprinting with speed and intention toward the car.
A moment later, the car kickstarted its engine and swerved dramatically, its tires hissing on the asphalt, spraying dirt on either side.
It began gliding away from Zoe but she didn’t slow down.
She pushed herself harder as the car gained speed.
“Hey! Wait!” she yelled but the car zipped away.
She came to halt, panting, and pressed her hands into her knees. Her lungs burned, drawing shallow breaths. Frustration clawed at her. She was so close. But she had memorized the license plate.
She called the local police dispatch. “I need you to run a plate.” She recited the number and waited.
Darren Galanis.
The next morning, everyone was out searching for Jackie Fink.
The substation was crowded, stretched thin, everything happening at once.
Fax machines beeped, printers rattled, and chairs scraped against the tiles.
The walls were lined with cluttered bulletin boards, a mix of wanted posters, departmental notices, and half-torn flyers for upcoming events no one had time for.
Zoe threaded her way through the buzzing place, searching for Aiden. Lisa was on the phone, getting K9 units to comb through the woods where Annabelle’s body was found. She spotted him in the break room, thumbing his phone.
“Hey.”
“Simon went back?” he asked.
“Yep.” She flushed. “Did you get anything from the letter?”
“Not yet. Why wasn’t it sent to you like the first one?” He frowned. “And why was it sent to the Seattle office? The killer must be watching you and know that you’re in Pineview Falls. He could have just addressed it to this station.”
“Good questions.” She walked past him and poured herself a coffee with three cubes of sugar. “I’m more worried about Jackie being found dead. Annabelle was killed within twenty-four hours of being taken.”
He drummed his fingers on the counter. “We don’t know what the abduction site was either.”
Zoe’s phone beeped. “It’s the crime lab. They analyzed the first letter with the poem sent to me.”
“I thought there was no DNA or prints.”
“There isn’t. But they found pollen. It’s called Viola glabella .” She read from her phone. “Shaded forest floors in the Pacific Northwest, common in Washington’s old-growth forests and stream banks. It doesn’t disperse easily via air, meaning direct contact is required for transfer.”
Aiden set his coffee down and straightened up. “Jackie had a bouquet of flowers at her place. Stream violets, remember?”
“I think so.” She quickly checked her phone. “That’s where the pollen’s from. So the killer has been in Jackie’s house.”
The wheels in his mind spun. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“Jackie’s place. I’ll take Lisa.” He was almost frantic, like his thoughts were racing and he was struggling to catch up. He began backing away.
“What are you looking for?”
“She was obsessed with the fire – rather the massacre. More so than the regular folk in this town. I’ll be back. Following a hunch.”
“Okay.” Zoe headed back to the office and locked the door behind her, shutting out the humming at the substation. The events from last night still clung to her skin like grime. Shame stirred inside her. She wanted to crawl under a rock and die. What was Simon thinking chasing her like that?
She pulled out her phone and shot a message to Benny.
Z: Book me in ASAP, please.
She didn’t wait for a reply. He always took his sweet time.
Instead, she decided to go through Annabelle’s autopsy reports again.
There had to be something she was missing.
She began reading through the notes and reports again, absorbing everything piece by piece.
She didn’t know how much time had passed.
Multiple contusions and abrasions across the anterior torso, bilateral upper arms, and thighs, indicative of repetitive blunt force impact.
Linear impact marks across the lateral ribs (T5–T9 bilaterally), consistent with compression injuries caused by sustained external force. The absence of fractures suggests sublethal force applied over time rather than a single crushing event.
And then something caught her eye.
Distinct heat demarcation lines present, inconsistent with exposure to an open flame. The pattern suggests radiant heat exposure at close proximity rather than direct flame contact.
There was fire damage but not from the actual flame. It was stimulated heat exposure. She flipped through the report again.
No soot in nares, trachea, or esophagus, ruling out inhalation of combustion byproducts.
She sat back in her chair, her mind reeling.
Annabelle was put through extreme stress and torture.
Stimulated heat. Blunt force trauma. Hunting darts.
It was elaborate and specific and psychopathic.
She scanned the autopsy reports of the teenagers from the Pineview Falls Massacre, her eyes flicking between the forensic details.
Bruising patterns. Thermal injuries. Signs of prolonged psychological distress.
Each detail echoed back, a perfect match to Annabelle.
Same impact zones. Same heat exposure. Same biochemical markers of extreme fear before death.
Her stomach twisted. This wasn’t just similar; it was identical.
Annabelle and the victims of the big fire were tortured and killed the exact same way.