Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
brETT
Jane Evangeline: Entry #1
Some strange things are happening in Moriton. Strange and awful things.
This story was supposed to be a throwaway piece on the high crime rate in Moriton. But after what I saw last night, I no longer think so.
This is big. Bigger than me or this whole city.
I guess I should explain—last night, I made contact with a man. Only, he’s not just any man. He wore a black mask and an immaculate suit, complete with a pair of kidskin leather gloves.
His name is Maverick, and he’s a retired Phantom.
What is a Phantom? I didn’t know before tonight either.
And I kind of wish I never did .
I'm so close, I can practically feel him. The Phantom.
Many different men have worn the persona over the past century, but the bloodshed he brings has stayed consistent. The current Phantom has been a scourge on this city for over a decade—-and from the records, far more violent than all his predecessors combined. With seemingly endless resources and intelligence, the assassin has been able to evade the bureau seamlessly while carrying out his vile deeds under the cover of night.
It’s hard to sleep knowing what could be lurking in the shadows just outside your window— or rather, who —which is why I’ve been damn near obsessed with this case since it was plopped in my lap last month. And last night, I got my big break.
As I pass out the manila folders to my team, my chest buzzes with pride. Every last bit of evidence on the Phantom is neatly compiled within. All his known victims, previous associates, and photos of the masked criminal. However, none of the old evidence comes close to what was discovered at the latest crime scene.
The Phantom’s hair.
It was strange to find at the time, being that he's an overly meticulous bastard. When the hair was discovered, I was convinced he left it on purpose. To play some sick game with us. But then the lab came back with the results, and I knew—I knew that he finally made a mistake. It was his DNA, though it didn't directly match anything we had in our system. But with the help of the genetic testing database—thank the lord for ancestry.com—the markers on his DNA led us to something better. The Phantom's mother.
And she's living right here in Moriton.
"As I'm sure you all know, there's been a major break in the Phantom case.” I pause to clear my throat, a ball of anxiety replacing my pride as a dozen eyes bore into me. Watching. Waiting. Hoping. Sensing my hesitation, my partner, Jim, spreads his lips in a reassuring smile, those familiar brown eyes offering me comfort from across the room. I take a deep breath in through my nose, then start again.
“Early this morning, we were able to locate Martha Gore, biological mother of the current Phantom. Jim and I will be questioning her on her son's whereabouts today. It's possible the Phantom is aware of the FBI's new information, and if we don't act fast, I’m positive Ms. Gore will disappear like all our other leads."
A murmur of assent is overshadowed by the nervous tension in the air. “I know you all might be concerned, but?—”
“Damn right we're concerned!” Samuel Danvers's gruff voice rings across the room from where he's sitting on his desk. His dull green eyes shift nervously to the side as I send the full weight of my glare his way. “How do you know this isn't a trap? You saw what happened to Daniel. The way he cut him up?—”
“I don't need to be reminded!” I snap, my heart hammering as visuals of the crime scene swarm into my mind. The gouged eyes. That horrible bloody stump of his penis, shoved so far down his throat that he?—
Nope. Not going there.
I let out a heavy sigh, running a shaky hand through my hair for the hundredth time this morning as I picture the deep, jagged cuts across Daniel’s forehead, spelling out that incomprehensible four letter word—pedo. More pieces of my bun fall loose with the motion, and I curse myself for ruining my updo yet again .
“You know he has to have a closed casket, right? Mrs. Knox is beside herself,” Harvey—Samuel’s partner—offers, as if that will help the situation. “If he can do something like that to a man like Daniel—the best of us—who’s to say he won’t do something worse to one of us?”
There’s another murmur of assent, and that ball of anxiety tightens.
“What happened to Daniel was a tragedy,” I say, fighting the shake of my voice as I attempt to take control of the room. “And it's also the reason we need to catch this guy. I refuse to sit by and watch him hurt one more person. I won't let him get away with what he's done. I won’t stand for it—and neither should you.” I take my time looking each team member in the eyes before finally resting back on Samuel. “Are you with me?”
Jim claps a hand on my shoulder. “I'm with you, Brett.” He puffs his chest out, giving the rest of the men his million-dollar smile. Slowly, each person repeats Jim, the next words growing more powerful and assured than the last. When it finally comes down to Samuel to say the phrase, the whole room looks at him. Watching. Waiting.
Samuel raises a hand to his scruffy jaw, scratching thoughtfully. “Ah, what the hell. You got me too, Brett. You always do.”
My body feels light as I look out at all the determined faces. Jim's hand tightens on my shoulder, and I don't miss the proud look he gives me when I address the room for the last time.
“Okay. Let's go get this fucker.”