Chapter 2 - THE SCREAM IN THE RAIN
For one suspended moment, Ryan believed there was still time to undo everything. He could step out, shout Emily’s name, call the police, throw a trash can into the stranger’s path, do anything that would turn the man’s attention away from her. Ryan’s body, however, had separated from the heroic version of himself he had rehearsed all day. His hands went numb. His mouth went dry. The stranger moved closer to Emily with a patient certainty that made the scene feel less like an impulsive crime and more like a practiced routine. Emily backed toward the wall, one hand searching inside her handbag while the rolled drawings slid from beneath her arm and struck the pavement. She looked toward the mouth of the alley and saw Ryan’s silhouette.
Their eyes met.
Ryan would remember that second more clearly than any other moment of his life. Emily’s face shifted from fear to desperate recognition. She knew him from the café. She believed another person was there, another human being who could help. Ryan saw hope enter her expression, and then he saw what happened when that hope was answered by hesitation. The stranger turned his head slightly, following Emily’s gaze. Ryan realized he had been noticed. His heart slammed against his ribs, and every instinct he had imagined himself possessing disappeared beneath one primitive command: survive. He stepped backward, then again, then turned and ran.
He heard his own shoes striking wet pavement. He heard his breath tearing in his throat. Behind him came the sound of something metallic crashing, then Emily shouting, “Help!” Ryan did not turn around. At the corner, he nearly slipped and caught himself on the hood of a parked car. A second later, Emily screamed. It was not the scream of someone startled by a prank. It was sharp, fractured, and full of the knowledge that no one was coming. Ryan ran faster. He reached the next block, then the next, until the alley was hidden by buildings and the city looked ordinary again, indifferent and bright with traffic.
He drove home without remembering the route. In his apartment, he stood under a shower until the water became cold, still wearing his socks because he had forgotten to remove them. He told himself perhaps Emily had escaped. He told himself perhaps the man had only been trying to rob her. He told himself that calling the police would make everything worse because he would have to explain why he had been waiting in that alley. Each excuse lasted a few minutes before collapsing under the memory of her scream. At 1:30 in the morning, he finally called Emily’s office pretending to be a coworker who had lost her number. No one answered.
By dawn, he had not slept. He sat on the floor beside his sofa, refreshing local news pages until a headline appeared: YOUNG WOMAN REPORTED MISSING AFTER LEAVING DOWNTOWN OFFICE. The article included Emily’s work photograph and asked anyone with information to contact police. Ryan stared at the image until his vision blurred. Beneath the article was another report, published months earlier, about a man believed to have followed at least four women through isolated streets late at night. Two women had escaped after entering crowded businesses. Another had disappeared for three days before being found injured outside the city. The police had never identified the man.
At 7:45, the café opened. Ryan went there without deciding to. Emily’s table was empty. The barista prepared an iced coffee automatically, then stared at it when she remembered. Someone near the counter was whispering about the disappearance, saying Emily’s sister had posted online and the police were searching the warehouse district. Ryan wanted to confess on the spot. Instead, he stood in line holding a cup he could not drink while guilt pressed against his chest like a physical weight. When the television above the pastry case switched to a news segment, a composite sketch appeared on the screen: tall male, dark coat, narrow face, possibly in his thirties or forties.
Ryan dropped his coffee.
The sound made everyone turn. He muttered an apology and left. Outside, the morning sun was bright enough to feel cruel. He walked without direction for nearly an hour before returning to his apartment. There he opened his phone and typed a message to the police tip line three separate times. Each time, his thumb stopped before sending. He could already hear the questions. Why were you in the alley? Why had you been hiding? Why had you not called for help? Had you arranged for someone to frighten her? Did you know the attacker? Ryan imagined detectives looking at him with the same expression Emily had worn in that final second before he ran.
At 10:06, his phone buzzed from an unknown number.
The first message contained only four words: YOU WERE THERE LAST NIGHT. Ryan stood so quickly that his chair toppled backward. He looked toward the windows, suddenly convinced someone might be watching from the street. A second message arrived before he could answer: YOU RAN. Then came a photograph. It had been taken from across the alley, grainy but unmistakable. Ryan was visible near a dumpster, half-hidden, watching Emily and the stranger. The next image showed him turning away. A third showed him running.
His stomach tightened. The photographer had been positioned farther down the alley than the man who took Emily. That meant either the attacker had placed a camera there in advance or someone else had been watching. Ryan zoomed in until the pixels dissolved. In the corner of the second image, he saw the edge of Emily’s beige handbag lying on the pavement. He could almost smell the rain again. The final message arrived with an address beneath it: an abandoned storage complex twelve miles outside the city.
May you like
DO YOU WANT TO SAVE HER NOW?
Ryan stared at the words for a long time. The trap was obvious, but so was the possibility that Emily was alive. He finally called Derek. His friend answered angrily, still believing Ryan wanted to complain about the ruined plan, but Ryan’s voice cracked before he finished the first sentence. Derek went silent as the truth unfolded. When Ryan read him the address, Derek said, “Do not go there. Call the police right now.” Ryan closed his eyes. For the first time since the alley, he chose the harder action instead of the easier one. He dialed emergency services and began confessing before fear could stop him.
