My blood turned to ice. Fourteen girls. He’d murdered fourteen girls. And I was supposed to be next. I was number fifteen.
“No way,” Darcy blurted, shoving her hood away from her face. “Mr. Nell is an actual serial killer?”
“It looks that way, yes,” Messenger replied.
Suddenly, the shaking started again. For the first time, I noticed the dried leaves clinging to the undersides of my sleeves. I ripped them frantically to the floor, my fingernails tearing at the wool.
Messenger took off her baseball cap, wiping drops of water off her forehead. She had purple bags under her eyes, her cheeks were gaunt, and a few strands of gray spotted her dark hair even though she didn’t look much older than thirty-five. I wondered how much of Messenger’s past decade had been dedicated to finding Mr. Nell—and failing.
“Krauss is smart. Brilliant, actually,” Messenger said in an even tone, like she was talking about the weather or a movie she saw last week, not a brutal killer. “He always covers his tracks and he’s a master at disappearing. Every time we get close, he slips away.” Messenger’s phone beeped at her hip. She quickly checked the screen before tucking it back away. “We had intel that he might be here in New Jersey, and now we have our proof. Every officer and agent in town is searching for him right now.”
“Good,” Darcy said, looking at me. “I hope they shoot him in the face.”
“Darcy,” my father warned.
“Can’t say I disagree with her, sir,” Messenger said, raising her palms.
“Agent Messenger?” a voice called.
The man who’d gone upstairs bounded into view, a plastic bag in his hand. Nestled inside was a small black square attached to a wire. A spy camera. “We found it in the girl’s bedroom, hidden in the slats of the closet door.”
“Oh my god.” Darcy’s jaw dropped in horror as she turned to look at me.
I couldn’t breathe. He’d been in our home. He’d been watching me. The shaking turned violent.
“Take it to the lab,” Messenger said with a brisk nod. “Figure out the transmitting radius. It might feed to a location nearby.”
My stomach clenched. “How long has it been there?” I whispered.
Messenger’s dark eyes softened. “It’s impossible to say,” she said gently.
I thought of my room, with its butter-yellow walls, my microscope, and my biology books. It was where I did my homework and ran my labs, where I called my friends, where my mom used to tell me stories about a frog named Neville to help me fall asleep. It was where I woke up each morning and got dressed and…
I ran for the hall bathroom, slamming my knees against the tile floor in front of the toilet. I heaved and heaved until my stomach was empty. Then I sat back against the wall and closed my eyes, blindly reaching for the flusher. Instantly, Mr. Nell’s face swooped toward me, and I pressed the heels of my hands into my eye sockets, trying to obliterate the image.
If only I could erase the knowledge that Mr. Nell—the man who always wrote GOOD WORK in all capitals on my tests and underlined it three times, the guy who’d talked me into entering the statewide math competition last fall, the person I’d trusted and considered a mentor—had watched me in my bedroom and spied on the most private moments of my life. I had never felt so violated. I needed to escape. I needed a shower. I needed to get clean. I needed to be alone.
“I’m going upstairs!” I shouted on my way out of the bathroom.
“Wait.”
My dad stood at the end of the hall, a concerned look on his face. He hesitated for an awkward moment before asking, “Are you okay?”
Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. My dad crossed the living room in two steps, took the agent’s coat off the rack, and handed it to her. I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My father and I had just communicated. We’d actually understood each other.
“Well, thanks for coming by, but if you and the other officers don’t mind, I think my daughter needs some peace and quiet,” my father said, trying to usher her toward the door. She didn’t budge.
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s not going to happen,” Messenger said, folding her damp coat over her arm. “It’s not safe for you to be here alone. There’s a good chance Krauss isn’t done with your daughter.”
My heart and stomach switched places. I clutched my hands together to keep them from trembling. Not done with me? What the hell did that mean?
“We’re going to place a protective detail on your house,” Messenger said, turning to look me in the eye, as if she knew how badly I needed reassuring. “I don’t want any of you leaving this house until he is caught and
locked behind bars. That means no school, no work, no nothing.”
“What about my classes?” my dad asked. His job meant everything to him, at least since mom had died. “Summer term just started.”
“I’m sure the university can find a substitute,” Messenger said tightly.