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7

ALEXIS

R emotely locking Aaron in Amara’s office, I pulled up the security camera for the morgue on my phone while walking towards the elevator.

Pressing the call button for the elevator, the doors immediately opened, and I stepped inside, pressing the button for the basement floor. I watched Dom try the same maneuver to get the gag off his mouth that he did with the duct tape, but it didn’t work. Instead, he stood and tried to grab the handcuff key in between his lips even though his mouth was distorted from the gag.

I knew that Dom would be the more resourceful out of all five men since he was a wild game hunter, which made this role reversal hunt all the more fun for me. He was also non-verbal, which would be an interesting experience for me.

The moment I saw that chilling video of Amara’s murder, I delved deep into the lives of the Davis Brothers. For months, I scoured the internet, public records, and hacked into various networks and databases to gather every bit of information I could find.

Their family history, their business dealings and scams, their personal relationships... Everything .

The deeper I dug, the more I discovered a pattern of immense violence and cruelty of different levels for each man. The Davis Brothers were predators, preying on the weak, the vulnerable, not giving a fuck who they hurt in the process. Once they embedded themselves into Hope Center, Amara’s innocence and passion for helping the less fortunate made her an easy target; a victim of opportunity for their sick and twisted depravity.

This deep dive into their lives gave me a significant advantage, though. It gave me a first-hand look at each of their methods, their personalities, and most of all, their arrogance and callous disregard for anyone but their bank account. I saw every mistake they made, every flaw in their plans, every weakness each man had... and I would use that to my advantage tonight.

Lost in my thoughts, the elevator opened to the basement floor, and I sauntered down the hallway towards the break room a few doors down from the entrance of the morgue. Switching to my security program, I locked all doors of the building, except the break room I was in, so I could decompress for a moment and prepare for my hunt.

The utter determination I felt to rob these two men of their lives, how they did to Amara, was all-consuming. They would see how patient, cunning, and relentless I can be, and how I won’t stop until their blood stained my hands.

Picking up an overturned chair, I righted it and sat, letting my head bang back towards the ceiling, taking deep, grounding breaths.

I probably should have gone to Detective Wallace in the beginning when I found the video. But, I couldn’t. There was an unexplainable force pulling me away from the righteous path, away from law enforcement. This was something I had to do on my own, do for Amara. Our criminal justice system was so flawed, and the Davis Brothers were so wealthy and manipulative, I couldn’t risk them getting caught, then paying off a lawyer and jury to get them off. They would find the smallest loophole, and jump right through…

Pushing aside the moral struggle in my mind, I stood, stretching and cracking my neck.

Glancing at my phone screen again, I saw Dom drop the handcuff key to the floor and sit with his back to it, reaching for it with his bound hands. It only took him about ten seconds to free himself from the handcuffs and remove the gag.

Hmm, impressive. I thought as I tapped the “phase one” button on my phone, which unlocked very specific doors and activated the electric current in the windowsills.

Dom worked on the rope binding his legs quickly and stood, shaking out his probably sore arms and shoulders. He scanned the empty morgue on high alert, as if he knew he was being watched. Moving towards one of the supply tables, he pulled out every drawer, rifling through old equipment, trying to find a weapon.

How ironic that he armed himself with a scalpel since we were in a hospital.

Zero out of ten for creativity.

Dom slowly and silently pushed open one of the doors to the morgue, peeking out into the dimly lit hallway, scanning his surroundings.

Immediately to the left of the morgue’s entrance was a short hallway that contained a restroom for employees, and a door to the stairs, with a brightly lit “exit” sign. His only other option was to exit the morgue and walk straight ahead towards the elevators down the long hallway, since the morgue was in the corner.

Standing behind the dark tinted window of the breakroom, I watched him stay close to the wall towards the door for the stairs, just like I’d hoped he would. He was careful, keeping himself in the shadows as much as possible, carefully peeking into the windows of each door as he moved.

Quietly, he slipped into the stairwell to begin his ascent to the ground floor.

Which was locked, by the way.

Watching him on my phone as I exited the break room without a care in the world, and called the elevator to the fourth floor. He was not an athletic person, his steroid muscles were all for show, so every time he reached the top of the next floor and found the door locked, it made me giggle seeing his frustration.

The elevator opened for me on the darkened fourth floor, our old pediatric general practice unit–my first area I worked in when Hope Center opened. This was also the first place I mustered up the courage to ask Amara to dinner for the first time. Casually, I walked over to the nurses’ station, taking a seat behind the desk, resting my feet on the desktop, waiting.

I could hear his footsteps and labored breathing as he approached the door. Reaching to my back for his gun, I placed it in my lap, the anticipation building. The only light in this unit was from the moonlight through the windows, casting dark, omnipresent shadows on the walls and floor. The nurses’ station had a chest-high top, so being slouched down like I was left me completely out of sight.

The door opened, and he stepped into the pediatric wing.

Now for the fun part.

During my research into Dom’s life, I found he had a fear of porcelain dolls. So, of course, I had fun and went completely over the top with that knowledge.

Waiting for him to hit my mark on the floor, my thumb hovered over a button on my phone. Once in position, I pressed it, and a group of eight porcelain dolls, all hanging from a miniature version of a noose and drenched in faux blood, fell around him from the ceiling. The gravity of them falling splattered the fake blood onto him, covering his face and chest. It took every ounce of self control to contain my laughter.

Dom’s eyes went wide in terror, falling to his ass, scooting himself backwards in a panic.

Seeing this hulk of a man scared to death of dolls was too much.

Stupid little bitch. I chuckled in my mind.

Pressing another button, the pre-recorded sound of a haunting child’s voice sounded at the opposite end of the hallway.

“I love you!”

Dom shot up, darting towards the door to the stairwell again; that yes, I had locked.

His breathing quickened, and out of habit, my nurse brain counted his breaths, mentally checking his respiratory rate. I chuckled out loud once I counted twenty-nine.

“You know, Dom, you should calm down; you’re tachypneic,” I said out loud, my voice echoing off the walls.

Dom panicked, jumped up and ran towards one of the windows, thinking he could escape that way.

“I wouldn’t do that if I–”

I was interrupted by the sound of Dom getting electrocuted by the rigged windowsill, falling to the floor.

Grabbing Dom’s gun, I stood and circled around the nurses’ station, purposefully walking through the bloody, hanging dolls, allowing the false blood to drip onto me.

I stepped out of the shadows slowly towards Dom, still on the floor. His eyes went wide when he saw me, blood dripping from my headscarf, down my face, and my arms.

“I have to admit, the dolls seemed awful silly to prepare for you. Most men have deeper phobias: heights, snakes, injections… those kinds,” I taunted, stepping towards him slowly. His eyes narrowed as he scanned my body, noticing his gun.

“Seeing the big, bad hunter scared of dolls has to be the highlight of my day,” I mocked.

Squinting in a mixture of embarrassment and anger, he turned to face me, scalpel still gripped firmly in his hand.

“Welcome back to Hope Center! It’s been what, two years?!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands together in a feigned excitement while he looked at me, confused. “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t remember! You and your stupid fucking brothers raped and killed my fiancée.”

Recognition shone in his eyes as the realization hit him. His face distorted into a disgusting smirk.

Aiming his gun at him, I shot a round into the wall above his shoulder, making him jump.

“I suggest you run,” I purred, shooting another round into the wall above his opposite shoulder.

Pulling out my phone, I tapped a button to unlock all doors to the stairwells, except on the ground floor.

“I’ll even give you a head start. Let the hunt begin.” In an instant, Dom ran through the door to the stairwell, and I smiled; the thrill of the hunt…