Page 26

As the beam of Jenna’s flashlight cut through the darkness of the abandoned factory, she moved carefully to minimize noise of her footsteps on the debris-strewn floor.

Beside her, Jake matched her cautious pace, his own light sweeping methodically from side to side, revealing the skeletal remains of shoe manufacturing equipment that loomed like prehistoric beasts in the cavernous space.

“Clear,” Jake whispered, completing his scan of the immediate area.

“The studio should be in the basement,” she murmured. “According to Ray Tucker, Astral Waves broadcast from a makeshift studio they built underground.”

Jake turned his flashlight beam to a metal door in the far corner. “That must be our way down.”

The door groaned in protest as Jake pulled it open. Jenna winced at the noise, hoping it hadn’t traveled far enough to alert anyone to their presence.

“Watch your step,” Jake cautioned as they gazed down a narrow concrete stairwell.

Jenna took point, her service weapon drawn but held low as she descended. At the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in a dark corridor.

“Which way?” Jake asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This way,” she decided, heading to the right.

“Place is like a maze,” Jake observed as they turned yet another corner, finding themselves in an identical passageway.

A distant sound stopped them both mid-step.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

“Sounded like someone talking.”

Another sound reached them—faint but unmistakable. It was a voice, though too distant to make out the words.

“End of the hall, maybe?” Jake observed.

As they moved that way, the sounds became clearer—a man’s voice and a woman’s, though they couldn’t catch the words

Jenna felt a familiar prickling sensation at the back of her neck. Her intuition—the same sense that had guided her through countless investigations—told her not to call out.

“We need to move,” she whispered, urgency propelling her forward. “Now.”

***

Kevin held the audio cord in his hand, the familiar texture of the braided cable reassuring against his skin. In the pitch darkness of the old Astral Waves studio, he felt a sense of rightness, of destiny fulfilled.

He circled slowly around where he knew Diana stood frozen, enjoying the soft sound of her frightened breathing. She couldn’t see him, but he didn’t need to see her. He knew this room well.

He moved three steps clockwise, maintaining the circle he traced around her. The cord dangled from his hand.

“I was there when you told your listeners about the cosmic vibrations,” he told her. “About the messages hidden in radio waves. I believed you heard them, just like I heard bits and pieces. Everyone believed you.”

“That was a long time ago,” Diana said, her voice quavering. “It was just a radio persona, Kevin. Entertainment.”

The word ‘entertainment’ ignited something in Kevin’s brain, a flash of white-hot anger that momentarily blinded him even in the darkness.

“Entertainment?” he hissed. “Is that what you call it? People made life decisions based on your guidance. They trusted you!”

He stepped closer, his anger propelling him forward before he regained control and resumed his circling pattern.

“I trusted you,” he continued, softer now. “When I came to you and told you I could hear the message too, that I needed help understanding it—you turned me away.”

He explained, as if Diana had asked for clarification. “I’ve been trying to tune into it for years now. The others helped me get closer. But it’s still not clear enough. I need your help to tune it properly. You’re the only one who can do it.”

In the darkness, Diana’s breathing had accelerated. Kevin could almost taste her fear, metallic and sharp on his tongue. He moved closer, allowing the cord to sway from his hand like a pendulum.

“You’re going to help me tune the frequency. That’s why we’re here, where it all began. Where you first taught me to listen.”

A sound from beyond the studio—a metallic creak, faint but distinct—interrupted his monologue. Kevin froze, head tilted toward the door.

“What was that?” he whispered.

He strained to listen, suddenly acutely aware of the building around them—old, abandoned, full of shifting metal and settling concrete. But this had sounded different. Deliberate.

“Is someone here?” Diana asked, hope creeping into her voice.

“Shut up,” Kevin snapped, panic flaring briefly before he tamped it down.

He held his breath, listening intently. For several seconds, there was nothing. Then—another sound. Unmistakably footsteps.

Someone was in the building. Had he been followed here?

Sweat beaded on Kevin’s forehead. This wasn’t part of the plan. They were supposed to be alone, undisturbed as he made one last attempt to receive the cosmic message.

“We need to hurry,” he muttered.

Another sound reached him—closer now. Definitely footsteps, and they were approaching.

Paranoia bloomed in Kevin’s chest, spreading outward like ice through his veins. But how? Unless...

“You led them here,” he accused, tightening his grip on Diana’s arm. “Somehow, you knew. You’ve been working against me all along.”

“No,” Diana protested. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In the darkness, he moved to find her, the cord stretched between his hands.

***

Hope flared in Diana’s chest at the sounds of someone else in the building. Had anyone noticed her missing from her shop? The Sheriff, perhaps—what was her name? Graves. Sheriff Graves, who had interviewed her about two murders. Or were the footsteps those of some indifferent stranger?

She forced herself to breathe slowly, fighting the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm her. If she called out for help, would her captor strike her down before anyone could reach her?

The darkness was absolute, robbing her of sight, but her other senses had sharpened in compensation. Each shuffle of Kevin’s feet against the concrete floor, each rustle of his clothing as he moved, painted a mental picture of his position.

She knew he had been moving around her, maintaining a precise distance. She struggled to remember the details of the room. But of course, those details had changed. The room had long since been divested of almost all of its equipment.

“I don’t have time to make you understand properly,” Kevin said, his voice taking on a manic edge. “We need to proceed now. They’ll leave without finding us. Then your body will help me tune into the signal.”

Diana reached out, her fingers connecting with cold metal—the base of a microphone stand, apparently one stray piece of equipment that hadn’t been taken away with the station was shut down. Relief surged through her as she wrapped her hand around it, feeling its solid weight.

She had seconds at most. Kevin was moving toward her again, his breathing growing louder as he closed the distance between them.

“Now,” Kevin hissed, his hands moving toward her throat. “It has to be now.”

Diana gripped the microphone stand with both hands, summoning every ounce of strength within her.

With a desperate cry that tore from her throat, she swung the heavy stand in a wide arc through the darkness.

The microphone stand cut through the air with a soft whoosh, momentum carrying it forward with more force than Diana had anticipated.

She felt resistance as it connected with something solid, followed by a grunt of surprise and pain.

Time seemed to slow as Diana realized she had made contact. But in the absolute darkness, she couldn’t tell if she had merely glanced him or delivered a more significant blow. She adjusted her grip, preparing to swing again if necessary.

“You—” Kevin began, his voice strained but still too close for comfort.

At that precise moment, the studio door burst open, flooding the room with the harsh beams of flashlights that momentarily blinded Diana after so long in complete darkness.

***

Jenna burst through the studio door, weapon drawn, flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.

The scene before her unfolded in chaotic fragments—Diana Wells with a microphone stand raised like a club, Kevin Barrett stumbling backwards, his face a mask of surprise and rage.

The beam of Jake’s flashlight joined hers

“Police! Don’t move!” Jenna commanded

For a fraction of a second, everything froze—Diana with the microphone stand still clutched in white-knuckled hands, Kevin with one hand pressed to his temple where blood trickled from a fresh wound, an audio cord dangling from his other hand like a dead snake.

Then, as if released from a spell, Kevin lunged toward Diana once more, his face contorted with fury.

“Get back!” Jenna shouted, moving forward, her weapon trained on Kevin.

Jake immediately flanked right, creating a tactical advantage as they both advanced into the room. Their flashlight beams bobbed and crossed, illuminating Kevin’s wild eyes and Diana’s terrified expression.

“On the ground! Now!” Jake ordered Kevin, his voice carrying the unmistakable authority of law enforcement.

“I need to hear the message!” Kevin screamed, his voice cracking. “She has to help me tune into it!”

Jake forced Kevin face-down onto the floor, applying pressure to keep him there as he reached for his handcuffs. The killer continued to struggle, his body twisting with manic energy, forcing Jake to apply more pressure to his restraint hold.

“Stop resisting,” Jake commanded through gritted teeth.

The metallic click of handcuffs closing around Kevin’s wrists seemed to finalize something—both the end of the immediate danger and the completion of his descent into madness.

His body went slack beneath Jake’s grip, though his mouth continued to move, muttering about frequencies and static and messages that needed to be heard.

Only when Jake had fully secured Kevin did Jenna lower her weapon and turn her full attention to Diana.

The older woman stood trembling, still gripping the microphone stand as if it were a lifeline. Her silver hair, usually so neatly arranged, hung in disarray around her pale face.

“Ms. Wells,” Jenna said gently, holstering her weapon and extending a hand. “You’re safe now. It’s over.”

Diana’s eyes, wide with residual terror, fixed on Jenna’s face as if struggling to comprehend her words. The microphone stand wavered in her grasp.

“He—” Diana began, her voice a hoarse whisper. “He was going to—”

“I know,” Jenna said, carefully approaching and placing her hand on the microphone stand. “You can let go now. We’ve got him.”

Slowly, Diana’s fingers uncurled from around the metal pole. As Jenna took it from her, Diana’s composure crumbled completely. Her knees buckled, and Jenna quickly discarded the stand to catch her before she collapsed.