The Hilltop police station was abuzz with conversation. Detectives Holden Lahr and Vicki Cruz sat at their desks discussing the latest murder victim.

"Charice Spencer was last seen alive at a bar out on Main. I talked to the bartender but he didn't remember her. The only person who thinks she looked familiar was the bouncer," Vicki said while tapping a pen against her desk.

"No one saw Charice at the bar but the bouncer?" Holden asked, grimacing at his cold mug of coffee.

"He's the only person who vaguely remembers her. Why is it always so easy for cops on TV shows? Everyone always remembers the victim. Especially the bartenders," Vicki muttered.

"Well, we're back to square one with this case." Holden sighed, leaning back in his chair while pressing his palms into his eyes. "We need to figure out what the pattern is."

"Do you know what the bouncer told me?" Vicki asked as she began looking through crime scene photos again.

"No. What did he say?"

"He said she kept looking over her shoulder like someone was watching her. He said she even stumbled and fell because she was looking back." Vicki raised an eyebrow. "I guess his memory of her wasn't so vague afterall."

Holden leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "Now, that's strange. If you thought someone was following you, why would you wait in line to get into a club?"

"I don't know. That's a very good question."

"There has to be some kind of connection between the victims and we're just not seeing it," Holden said as his eyes glanced at the pictures Vicki continued to study.

He pushed himself out of his chair and growled in frustration. "I think you were right."

"I'm always right," Vicki joked. "What am I right about this time?"

"I think he's trying to throw us off course. He wants to confuse us."

Vicki nodded. "I agree. Whoever this killer is, he's smart. For all we know, he's been killing people long before we started finding bodies."

The thought made Holden shudder. "I hope not. If that's the case, we won't be dealing with a serial killer.

Vicki frowned in confusion. "Not a serial killer? Who would we be dealing with?

Holden picked up a photo and grimaced. "We'd be dealing with the Devil himself."

Lucy sat at her new desk, her eyes focused on the green journal. She swallowed a knot of unease while debating what to do with it.

The writer signed his name with the letter O. Didn't Donna say that was the killer's name in the news?

"I could take it to the police," Lucy whispered. Her tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips.

Her brown eyes veered up to the cork board Jake hammered to the wall in their study. A sticky note with the number to a local ride service caught her attention.

"I can't call the police," she muttered, sitting back in her chair with an air of defeat. The Hilltop police department would see her police record.

"They'll think I'm drunk," Lucy groaned. She stood up and paced around the room, thinking over her options.

"It's probably not even real. It can't be, can it?"

Her eyes moved to the journal before she snapped her head back and sighed. "Only I would buy the desk of a murderer. No, it's not real. Things like this don't happen to people like you, Lucy."

She picked up her phone and texted Jake.

I'm ready for you to come home.

He responded quickly.

Do you miss me? The week just began but I'll be home before you know it. Love you.

Lucy returned the sentiment. She couldn't tell Jake about the journal. What if he jumped to the conclusion she'd been drinking again?

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She wouldn't disappoint Jake. Not like last time. She couldn't jeopardize their relationship. Not again.

Lucy took small unsteady steps back to the journal.

"I'll just read a little bit more," she told herself. "Then maybe I'll know if it's real or not."

Her fingers shook as she opened the journal and began to read.

3/15

Salutations, my dear friend. Tonight the beast demanded a hunt. I didn't have a choice. His appetite is too strong to ignore.

I had no choice but to let him loose. He slowly feasts on me between hunts. I can feel him gorging on my soul, his sharp teeth digging into me until I feel nothing. The numbness is both peaceful and frightening.

Cleaning up after the beast has become a chore. Tonight he found an angel in a denim dress. Lovely blonde curls fell down her back. I couldn't stop imagining what those blonde curls would like  matted in blood.

Do not worry, my friend. The reality outshine the fantasy.

For now, the greedy beast is quiet. I can feel him snoring. The vibration are almost soothing.

If you ask me where I hid the body, you must keep the answer a secret. There is an abandoned junkyard outside of town. I hid her corpse in the trunk of a candy apple red car.

Am I not a genius?

If anyone finds her body, it would be years from now. No one will ever ever be the wiser.

Yours until death,

O

Lucy read the passage again.

"An abandoned junkyard outside of town," she asked, her mind running through Hilltop's businesses.

She knew of one junkyard in Hilltop. If the journal was real, then perhaps the body of the young woman remained hidden, waiting to be found.

"Should I check it out? Then I'd really know if the journal was real and I could take it to the police," she reasoned. She traced the text with her finger.

The sound of her phone ringing startled her. She took a calming breath and looked at the phone's screen.

Dillon, a friend she met through Donna, was calling. He had a habit of checking on her when Jake was out of town.

"Hey, Dillon," Lucy answered, her voice slightly shaky.

"How are things, Lucy?" Dillon's husky voice greeted her. "Donna didn't let you fall off the wagon, did she?"

"Dillon, we just saw each other a few hours ago. I'm fine. Besides, Donna is a great sponsor and you know that." Her voice held a hint of censure. Lucy suspected the two had a fling in the past but neither ever admitted to it.

"I have to check on my friends. Donna can be irresponsible," Dillon answered. She could hear an undercurrent of urgency in his voice.

"Is everything okay, Dillon?"

"Fine. Everything's fine," he answered a bit abruptly. "Well, I just wanted to make sure you're doing fine. I'll let you go for now. Call me if you need me."

Lucy felt like something was wrong, "Dillon, you sound weird. Is everything okay?"

He coughed and answered, "Don't worry. I'm still clean and sober. I just have some personal issues to sort out...nothing to do with alcohol."

"You know I'm here for you, right?" Lucy reminded him. "I'm your friend."

"I know. Just like I'm here for you, Lucy," Dillon whispered. He then laughed, "Okay, that's enough of this wishy washy girly talk. I gotta go."

"You'll call me if you need me?" Lucy asked.

"Yeah, I'll call you. Bye, Lucy."

After she disconnected the call, she couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive about Dillon. Her fingers brushed against her keypad as she texted him.

Call me if you need me. I mean it.

She could see the three dots dancing across her message box, waiting for his reply. They stopped dancing and Lucy frowned. Dillon didn't finish his response.

The next day, Lucy found herself at the bus stop near her home. She wasn't allowed to drive because her license had been suspended.

After getting onto the bus she sat towards the back and waited for it stop near the junkyard outside of town.

Twenty minutes later, she exited the bus and began walking for an additional ten minutes. The junkyard was gated and surrounded by a chain link fence. She didn't see a possible way to enter unless she picked the front locks. The sign on the double steel doors read, "Apollo's Junkyard."

"I wonder who Apollo is," Lucy wondered aloud and jiggled the rusty lock. In movies, robbers were always able to pick locks with a hairpin or something exotic. Lucy didn't know how to pick a lock.

She sighed as she began walking around the gated junkyard. A hole in the fence caused her to grin. The hole was large enough to allow a person to get in and out.

Lucy walked up to the cut fence and pulled back some of the old metal fencing. She groaned as she squeezed through the fence and some of the ends scratched against her skin.

"I'll need a Tetanus shot after this," she muttered.

Once she was inside Apollo's junkyard, she laughed in triumph. Looking around, all she could see were mounds of junk and broken car parts. A few cars sporting dented bumpers were also littered throughout the junkyard.

"How am I supposed to find the car?" she asked herself.

She walked to the closest pile of junk. She saw scraps of metal, old washing machines, desks, and wrecked cars. Sadness washed over her as she studied  the wrecked cars. She thought of her own accident.

Curiosity filled her thoughts as she wondered who had been driving the cars and if the passengers had survived the wrecks.

Lucy scanned the piles of abandoned vehicles for the candy apple red car. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted it. A fiesta red DeSoto. Lucy walked to the car with trepidation. She looked around to make sure she was alone swiping her damp palms against her jeans.

She walked over to the driver's side and searched for the latch to release the trunk. With a loud squeak the trunk slid open. Lucy took a deep breath before walking back to the trunk and the strong smell of something rotten assaulted her nose.

She coughed.

A plastic tarp filled the trunk, but she knew what hid below it. The smell had given the surprise away.

"I'm not sure if you know this, but here in Texas, we shoot trespassers first and ask questions later," a gruff voice said.

Lucy gasped, turning to see the end of a shotgun aimed at her.