Girl, 11
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That excuse had probably been used by thousands of kidnappers throughout the years to get little girls into their vehicles. But she couldn’t shake it. Ayaan and her team had come up dry on any reasons why Amanda or her family would be targeted for revenge. Her well-orchestrated kidnapping in broad daylight by a man who knew her name suggested an organized criminal with a fixation on the little girl. No ransom call had come through, which meant that the remaining options were grim for Amanda. If Elle was going to work this case right, it was her job to consider every possibility—even the most outrageous. The problem was, the most outrageous possibility didn’t seem so unlikely right now.
Maybe it was because of the podcast, or because of Leo’s possible tip and sudden murder. Maybe it was old trauma trying to resolve itself in her brain.
Or maybe it was that stupid orange scarf.
She glanced at Martín, sound asleep. Not even he would believe her about this.
Elle knew TCK’s work—knew his signatures and idiosyncrasies like she knew the voice of her favorite singer. It was absurd that he would start killing again after more than twenty years, ridiculous that she was even thinking this way. But she couldn’t turn off that voice in her head.
12:05 a.m. glared from the clock next to her bed. It was now the third night since Amanda was taken. If she was kidnapped by TCK, today she would be served food mixed with castor beans, which she would eat because she’d been worked to the bone and slowly starved. She’d start having diarrhea and throwing up and feeling feverish within a few hours. Elle clenched her sheets in her sweaty fingers, bunching them up so tight she worried they would tear.
This was stupid. She could not lose a night of sleep chasing fantasies about Amanda Jordan’s kidnapping. They were running out of time, if they weren’t out already.
If this was TCK, Amanda Jordan was going to be poisoned. If this was TCK, he’d take another girl today.
This can’t be TCK. She squeezed her dry eyes shut, trying to slow her thoughts without success. He can’t have started his countdown again. It’s just a coincidence.
After all, why now? What was so special about Amanda that he came out of hiding and risked discovery after getting away with it for all these years? He would be better off staying wherever he went in 1999, going on about his life. Unless his urge became unbearable.
Or unless it wasn’t him.
Frustrated, Elle reached for her phone and opened Twitter.
@justicedelayedfan12
@castillomn Still can’t get over Episode 5. TCK is even more of a monster than I thought. Thank you for exposing him! #FryTCK
Elle shuddered at the hashtag, forcing herself not to click on it. Nothing good waited for her there. She flicked down the screen. Most of her notifications were celebrating the new lead they had revealed on today’s episode. Elle liked a couple dozen tweets, replied to a few questions she couldn’t answer with “more soon . . .”
There were some trolls to block and report, as always. No threatening DMs today, though—that was an improvement. She kept scrolling.
@candlesbyfatimah
@castillomn What these girls went through is obscene. Aren’t you worried you’re giving the killer a bigger platform by talking about his crimes in such detail, though?
The tweet had a few hundred likes and about twenty replies, most disagreeing with the sentiment, but Elle still felt a tug of unease. Maybe Fatimah had a point. She didn’t usually focus on the killer as much as the victims in her cases, but this one was unique. TCK was a special kind of murderer. His crimes were so intricate. Analyzing every detail was the only way she might catch something that other people had missed.
A notification popped up: a text from Tina. CAN’T SLEEP?
NO, YOU?
NEGATIVE. LOOKING INTO SOME OF THESE EMAILS WE’VE BEEN GETTING, TRYING TO TRACK DOWN IPS FOR THE POLICE. NOT GOING TO LIE—A LITTLE CONCERNED.
Teeth worrying at her lower lip, Elle typed: I ARCHIVED SOME OF THE ONES I REPORTED TODAY. IF IT GETS WORSE, I’LL TALK TO AYAAN.
GOOD. WE ALSO GOT A FEW MESSAGES ABOUT EXPOSING THOSE “MISSING” GUYS TO THEIR FAMILIES, BUT THOSE ARE ALL MINE.