Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Fourteen: Why Is It On My Bed?

Chapter Fourteen: "Why Is It On My Bed?"

THE AIR AROUND ME SUDDENLY GOT TENSE again and I decide to use this as an opportunity to leave immediately. I can't lead anything showing I'm the hero. I am not dying today, Satan!

"I'm sorry, but I just remembered that I have a friend to meet up with." I rush, and evacuate the bus waiting zones without waiting for her reaction.

"I'll see you!" She hollers back with a smirk.

I ignore her and grab out my phone to call Tyler, when I remember that my phone is dead. But you have three percent to use to call your best friend. Do it.

I nod my head and turn my phone on. As I'm impatiently waiting for it to restart, I self cautiously check my surroundings every other second as I walk to the end of the street.

As I see that my phone has fully turned on, without hesitation, I open my phone app and punch in Tyler's number.

When it brings me to voicemail, I start to worry. What if I get kidnapped before I reach the cross lights? Once the tone beeps, letting me know that I can leave a message, I tell him everything that just happened. In Gibberish.

"I know you're working and I don't want to interrupt, but I need you to come pick me up asap. I'm near the station and Detective Gordon isn't in his office yet and I'm freaked the hell out because this girl just unknowingly or knowingly admitted to wanting to kill me and I think I'm being–" and the line clicks off.

My phone died.

Without wasting another second, I let my feet drag me back to the station.

The place has died down and almost everyone was now sitting in cubicles. I look for the female officer that offered.

She's nowhere in sight. Of course.

I walk to the man who was now occupying the before-empty desk. "Has detective Gordon checked in yet? This is urgent." I ask hurriedly. "If he isn't, I need an address or a mobile number."

"I can't hand out personal information, but give me a moment and I'll check." He answers. He picks up the phone, and punches in three numbers. "Detective Gordon?" Silence on our end. The officer turns to a man walking by. "Hey, Wilson! Do you know if Gordon is in yet?"

The red headed man rubs at his chin stubble. "I think he just came in."

"Okay, thanks, Sid." He thanks the huge man. The red headed gives a nod and the desk guy looks back to me.

"I'll bring you there, follow me." I nod at his gesture in follow him down the long corridors of the station. The tiles are dark navy blue squares, the walls are a light grey, not too depressing. But to me, it kind of looks calming; the dark colours mixed. Pictures of current and past sergeants and chiefs and their teams are hung proudly on the walls with other certificates and achievements. Even some rape and sex-related posters hung up. Other than that, the walls were bare.

The shaggy blonde stops at the end of the hallway. "Down that corridor. It's the only door on the left hand side."

"Thank you." I say, before walking down the hall. Down this strip, there's several doors far apart on my right hand side. Walking along, the officers names were carved onto a gold metal plaque in black writing that was bolted to the top center of the door.

Burnstein.

Carson.

Donaldson.

Harris.

Garcia.

I keep scanning the hall until a name caught my attention.