Chapter 8: Pressure Points (Jack’s POV)

I'm glad I've arrived at the precinct early in the morning. It used to feel like the calm before the storm, a break in the stillness before plunging headfirst into a case's pandemonium.

I shove the building's door open, and the familiar scent of stale coffee and paper greets me. The sound of cops talking among themselves, phones ringing, and investigators catching up on their shifts from a distance fills the station with life. I notice Sarah standing close to the briefing room, her focus fixed intently on her phone.

"Jack," she says as I get closer, glancing up. "You're early."

With a fake smile, I respond, "Wanted to get a jump start."

With a compassionate glance in my direction, I can see she's trying to be helpful. But there's a hint of worry there that she's attempting to cover up. She speaks slowly and says, "Shaw's taking the lead today. He's going to present the most recent findings."

"Shaw?" I say it again, the name lingering in my tongue like bitterness. "of course."

A sigh escapes her. "I understand that you two are not cordial, but he's been put in charge of this case. It must be made work."

Shaw exits the briefing room before I can reply, his gaze sweeping the space until it finds me. He gives me the sly smile. With his arms crossed, he says, "Williams. Happy you could join."

I reply, "Shaw," attempting to maintain a neutral tone.

He gestures for us to enter the briefing room with him. As we settle into our seats, there's a lot of tension in the air, and I can feel Shaw's eyes resting heavily on me. Sarah is seated next to me, her back straight.

Shaw says, "Let's get started," and switches on the projector. Crime scene pictures flash on the screen, each one more graphic than the last. The victims, posed in the same identical manner as Quinn's. The connections are startling, almost too ideal.

Shaw says in an authoritative manner, "As you can see, the killer is sticking to Quinn's plan to the letter. There are minor adjustments, but the precision is the same. We think the assassin might be perfecting Quinn's techniques.

I nod, staring at the pictures. "They're practically the same," I murmur to myself. "But this feels different. The murderer is personalizing it rather than merely mimicking Quinn."

Shaw turns to face me, and his eyes narrow. "Jack, that's a fascinating observation. But I'm wondering, given your condition, how can we be certain that they aren't just flashes? You admitted to having previously seen stuff."

It's the jab I've been waiting for. I clenched my jaw, attempting to maintain my calm. "Shaw, these are real."

He raises an eyebrow, challenging, "Are they? Because you already acknowledged that what you claimed to see felt like a vision. How can we be certain that this isn't simply one of those instances again?"

Before I can reply, Sarah interrupts with a stern tone. "Jack bases his findings on his memories of the Quinn case. His former knowledge is unaffected by his condition."

"There's a chance," Shaw shrugs. "But how can we be certain that his judgment is sound? After all, confusion is a common occurrence for those with memory problems."

The other investigators' eyes are on me as the room becomes quiet. Shaw is trying to discredit me and plant doubt. Their glances, the way they look at each other, tell me.

"Hey, I'm not saying Jack's not trying," Shaw says in an attempt to sound empathetic. "However, we must maintain realism. This is too delicate a matter to make mistakes."

As I'm about to reply, Sarah silently grip my arm. I inhaled deeply, forcing the rage that was rising in my chest to leave me. I say, "Fine," in a tense voice. "What now?"

Satisfied, Shaw grinned. "We're going to the site of the most recent crime. I want a thorough search. Every little thing matters. He turns to me, his expression cold. "And Jack, this time, be sure it's real if you think you see something."

After the meeting, the detectives quietly leave in small groups. My hands clenched into fists, I linger. Sarah remains at my side, worry shining in her eyes.

Silently, "Don't let him get to you."

My jaw tightens as I mumble, "He's undermining me in front of the whole team."

"You have to keep your focus on it; he's testing you."

I nod, but the irritation doesn't go away. Shaw has always pushed me to the limit and challenged me. And now that everything has happened, he is making use of my condition as leverage. But I can't let myself go out of control. Not right now.

The crime scene is located in an part of town where the lights gleam like dying fireflies and the paint on the buildings is chipping off. I can feel the chill sneaking in when we get out of the vehicle because the air is weighty with the smell of garbage.

Shaw takes the initiative and leads the group in establishing a perimeter.

The scene's details become clearer as I get closer. The victim is found in the center, arms sprawled out, eyes open and vacant. It's a familiar pose, too familiar. As I crouch down and examine the hands' placement and the head's tilt, a shudder runs down my spine.

And suddenly my gaze is drawn to something.

There is a little sign etched into the skin on the victim's left wrist. It's so subtle that it nearly seems if the murderer intended it to be noticed only upon careful examination. The realization causes my heart to skip a beat.

The sign. That identical one from the case of Quinn. However, this is something that only I, Sarah, and a couple of other former officers would be aware of. The public never had access to it.

I glance up and look about for the expressions of the cops, but it doesn't appear that anyone else has noticed it either. I grab my phone and quickly take a picture before Shaw notices. I have to record this. At least I will have evidence if I wake up tomorrow and it has all disappeared.

But as I rise to my feet, I'm struck by another flash, stronger than the first. The alley behind me vanishes and is replaced by shadows. I see Lila's face, her terrified wide-eyed. She's stretching out as though she's asking for help, and I'm standing over her with my hands red.

"No!" I yell, stagger backward. As the picture fades, I find myself back in the alley with the chilly air blowing in my face.

"Jack, are you alright?" Sarah's voice is audible.

I nod, attempting to stabilize myself. "Yes. Just a moment, please."

But the anxiety persists. The vision was so vivid, and it felt real.

Shaw came closer, and I just stand there, my heart racing. "Find anything?"

I hesitate, my thoughts still racing with the picture of Lila. "No," I lie, sliding my phone into my pocket. "Just making sure everything is correct."

Shaw looks at me with a suspicious expression. "Hopefully, you aren't seeing things again."

I record everything that evening, including my suspicions, my vision, and the symbol. To ensure I don't forget it, I film myself repeating every detail I can. I pull at exhaustion as I close my laptop and flop back in my chair.