CHAPTER NINE
The moment the call ended, James felt the world shift. The silence that followed Michelle's scream was not merely the absence of sound—it was a warning. A cold, hollow echo that slithered under his skin. For a second, he stood frozen, phone still pressed to his ear, breath suspended. Then instinct exploded through him.
"Ezekiel!" he barked, grabbing his jacket. "Now! She's in danger."
Ezekiel sprang from his seat, startled by the sudden urgency in James' voice. "What
happened?"
"No time. Michelle called—someone's following her. The line cut off."
They ran through the station corridor, their footsteps sharp against the tiles. The night outside felt colder than before, wind slicing across James' cheeks as they hurried to the car. He slammed the door shut, started the engine, and sped off without hesitation.
The streets blurred past in streaks of muted orange light. James' hands tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened.
"Behind the staff quarters," he muttered, replaying her last words. "Why was she even there at this time?"
"She might have been heading home from her study group," Ezekiel suggested quietly. "Or maybe… she was trying to avoid someone."
James didn't respond. The speedometer climbed; the wheels hummed harshly against the road. Every second felt stolen, drawn from a shrinking pool of time he feared was already empty.
As they approached the university gates, the grounds were eerily still. Not a single guard in sight. The security office light flickered weakly, yet no movement stirred within.
"This is odd," Ezekiel whispered.
James' jaw clenched. "Too odd."
They parked hastily and made their way through the dim courtyard. The path leading to the staff quarters stretched narrow and shadow-laced. The wind rustled through the trees, whispering like something alive. James' senses sharpened; his heartbeat thudded against his ribs.
"Michelle!" he called once, cautiously. "It's Detective James! If you can hear me, respond!"
Only the rustling leaves answered him.
They held their torches low, scanning the ground for movement or signs of struggle. For a moment, there was nothing but the icy whisper of the night… then Ezekiel paused.
"James… look."
A book lay on the ground, its pages fluttering in the wind. Michelle's name was scrawled inside the front cover in neat, looping handwriting.
James crouched, his stomach tightening. "She dropped this while running."
He lifted the torch higher, and something else glimmered faintly—her cracked phone screen, face-down in the dirt.
Ezekiel exhaled shakily. "This… isn't good."
"Stay alert," James murmured. "Whoever was following her might still be close."
A faint scuffling sound came from behind the staff building. James raised his hand to signal silence. They moved forward, inch by inch, breath held, footsteps careful.
The back of the building was cloaked in deeper shadows, lit only by a weak lamppost that flickered as though struggling to stay alive. A metallic smell hung in the air—sharp, unsettling. James recognised it instantly.
Blood.
They exchanged tense glances.
James swept his torch in a slow arc. Then he saw her.
Michelle lay slumped beside the wall, half-conscious, trembling violently. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale faint and uneven. Her palms were scratched as if she had tried to fight or cling to something. Bruises were forming along her arms. She was alive—but barely.
James rushed forward. "Michelle! Hey! It's James—can you hear me?"
Her eyelids fluttered weakly. Her lips moved, but only a whisper escaped, fragile and broken. "He… he… didn't want me to talk…"
James leaned closer. "Who? Who followed you?"
Her eyes shifted, unfocused, as though trying to point at the shadows behind him. Her voice cracked. "He said… we're all in danger… all of us…"
She coughed, a painful, rattling sound.
Ezekiel knelt beside her, already on the phone with emergency services. "We found a female student. Severe distress. Possible assault. Behind the staff quarters of the university—send an ambulance immediately."
Michelle clutched James' sleeve weakly. "Detective… you have to… you have to stop him…"
James swallowed hard. "Stop who?"
But her eyes rolled back, consciousness slipping like sand through her fingers.
Sirens wailed faintly in the distance.
James stood abruptly, scanning the darkness around them.
Footprints—two distinct sets—disappeared into the tree line behind the building.
"Someone was definitely here," he said under his breath. "And they were running."
Ezekiel rose. "Should we pursue?"
James shook his head slowly, jaw tight. "It's too dark, too risky. If he wanted her dead, she would be dead. This was a warning."
"A warning to who?"
"To us," James replied grimly. "And to everyone involved."
The ambulance arrived minutes later. Paramedics moved swiftly, lifting Michelle onto a stretcher as she drifted in and out of consciousness. Dr Jacobs arrived at a run shortly after, face pale, eyes wide with panic.
"Michelle! My God—what happened?" he cried.
James stepped in front of him. "She's alive, but shaken. Someone attacked her."
Dr Fred ran a trembling hand through his hair. "She came to see me earlier. She said she wanted clarity on the footage but… she looked scared. I should have insisted she stay with people."
"This isn't your fault," James said quietly, though the guilt in Jacobs' eyes didn't fade.
As Michelle was placed in the ambulance, she stirred once more, turning her head weakly toward James.
"Detective… the footage… the missing part…" she whispered.
James leaned closer. "Yes? What about it?"
Her eyes glistened with fear. "It was… deleted… on purpose…"
James' breath caught. "By whom?"
Michelle's lips parted, but no sound came. Her body slackened, overwhelmed by exhaustion.
The ambulance doors shut.
James stood still, dread creeping up his spine. Raymond's name echoed in his mind like a curse, but doubt nipped at him. Raymond had experience, authority, and a spotless professional record. He wasn't the type to make sloppy mistakes. If he deleted the footage—if—then the motive had to be far more complex than a cover-up.
Ezekiel approached cautiously. "James… what if Raymond didn't delete it? What if someone used his access to make it look like he did?"
That thought pierced the fog of assumptions clouding James' judgement.
Someone smart. Someone close. Someone who wanted suspicion to fall on an officer. Someone who wanted confusion, chaos, misdirection.
"The students… Yusuf, Jacob, Mariam… Michelle… all targeted, all close to uncovering something," James said quietly.
"Do you think the poisoning, the death, the attack… they're connected?"
James nodded slowly. "It's a pattern. And whoever is behind it doesn't just want control. They want silence."
A long silence stretched between them. The campus felt haunted now, shadows clinging to every corner, every doorway holding secrets.
Finally, Ezekiel spoke. "What's our next move?"
James looked at the trees where the footprints disappeared. The darkness seemed to stare back.
"We go back to the station," he said. "We review everything again. Every timestamp, every statement. The killer is getting bolder. We need to be faster."
As they walked away, James glanced once more at the cracked phone on the ground. The screen flickered faintly before dying completely.
A chilling thought crept through his mind.
Whoever attacked Michelle wasn't finished.
And whoever made Jacob poison himself, whoever killed Mariam, whoever deleted the footage—they were watching.
Waiting.
And with each passing hour, they were stepping closer.