Update:
Two days after the incident.
[8:43 AM]
…San Bernardino, California.
In one of the old buildings on a street in San Bernardino, the smell of dust and instant noodles drifted through the air of apartment 6B.
Zara's body was stretched on the bed, her lost eyes staring at the old ceiling whose color had yellowed with time.
"UGH! DAMN IT!"
Zara shoved the blanket away violently and stood on the cold floor, pacing back and forth in the room, her tone half anger, half despair:
"Heh… I'm a failure… yeah, I'm a failure!
More than one scoop I failed to cover this month, and now this!"
Zara's breathing was increasing, tears of anger and despair slowly gathering in her eyes.
She sat on the floor and pulled her knees to her chest, whispering weakly like someone speaking in a desert:
"…and I don't even have enough money for rent…"
Her body froze in the same position for a while, trying to pull herself back together.
After two minutes of staring into space,
she pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
She looked around: scattered papers, empty bottles, and the place…
in a miserable state.
Her phone lit up with a notification.
Zara raised her phone, unlocked it, and it was from the news channel. She brought the phone closer and read in shock:
The trial of Dr. Harris, accused of murder and causing panic in an upscale neighborhood, will be in four days.
Zara stopped at the date for a moment and muttered:
"The trial… i-i-in four days…"
She froze for a moment, then—
"AAAAAAHHHH!"
Zara jumped from her spot in panic, opened her wardrobe, her hands flipping through clothes rapidly:
"No. No. Ah, F*CK!
Four days, that's all that's left… no time to waste."
The chaos filled the room even more than before. Zara hopped on one foot while putting on her jeans in a hurry.
She stood in front of the mirror, the brush moving quickly through her hair, and after twenty minutes of jumping back and forth from the bathroom to the closet…
Zara rushed out of the building, muttering nervously:
"Damn it! I need to hurry. TAXI!"
She ran toward the taxi, slammed the door shut, and yelled at the driver:
"To the county jail, fast!"
The driver turned to her, confused:
— "Pardon me, miss?"
— "You heard me! Go, go, go!"
— "A-alright."
The car sped forward between Zara yelling at the driver every ten minutes and the traffic.
After an hour, inside a solitary cell in the county jail, Dr. Harris stared into nothingness. He didn't blink, didn't speak, as if his soul had been ripped from under his skin.
The cell door opened. One of the guards entered and said to him:
"Harris. You have a visitor."
Dr. Harris stood up slowly, his steps heavy like someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
And after two minutes of walking behind the guards through the bleak hallways, Dr. Harris sat on a cold metal chair.
Zara was right in front of him.
She placed her phone in recording mode, cleared her throat, looked at him with a calm smile, and asked:
"Dr. Harris… right?"
Dr. Harris raised his eyes slowly from the table toward Zara.
He nodded tiredly without saying a word.
Zara took a deep breath through her nose and said:
"Dr. Harris, I'm Zara, a freelance journalist, and I'm here to conduct an interview with you so the world can know your motives behind what you did, and why."
— "…." (Silence)
Dr. Harris stared directly into Zara's eyes for a moment, his eyes slowly filling with tears without falling.
Zara furrowed her brows, leaned toward him, and asked:
"Dr. Harris…
Are you… okay?"
Dr. Harris lowered his head toward the floor, his lips moving slowly as he whispered:
— "He killed her. He killed my brother."
Zara leaned slightly toward him and asked:
"What do you mean by that?
You're the one who killed your brother."
Dr. Harris raised his head slowly, his look shattered—
the look of someone who lost the one he loved.
His sobs mixed with his words:
"It was supposed to be… a dinner to comfort… hic… my brother because his daughter was missing.
But…"
— "But… what?"
— "Uh-uhh… n-n-n… no…"
Dr. Harris shook his head violently, trying to force a correct word out.
Zara's heart began to tremble.
She slowly brought her phone closer to Dr. Harris and asked:
"You mean… Gabriel?"
A chill struck Dr. Harris's body at the mention of the name.
His eyes froze, and his body stopped moving.
— "Dr. Harris?"
Dr. Harris's mouth opened so wide it looked like his cheek might tear.
All that came out was air with no sound until—
— "uh-uhh… hh-hhh… AAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!… hhhaaahhh… hhrrkkk… sobhhhk…"
Dr. Harris collapsed to the floor.
His hands clutched his head as if he were about to tear his own face apart.
Zara jumped toward the door in terror:
"Get me out of here!!!"
The guards opened the door and she rushed out.
The moment she turned back, Dr. Harris was being restrained and taken back to his cell, his eyes wide open in horror, his voice cracked:
"He killed her… he made us eat her!!!!"
Zara stepped back, staring at him as they dragged him away.
She placed her hand on her chest and muttered:
"G-Gabriel?"
---
Update [12:00 PM]
In a café in San Bernardino.
Zara shook her leg violently under the table, her head resting on her arms above the table.
Her gaze was half lost on her notebook.
The pen between her fingers moved slowly across the paper, and all she wrote was:
"Gabriel?"
Zara lifted her head, leaned back in her chair, her eyes toward the ceiling, muttering:
"His eyes… they didn't look like a killer's.
And why did he break down when I said Gabriel?"
She let out a long exhale, looked at her notebook, and wrote:
"I met Dr. Gabriel Krauss. He was rude, but… he didn't seem harmful.
So… how can someone collapse like that from just the name?
Something's off."
Heavy footsteps broke the silence.
Zara lifted her eyes from the notebook and… her eyes widened instantly, her shoulders jolted back, and without thinking she dove under the table, whispering:
"What the hell is that psycho doing here?!?!!"
Zara peeked from under the table—
and there was Ethan, walking with a cane, standing at the cashier saying with a smile:
"Strong black coffee with no sugar, please."
The cashier looked at him while typing:
— "You mean an Americano?"
— "Yes… that one. Just bring it."
— "And the size?"
— "Small, please."
— "Alright, that'll be 3.49."
---
Zara jerked her head backward sharply, hitting the table.
She covered her mouth to stop a groan from escaping.
Ethan turned around for a moment; when he saw nothing, he shrugged and muttered:
"Looks like I'll need my hallucination meds in an hour."
— "Here you go, sir, your coffee."
Ethan smiled at the worker, took the cup, and said with another smile:
"Thanks.
And here's a dollar as a tip."
The girl took the dollar, flipping it with disgust, and when she raised her eyes, Ethan was already leaving the café.
At that moment, Zara crawled out from under the table, her heart pounding.
She shook her head violently and muttered:
"Something's off…?
How is he injured and acting like that?"
Zara shut her eyes tightly, slapping her cheeks with her hands.
She hissed in a whisper:
"Mmmmm!!
Now or never!!"
She pulled five dollars from her bag, placed them on the table, and rushed out of the café.