The corridor's sterile scent clung to the walls like an omen. Tori's shoes whispered across the linoleum, the sound giving voice to her fraying nerves. Back and forth, she moved, her shadow stretching and shrinking under the flickering fluorescent lights, her thoughts bent to only one question.
Where was Olivia Bradford?
Tori's eyes darted to the frosted glass window of Barlow's room with every pass, half-expecting some change, a sign that he was awake and ready for questioning. But there was nothing—and so, there was no lead to find her. No clue in his high-tech helicopter, no clue at his too-pristine residence. Olivia Bradford, the tenacious environmental lawyer with her sharp features and sharper wit, was a whisper in the wind.
And the only person with an idea where she could be lay unconscious in a hospital bed.
Tori glared through the glass as she paced.
She only stopped when the sudden sound of footsteps pounded up the stairwell, heavy and hurried. Javi emerged a moment later, panting, his arrival cutting through Tori’s patterned anxiety. His face, usually a mask of stoic professionalism, was now creased with concern.
"Are you okay?" he managed between breaths, eyes searching Tori's for signs of injury.
Tori's response was a tight nod, the motion curt, betraying none of the turmoil that roiled within her.
"Fine," she said, her voice a low note of resolve.
“Any change?” Javi asked.
Tori's gaze drifted back to the frosted glass pane of the hospital room, shaking her head. She stepped closer to the door, pressing her palm against the cool surface as if trying to connect with the man inside, the one they believed held the key to unraveling the mystery. Her fingers traced the outline of the window, a barrier between them and the unconscious Barlow, whose silent form mocked their urgency for answers.
“Shit.” Javi posted his hands on his hips, pacing a few steps before tossing a frustrated palm to the ceiling. “Alright. We need a plan—some other–Tori?”
Tori pushed the door open, the hinges groaning softly under the weight of her anticipations. The antiseptic smell of the hospital mingled with the metallic tang of blood—a stark testament to the violence that had unfolded. Barlow lay still, his chest rising and falling with the mechanical rhythm of life support. Tubes and wires snaked across his body, binding him to the brink of existence.
The clinical white lights cast stark shadows across Barlow's pallid face, the loss of blood painting him ghostly. His hands, one boasting missing fingers—an old wound, were as still as the rest of him. A shiver ran down Tori's spine as she considered the cost of those missing fingers.
But the current injury, indicated by the bandages around his chest, was the real source of his coma.
Javi stepped in after her, closing the door behind them and silently standing at Tori’s side.
"Too much blood lost," she said quietly, noting the bandages that seemed inadequate against the backdrop of crimson-soaked gauze. The sight hammered home the urgency pulsing through her veins. Time was slipping away, each second a thief stealing hope.
"Hey," he said softly. "At least we caught the guy, right?"
Tori barely registered Javi’s attempt at consolation. Her gaze was fixed on the window into Barlow's room.
"Yeah," she replied absently. The word felt hollow, an empty shell amidst a sea of uncertainty. She couldn't shake the gnawing apprehension that tightened around her chest like a vice. They had Barlow, but they didn't have Olivia. And until they did, nothing was truly 'caught'.
Why had he shifted his MO? Why wasn’t Olivia with him? Had he killed her and buried the body? Why do it differently…? The only answer Tori could think of was that Olivia meant something, something special—important.
But what? These questions nipped at Tori’s mind, driving her to the verge of insanity as she tried to make sense of it.
Her mind raced as she sifted through the fragments of information, each piece a potential clue or a dead end. Tori's gaze hardened as she looked out at the city sprawled before her through the window behind the hospital bed, its lights flickering like distant stars in the night sky. She couldn't afford to dwell on doubts or fears now; there was a missing woman out there, and time was slipping through their fingers.
Taking a deep breath, Tori turned to her partner, who stood beside her with a furrowed brow. "We need to retrace Barlow's steps," she said, her voice firm and resolute. "If he changed his pattern, there must be a reason. Olivia might still be alive, but we're running out of time."
Javi nodded in agreement, his expression grim. “Maybe… maybe he wasn’t the one who took her,” Javi said. “But if that’s the case, why start shooting? Unless he knows something…”
He trailed off, leaving them both in an uneasy silence.
Javi watched her, concern furrowing his brow. Tori could feel the weight of his gaze, yet it was Barlow's hand that drew her attention next—a silent beacon in the dimness of the hospital room. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she noticed where two fingers had once been.
Experience… not expertise.
But also…
She frowned. Barlow had roots in this community. He had family here… His family lived here.
What if he…?
She shook her head. No… no, that didn’t make sense, did it?
Tori hesitated, staring at his hand. It definitely didn’t make sense. She found herself breathing in slow, surprised puffs of air.
“No…” she whispered to herself. She took another step towards the bed, staring at the hand. The wrong hand. It didn’t match. She fumbled for her phone, pulling up images of the fireworks casing, the fingerprints highlighted for the case file.
It only confirmed her fears. It was the wrong hand. She looked up again.
“What is it?” Javi asked, noticing her attention.
A cold realization crept through Tori's veins, icy and slow. The fireworks—their only tangible lead—had finger marks. No detailed prints, but marks—smudges. From a right hand missing at least two fingers. But Barlow's mutilated hand... it couldn't have left those prints. His right hand had all five. It was his left with the missing digits. A detail so small, yet its implications thundered through her with the force of a revelation.
"Stay with him," she instructed Javi, her tone brooking no argument. "If he wakes up—"
"I'll call," Javi finished for her, nodding sharply. “Where are you going?”
She seized Javi's arm, her grip firm and unyielding. "It wasn't Barlow at the fireworks," she stated, her voice cutting through the sterile silence of the hospital corridor.
Javi met her gaze, his own eyes narrowing as he processed the weight of her words. "What do you mean?"
"His hand," Tori said tersely, releasing him to gesture at the closed door behind which Barlow lay dead to the world. "Two fingers missing—it doesn't match the prints we found. Someone else is involved."
Understanding flickered across Javi's features, chased quickly by concern. "You're saying there's another player on the board?"
"Exactly." Tori's jaw clenched as she considered the implications. Fear for Olivia gnawed at her insides. "We didn’t find her because he didn’t have her. Maybe he never did. Maybe he’s involved, maybe not. We won’t know till he wakes up and we find out why he started shooting. But whoever took those fireworks—whoever has Olivia now—is still out there."
Javi nodded, his expression sober. He understood the stakes, knew that time was their most precious and fleeting resource. "I'll stay with him," he promised, his words clipped. "The moment he stirs—"
"Call me," Tori interjected, her tone leaving no room for compromise. It was an order, not a request. "And keep your eyes open.”
"Understood." Javi squared his shoulders, accepting the responsibility laid upon him. H
Tori offered a curt nod in return before turning on her heel, each step echoing ominously down the empty hallway.
The sterile chill of the hospital corridor receded as Tori stepped into the dimly lit parking garage. Her compact car, a nondescript shadow among the rows of vehicles, became her steed as she plunged into the night. The ignition clicked, a sound swallowed by the hum of her thoughts, and the engine purred to life beneath her steady hands. She was off, the city’s glow a jagged horizon before her.
Silence was her only companion, save for the occasional crackle from the police radio nestled in the console. Each static-laden burst was a reminder of the ever-present danger that Olivia faced, an unseen enemy methodically weaving a web of deceit. Tori's grip tightened on the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening like the stark lines of fear etched deep within her conscience.
As streetlights flickered past, fleeting sentinels of the urban sprawl, Tori's mind dissected every possible scenario.
Why had Barlow opened fire?
He was involved. Clearly involved. Was it still possible he was working alone? No. So what, then? What was she missing?
She sped in the direction of Barlow’s house, using the DMV database to track his address. But as she picked up speed, her stomach twisted inside her.
Barlow was protecting someone. He’d opened fire… because he was scared. But of what? Who would he be willing to go to prison for? To die for?
She shivered.
“Who?” she whispered.
Still driving, she pulled up Barlow’s birth records. Any siblings? Family?
And then she saw it.
She nearly veered off the road in surprise.
A brother. In every social media post, every picture… Max Barlow and… Teddy Barlow.
Brothers. Max Barlow was standing by his little brother, wearing a wide, confident smile. Teddy Barlow looked shrunken. Slumped. And his left hand?
Missing fingers.
She could see it in multiple images. Both brothers had lost fingers. Part of her now wondered if Max had done it on purpose, to match his little brother. In every photo, every post, it seemed obvious Max loved his little brother, Teddy.
She was slow now, on the road, hazards blinking as she idled along, glued to her screen, swiping through the photos:
Max Barlow, his brother Teddy, a family portrait hanging in their home. Two boys, separated by barely six years. But it was those two missing fingers on Teddy's left hand that caught Tori's eye. They were identical. Not just in age, but in the evidence of their shared trauma.
She placed a call, then. Two rings, then Deputy Harris picked up.
“Harris?” she said. “This is Spark.”
“Go ahead, agent? Any news on Barlow?”
“Question,” Tori interjected, ignoring the deputy’s own inquiry. “Do we have any reports involving both Barlow brothers?”
There was a pause on the line.
“Looking,” Deputy Harris murmured. The sound of keyboard keys clacking momentarily filled the empty air, then, “I have something… Years ago.”
“How many years?”
“Ten. Teddy was only fourteen.”
Tori felt her heart hammer. “Tell me more?”
“A report filed by Max on his brother’s behalf. Apparently…” Harris hesitated, reading and then summarizing, “Teddy was being bullied. At school. Some older students. They would push him in snow, and once into a freezing lake. They found it funny. Guess he lost a couple of fingers from frostbite.”
“Any idea who the aggressors were?”
“Looks like… Huh. Students. They just talk about them generally here. I’ll see if I can find any names, but it says the girls basketball team.”
Tori stared, her mind turning to this new piece of the puzzle.
“Guess that’s why it wasn’t taken seriously,” Deputy Harris commented. “Teddy’s a boy… Ten years ago, I doubt the older cops around here would have looked too seriously at concerns over bullying from some female athletes. Particularly if they played poker with any of their fathers. You know how it is, small—”
“Small town problems,” Tori said, finishing the deputy’s sentence.
Female athletes… It was the same demographic as the victims, except they were adults, not students.
If Teddy was their killer, he was lashing out. And being pushed into snow? Into freezing water?
It made sense now…
“Shit,” she whispered. “Ok. Send me that file. Anything else you see on there? Names? Locations?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, Agent. I got distracted. Guess who was the captain of the team at the time?”
Tori didn’t have to guess. “Olivia Bradford.”
“Yup. She lives near the school, in fact. It’s down the road.”
Tori pictured Olivia’s address. The small home…
At the base of the mountain.
Her eyes widened. The school was also at the base of a mountain. And the killer’s MO involved dislodging ice and snow, causing avalanches. What if… What if he had a bigger target this time? What if he was lashing out at the original source of his pain?
She cursed, spun the steering wheel, tires skidding as she nearly slipped off the road, then steadied her vehicle and floored the gas, speeding back in the opposite direction.
“Deputy, shoot me the GPS location for that school.”