Kara stopped short in front of the white door of her home, her hand hovering over the tarnished brass handle. She felt a strange unease that made her heart beat faster, and she stepped back. A force from inside seemed to sense her fear because suddenly, the door flew open, and she was greeted with a horrifying sight. The living room she remembered so fondly—the cozy white sofa where she and her sister Alyssa spent many late nights laughing at horror movies had been ripped to shreds. Glass shards glittered like stars on the floor, broken pieces of ceramic lamps, vases, and other belongings were strewn across the burgundy carpet.

A gasp escaped her lips as her eyes fell upon the walls leading upstairs to her adoptive parents’ bedroom. The cream-colored paint was smeared with a dark, sticky substance that could only be blood. Every muscle in her body tensed, and for a moment, her feet were rooted in place. But something was drawing her closer despite her overwhelming fear. With trembling steps, she moved nearer and nearer to the red stains until she stopped just inches away from them. Her heart pounded in her chest like a drum, and she closed her eyes tightly, hoping it would all turn out to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

This isn’t real, this isn’t real...

Every corner and surface was splattered with blood, and yet what sent chills through her body were the vivid red handprints that lined the wall on her way upstairs. They seemed to guide her like a moth drawn into an alluring flame. With each step closer to the bedroom, she felt like her body was rising from the ground, held aloft by fear and dread. She begged for this nightmare to end, praying that the red smears leading up to her parents’ room would dissolve and disappear.

The trail led precisely where she feared it would... their bedroom. Her hand shook as she slowly pushed the cracked door open, revealing a horrifying sight. Her parents lay sprawled on the floor, their white sheets smeared with crimson red. She could feel herself going numb as she took in the details. Their wide-open eyes no longer held life or emotion, their hands still grasping at each other’s clothes in desperate attempts to stay connected even in death. A pool of deep crimson blood formed beneath them as their dark, empty eyes stared back at her with a look of blame. She was more than aware that she’d been the catalyst for this tragedy. If only she’d returned home just a little sooner, she could have saved them both. But now, it was too late.

Rrrrring....rrrrrring....rrrrrring

Kara awoke with a start to the sharp, jarring sound of her phone blaring from the nightstand. She laid there for a few long moments, heart pounding in her chest and eyes darting around her bedroom. It had been days since she’d been able to crawl into her own bed after yet another exhausting case as a detective. The humidity in the room stuck to her sweat-streaked skin, making her feel uncomfortable and sticky beneath the sheets. As Kara pulled back the cotton fabric, she felt an ache deep in her chest, the same feeling that always came after this too-familiar nightmare. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

The sun’s rays pierced through the thin fabric of her window shades, and she was assaulted by a bright white glare. She clamped her eyes shut and tried to will away the pounding in her head that accompanied the migraine she felt coming on. She had to inch her arm across the nightstand one slow centimeter at a time, gritting her teeth with effort until she could finally feel the cold, hard metal of her phone underneath some misplaced paperwork. Summoning all her remaining strength, she propped herself up.

Unable to fall asleep despite hours of tossing and turning in bed, Kara explained the situation to her sister, Alyssa, months ago. Alyssa suggested sleeping medication, but Kara refused to consider it. Now that fatigue was beginning to set in, threatening her concentration at work, she was starting to feel desperate enough to try anything. After all, mistakes in her line of work could mean life or death.

She glanced down at her phone, barely suppressing a groan as she spotted Grant’s name. Of course, as usual, it was work-related. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she reluctantly answered the call. “What do you want, Grant? You’re interrupting my day off.” She spoke in a monotone that masked her frustration. Her crystal necklace glistened in the sunlight as it hung from her neck, and she pressed her free hand against it and yawned.

His Boston accent was as lively as ever as he said, “Well, Good mornin’ to ya, too. Just thought you might like to know that your boy just came outta hiding.”

“Mancini?” Kara’s head shot up, and her heart raced at the name. She tossed aside her blanket and stood, energized by the possibility of the news.

“The one and only. Looks like they’re getting ready to make a drop-off,” he said, his voice ragged.

Kara finished her call with a quick, “I’m on my way,” before Grant could reply. There was no way she’d let anyone take down Mancini without her. Her feet quickly scrambled to find the faded denim jeans she had thrown across the room the night prior. She hastily pulled them over her hips before grabbing a grey tank shirt from the back of the chair. She carelessly swept her hair into a messy ponytail before grabbing her leather jacket, which was slightly worn around the edges, off the hook on the wall. She draped it over one arm before securing her police badge and holster to her belt. It seemed to be a permanent part of her outfit these days, something that left her with mixed feelings.

* * *

As she pulled up to the scene, she saw police officers milling about, their hands hovering near their holsters. Police vans with tinted windows lined the street, and agents in fatigues stood at attention on the perimeter, their faces hidden behind gas masks. She walked up to the warehouse, and a group of officers stood around her partner, all with their hands on the grips of their weapons. Meanwhile, Grant was in the middle of a passionate discussion with one of the officers. The officer’s eyes were blazing, and his fists clenched at his sides, “Sir, I think it’s time for us to enter,” he said. The tone of his voice was pressing but respectful. The frown on his face made it clear that he struggled to convey his urgency while obeying the commanding officer.

Grant’s gaze was fixed on the warehouse doors, his stance tense and wary. “Kara will skin us alive if we get to him first,” he said.

The police officer bit his lip, unsure if he should speak. He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, “Excuse me for saying so, but if we let him get away, we’ll have a lot more to worry about than Kara’s temper. We could face repercussions much worse than that.”

As Grant turned around, recognizing a hint of fear in the young officer’s eyes, he couldn’t help but smirk. “You’ve obviously never seen her angry,” he said, his chuckle reverberating in his chest. “Trust me, that’s a sight you don’t want to see.”

Just as Kara approached the two arguing men to put an end to the fighting, the warehouse doors burst open. Kara’s heart quickened as a tall figure rushed out, shooting out of sight down a nearby alley. A second man emerged shortly after, dressed in a brown jacket and jeans and heading in the opposite direction. “Grant, get the short guy,” she yelled, “I’m going after Mancini!”

Kara didn’t give Grant a chance to answer. She spun on her heel and took off running down the block, already yards ahead of him. Grant cursed and scrambled the opposite way, stumbling through the garbage-strewn alley in pursuit of the other guy.

Kara was a full head shorter than Mancini, and tiny in comparison, but she matched his speed stride for stride. She was determined, and the corners of her mouth tipped up ever so slightly in excitement. Her pulse raced with anticipation as she knew she’d soon have him. This was the best part of being a detective, catching the bad guy, and she was good at it.