Cat and Mouse

Delilah Knox was annoyed—but undeniably intrigued. Her contacts had been drip-feeding her pieces of information all week, each more tantalizing than the last. The rumors swirling around Mark Donovan were bizarre, yes, but something in her gut told her there was truth buried in the madness.

And now, her two best informants—Rae and Emily—had gotten access to Mark’s house. Finally, she thought. She’d expected resistance, expected dead ends, maybe a few fake leads. But she hadn’t expected a bombshell this quickly.

Especially not on New Year’s Eve.

Still, something told her tonight would be different. Big.

She'd parked her car just down the block from the Donovan household, her windows tinted, her engine silent. Rationally, she knew it was reckless—dangerous, even.

Rule number one in any investigation: don’t get too close too fast.

Rule number two: don’t let your pride write checks your safety couldn’t cash.

And yet, here she was, parked within spitting distance of the very house where she suspected something truly horrific was happening.

Call it a hunch, she thought. Or maybe it’s just delusions of grandeur.

She was already imagining the headlines:

“Private Investigator Uncovers Supernatural Conspiracy in Sting Operation.”

“Delilah Knox Rescues Three Missing Teens from Suburban Nightmare.”

“Hero P.I. Exposes Teen obductor in Chilling Plot.”

She smiled to herself in the glow of her dashboard lights, leaning back in the driver’s seat.

“Maybe Netflix would even give me a call,” she mused aloud, picturing the dramatic reenactments, the interviews, her name in bold white letters across the screen. She could already hear the documentary voiceover: ‘But nothing could prepare her for what she found next…’

Knock knock.

Delilah flinched, heart seizing in her chest. The sound came from her driver’s side window.

She snapped her head toward the noise. Two silhouettes loomed just outside the glass—tall, still. Definitely not Rae or Emily. The shape of them was wrong. Too broad. Too deliberate.

Knock knock. Louder this time.

Delilah’s every instinct screamed at her to drive. She didn’t need to investigate tonight, not like this. She had enough to go to the authorities—maybe. Probably. It would be smarter, safer.

But then she would lose all the glory to the police. Investigation Discovery would just bring in that one sherrif they always had on.

Her hand inched toward the ignition.

But she hesitated. Something deep in her gut whispered stay. Not out of courage—but obsession. If this was Mark Donovan, then this moment could be the tipping point. She could end this—right now. All the glory in sloving this would be hers.

Still, her hand crept to the canister of mace in her coat pocket.

Her other hand reached for the window switch, as if acting on its own. The glass slid down with a quiet hum, letting the cold night air pour in. And there he was.

Mark Donovan.

In the flesh. Smiling.

The streetlights caught just enough of his face for her to see the mockery in his expression.

“Well, well,” he said, voice casual, yet dripping with condescension. “Are you the famous Delilah I’ve heard so much about?”

Delilah blinked. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. She closed it again. Her pulse thundered in her ears.

She managed to **** out, “What the—how did you—”

Mark held up a hand, silencing her instantly.

“You disappoint me, Delilah,” he said. “I honestly expected a real challenge after reading Rae's texts.”

Delilah's eyes widdened. What happened to Rae that he could read her texts?

Before she could ponder this any further, Mark took action:

“Delilah, stop," he said aloud.

Delilah did as told. Instantly.

Her breath was caught mid-inhale. Her arm, halfway raised, stopped as if trapped in amber. Her lips parted, her eyes wide, mid-question—but no sound followed.

She was completly frozen, just like Rae and Emily.