Devil's Whisper Chapter 75: The Killer’s Mark

"They're on my laptop," Jason said without looking up, his fingers scrolling through another document, the blue light from the screen casting shadows across his face.

"Send me all the materials related to that case. I want to take a look," Kate insisted, her voice firm but measured. The professional detective had fully taken over now, pushing aside the vulnerable woman who had sought comfort in his arms earlier.

Jason frowned, finally glancing at her. "Why? I already told you—it's not connected to our investigation." There was a defensiveness in his tone, as if he was trying to protect her from something—or perhaps himself from revisiting his greatest failure.

"But it might be," Kate shot back, the edge in her tone sharpening. She crossed her arms and leaned forward slightly, her posture challenging, determined. "Jason, think about it. A man lands a job at the Yarrabura school, lives there for months, brutally murders nine men, and then vanishes without a trace? That doesn't strike you as odd?"

Jason exhaled heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "Odd? Sure. But that doesn't mean it's relevant. There's no link to our case, Kate. "

"Because sometimes ghosts are real," she said, quiet but piercing. "I've got a feeling about this, Jason. Just let me see the files."

Jason hesitated for a moment, then let out a resigned sigh. "Fine," he muttered, flipping open his laptop. "But don't blame me if it turns out to be a dead end." His fingers flew over the keyboard as he searched for the files. After a moment, he turned the laptop toward her. "Here. All the photos, reports, everything. Knock yourself out."

Kate pulled the laptop closer and opened the first file. Her eyes immediately landed on a photo—gruesome and stark. A stack of severed limbs, blood pooling beneath them like some macabre painting. Her stomach twisted, but she pushed the unease aside and kept swiping through the photos. Each image seemed worse than the last: mutilated bodies, walls smeared with blood, crime scene notes written in a rushed scrawl.

The precinct around them continued its routine buzz, the fluorescent lights humming overhead, but Kate was no longer aware of any of it. Her world had narrowed to the horror show playing out on the screen before her, each image more disturbing than the last.

Then she stopped.

Her finger hovered over the screen as her breathing slowed. She felt a chill crawl up her spine, the same sensation she'd experienced in her house when she first discovered what had been left for her there.

"Jason," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jason glanced up from his own document.

"What?" he asked, distracted.

"Look at this," Kate said, her tone low and urgent. She turned the laptop toward him, her hands trembling slightly.

Jason squinted at the screen. It was a photo of a wall inside the killer's house.

A crude, disturbing drawing of a goat-headed figure loomed in dark, jagged lines. The image seemed to pulse with malevolence even through the digital screen, its eyes drawn as empty voids that somehow still managed to convey a terrible hunger.

"What the hell is that?" Jason muttered, leaning closer, the blue light from the laptop casting eerie shadows across his face.

"I've seen this," Kate whispered, her voice cracking. She pointed at the figure, her finger trembling. "This exact thing... in my house."

Jason froze, his brow furrowing. "In your house?"

Kate nodded, her throat dry as she swallowed. Her voice was shaky but resolute. "I'm positive, Jason. The same creature—it was in the drawings all over the Yarrabura killer's house. And now, seeing it here..." She trailed off, gripping the edge of the table as though steadying herself. The memory of what she'd found in her home flooded back—the same grotesque figure, drawn in what looked like blood on her bedroom wall, staring at her with those empty, hungry eyes.

"Kate, are you sure you're not just... imagining things? I mean, it's a creepy drawing, but—"

"I'm not imagining it!" she snapped, slamming her hand on the table. Her eyes glistened with frustration and something deeper—fear. "You know me, Jason. Do I look like I'm making this up?"

Jason leaned back, startled by her outburst. Kate was always composed, always in control—her reaction now spoke volumes about how shaken she truly was.

"Okay, okay," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying... it's a big leap. Seeing a drawing and connecting it to your house doesn't automatically mean—"

"I know what I saw," Kate interrupted, her voice firm but laced with emotion. She turned the laptop back toward herself, staring at the image again as if it might reveal more secrets. "And my gut tells me Darrel Luke didn't just kill those men. This... this thing ties him to more than just the Yarrabura murders." She paused, her jaw tightening. "Jason, I think he's tied to Ryder's and my parents' deaths too."

Jason's eyes widened. "Kate, that's—"

"Don't you dare say it's crazy," she cut him off, her tone sharp as a knife. "This isn't a coincidence. I know it."

The pieces were falling into place in her mind—the similarities between the crime scenes, the ritualistic elements, the feeling of being watched that had haunted her for days. The creature on her wall wasn't just a taunt; it was a signature, a calling card from someone who knew exactly who she was and what she was investigating.

Jason looked at her for a long moment, his skepticism slowly giving way to something softer—concern. He'd seen that look in her eyes before, the fierce determination that had cracked cases others had given up on. "Kate... I'm not saying you're wrong. I just—how can you be so sure?"

She pushed back her chair and stood abruptly, her movements quick and determined. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made it impossible to sit still, to just wait while the connections blazed through her mind like wildfire.

"I need to see the priest," she said, her voice steady now, the fire in her eyes unmistakable.

The earlier vulnerability was gone, replaced by a detective on the hunt, closing in on prey that had eluded capture for far too long.

"He knows something."