I was curious.
So I watched the news clip carefully. I zoomed in on the moment where the so-called killer appeared on screen.
But I'm damn sure—that's not him.
I already told you, he was tall. I may not remember every detail about his build, but I know that's not the same person.
My heart started racing.
The police had stopped their search. They were starting to leave the neighborhood. I saw the last police van heading out of our lane, and I ran toward it.
They stopped the van when they saw me.
"What is it?" one of the officers asked.
I was ready to tell them everything—every inch of the truth.
But then... I saw him.
A man standing beside the bushes, brushing away oak leaves.
My voice caught in my throat. I swallowed the words I had already started to speak.
The officer asked again, this time more impatiently, "What is it?"
"Sir, I have to say something…" I began.
But then I stopped.
The man was staring at me. Unblinking. Silent.
"What? Hey girl, are you mad? Just go—we have to leave," the officer said.
I forced myself to turn around and started walking home, legs heavy, heart pounding.
My mind was a storm.
Why didn't I say anything?
Why did I back out?
I don't even know if it was him. All I had to go on was—he was tall.
What?!
That's the only reason I didn't report him? Because he was tall?
I couldn't believe myself.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. It snapped me out of my thoughts.
I froze.
I'm damn sure it's him.
He's come for me.
Oh God... please help me.