Haunting Emily

EMILY

They say the city never sleeps. They’re right. But it’s not because of the bright lights or late-night diners. It’s because monsters walk freely in the dark.

My boots echoed across the quiet hallway of the precinct as I walked to my desk. Cold coffee, stale air, and a mountain of paperwork waited for me like faithful pets. I dropped my coat on the chair, sat down, and sighed.

Another body had dropped last night. Third one this month. No witnesses. No prints. No motive. But something told me this wasn’t just gang violence, it was organized, planned, and clean.

“Morning, Thompson,” said Chief Ramos, walking past with his usual frown.

“Morning, sir,” I muttered, then asked. “Did we get anything new on the victim?”

“Coroner said the same as before. There was a precision stab wound on the left chest. No blood trail. He was killed somewhere else.”

I clenched my jaw. What's going on?

However, there could be every possibility that whoever was doing this wasn’t just a serial killer. I think he was making a statement. A show of power, or perhaps a warning.

An hour later, I was back at the scene. Westwood Alley. All I could meet was cracked pavement, shattered glass, and worse... the awkward silence. Even the air seemed to hesitate.

“Detective Thompson,” said Officer Ray, stepping under the yellow tape. “You’re early.”

“No, you’re late,” I replied, ducking under the tape without slowing down.

Ray sighed but followed me into the alley. The place smelled of wet trash and blood. Definitely not a great mix. The victim was young. Male. No ID, no phone, just a leather bag beside him and a pool of blood under his head.

I crouched, my eyes scanning every corner. "Where was the body found?"

“Right here,” Ray pointed. “We didn’t touch anything. No footprints. No signs of a fight. Just… this.”

I looked at the leather bag, it was locked. Odd for a courier. I pulled on gloves and opened it carefully. Inside was a single item: a black card with a silver raven printed in the center.

My heart skipped.

Not many knew what the raven symbol meant, but I knew too well to know it meant the underground. The network. The hidden world of crime no one dared to mention in reports.

This was no random murder. This was an invitation.

I stood slowly. "Was anyone seen leaving?"

Ray shook his head. "No witnesses. No cameras. Just rain and silence."

Of course. That’s how they worked, like ghosts.

I didn’t say another word, I just stared at the wall across from the body. A fresh smear of blood made it clear that someone had dragged him into the alley.

This wasn’t just a murder. Then, what could it be?

Ray soon left to join his colleague, leaving just me alone. I crouched down where the body had been found, a single cigarette butt lay on the ground. No smudge, just a red ring around the tip, hand-rolled.

Interesting.

I pulled out my gloves and bagged it.

I quickly placed a call to tell Chief Ramos about the raven card I discovered. He picked on the first ring, which was one trait of him I fancied a lot.

“You found something at the scene?” He sounded in his usual mean demeanor.

"Yes," I answered. “A raven card.”

“I was afraid of that,” he said.

“You know what that means?” I asked quietly, as if not wanting anyone to hear me.

“The underground. Possibly Romenetti’s men.” He answered.

I raised my eyebrows. “You think it’s linked to Matteo Romenetti?”

“I think…” I heard him sigh. “Emily–"

“Detective Thompson?” A shaky voice called from behind. And I knew so well it wasn't the voice of Officer Ray.

I turned. A woman stood there, wrapped in a long coat with her arms crossed tightly like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I saw him,” she whispered. “The man who left that body here.”

My heart paused. Finally, a witness.

"Emily?" Chief Ramos called from the other end. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

"Yes," I answered. "I think we found ourselves a witness." I cut the call, and dropped my phone into my side pocket. “Come with me,” I said to the old woman, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’ll talk at the station.”

She hesitated. “He said if I talk, he’ll find me. He always finds people.”

The way she said it made my stomach twist.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Janelle. Janelle Cruz.”

“Janelle, listen to me. If you talk, I’ll protect you. But you have to trust me.”

She didn't look convinced, and I wouldn't blame her for that. I would have done the same thing. Then, she nodded slowly. “He had a ring on his right hand. Black stone, silver band. Like… something old. I think it had a snake on it.”

My breath hitched. That ring… I’d seen it before. A file I wasn’t even supposed to look at. It contained underground connections. Drug lords. Italian bloodlines. Romenetti’s name, if not mistaken, was listed there.

“Did you see his face?” I asked with every curiosity in me.

She shook her head. “No. He wore a hood. But his voice was deep, and calm. Like he wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Neither was I.

But in that moment, I realized something terrifying. He wanted us to find the body. He wanted us to know he was back.

The chief didn’t believe me. He said I was jumping to conclusions.

But I knew better.

And as I looked at the evidence again, I saw something I hadn’t before, etched faintly on the victim’s wrist… was a name.

My name.

“What the hell…”