The Tenth Victim Novels & Stories

Elara pushed through the crowd, her eyes falling on the fallen figure, and her breath caught sharply in her throat. It was a young woman, perhaps only a few years older than Elara herself, her eyes open and unseeing, a crossbow bolt buried deep in her chest. Elara had seen death before, in the tavern, in the streets, in the quiet fading of countdowns reaching zero. But something about this felt different, sudden and violent and deeply wrong. And then she saw it. Above the dead woman's head, faint but still visible, a number continued to glow, ticking downward with the same slow, steady rhythm it always had.

The current owner is Jean Hensley. The mother and son froze on the spot. "That's impossible! Absolutely impossible!" Natalie screamed. "I've kept that property title locked up this whole time! How could it have been reported lost? And that little brat is only eighteen. How could the property have been transferred to her?" "Your system must be wrong! Or that old b*stard bribed you people!" "Ma'am, watch your language!" the clerk snapped back, losing patience. "The system is nationally linked. How could it be fake? If you keep causing trouble, I'm calling security!"

That familiar voice made my hair stand on end, as images from my past life crashed into my mind like a tidal wave. I recalled every agonizing detail—my son's warmth fading inch by inch in my embrace, my husband bellowing in raw panic, and the bride's saccharine tone in that e-invite. "We'd love for you to join us in celebrating our joy..." It was her—Tessa Vickers from next door, the one who always "happened" to bump into Chris Brock and me in the elevator, gushing about how he embodied the perfect family man.

However, Claire suddenly widened her eyes and pointed at the woman assaulting me on screen, shouting, "Honey, I know who that person is now! It's not me!" She looked at me with loving eyes and said, "Honey, there's actually something I've never told you. Ever since my legs were paralyzed, my mental health has been unstable. I often dream that I can stand up, only to wake up and realize I'm still disabled. Later, I became so disoriented that I couldn't tell reality from dreams anymore." She continued, "I've seen a doctor about it, and she can testify for me! I must have been in a dissociative state, so I manifested a second personality. She's the one who hurt you, not me!"

"Give me a room completely shielded from all signals. No recording, no video. Only the victims' families may enter." Seeing that I was finally willing to talk, many of the agents were elated. But Miller threw cold water on their excitement. "The ten soldiers who were in close contact with Victoria are all dead." "We haven't even recovered Dr. Sterling's body." "I will not risk another innocent life!" But the victims' families were done with being kept in the dark. Now that they had a sliver of hope, they weren't about to let it go. A middle-aged woman at the front of the group dropped to her knees before Miller.

A wet, snotty wall. "Oh, please. You hated the fact that I was finally happy. My life has been hell, my stepmother hates my guts, my step-sisters wouldn't even acknowledge my existence, I have this stupid scar everyone shames me for, while you have everything. Friends, guys who literally throw themselves at you, family. While I have nothing. Why couldn't you let me have this one thing?" Tears slid down her cheek without hope of stopping and all I could do was stand there and take her abuse because she's right. Even if I didn't plan for this to happen. I became the villain in her story without even realizing it.

He promised himself he would find this psychopath! Dane turned away from the window. Absently he pushed the button automatically closing the blackout blinds. He walked up to the first of four whiteboards in the room. He wrote the words "Eleven Victims" across the top of the board, in large red letters. He drew a thick line underneath. He wrote numbers one through eleven down the left side of the board. In smaller black lettering, he began to write each woman's name next to each number. He put the women's names in ascending order based upon their date of her disappearance.

I hated saying that. It was like I was already giving up on her. "AHHHH," I cried. "How could you leave me like this Sar, how?" I cry onto her, her blood covering my top but I didn't care. "Miss, you cannot be close to the victim," I ignored him- hanging onto the body like if I were to let it go, an entire brighter side of me would die. She was the brightness, that only happy side that existed because she was the one who believed in happiness.

Jones Confessed. " What! why would you even try to do that? are you guys even parents? , you dearest daughter is suffering from a trauma that you don't even know of and instead of helping her out, you do this. " Cynthia Snapped. " We understand you Miss Cynthia but you've got to understand the fact that we are also victims here, We have also been noticing her unusual behavior too. " Carthy Jones said. " Have you took her to Any therapist yet?" " No, we Haven't thought of that "

"You think a cheap honey trap works on me? How many lives do you think you have? How dare you pull this in front of me?" The young woman was barely able to breathe. She clawed desperately at his hand and begged frantically, "I'm sorry! I was wrong! I won't do it again! I really don't know who hired me. He contacted me anonymously. I just got paid a huge sum of money!" She didn't sound like she was lying, so Vito released her. She collapsed onto the floor, gasping. Then he turned to look at me. Even though the woman didn't know who was behind it, both of us had already thought of the same name.