Staring at the container something shifted to the forefront in my mind. The car behind me honked and I snapped back to reality, putting my foot on the gas and pulling forward. Billie Eilish’s Bad Guy was playing softly in the background through Travis’s state of the art sound system like the soundtrack to my thoughts. Then it hit me, it wasn’t one thing that was bugging me, it was everything. The preciseness of Cris’s office, the organized patterns in the books, the print of the Virgin Mary, the wall full of tools and containers labeled in neat rows in the garage, the plastic storage bins that reminded me of the ones full of bodies on the news, the age range and geographic location of TSK, and of course, the ketamine. A shiver of panic spread through my body and jabbed at my fingertips. Taken one by one, they were harmless little facts. But put all together at once, they fit the profile of the killer to a T. No wonder the FBI were lasering in on him. I shook my head. Am I really saying I think he’s the killer? I needed to talk this out with Andie. I sped up and weaved in and out of traffic, not caring if I got a ticket.

After parking the car a block away from our apartment next to the smoke shop and a café that exclusively sold gluten-free pastries, I grabbed my purse and jumped out of the car. I pulled out my cell phone and texted Andie.

‘Hey, are you still at work? I really need to talk to you. I don’t want to be alone right now, I’m freaking out!!!’ I added extra exclamation points for emphasis, something Andie did in her own texts quite frequently.

As I rounded the corner onto our street, I saw the three dots indicating Andie was replying. ‘Ugh! The tech who was supposed to relieve me for the late shift called in sick and there’s no one to cover. I’ll try to get out earlier but I can’t promise anything. Hang tight, I’ll be home ASAP!!!’