After three peaceful days at the beach house, Mason and Ellen had returned home. The soft sand, the sunsets, and the quiet moments they shared were already starting to feel distant, especially now that Mason was back at his desk, trying to refocus on work. But it wasn’t easy.
Mason’s fingers danced on the desk as he tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him. The numbers blurred together, and he realized he hadn’t been able to concentrate for the past hour. He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples in frustration.
His thoughts always circled back to the same thing: the freak who had broken into their home. The police were still working on it, but so far, there had been no leads. Mason just wanted the person caught. He wanted Ellen to feel safe again, to sleep through the night without waking up at the slightest sound, fearing that someone might be in the house. She tried to hide it, but he knew.
And it wasn’t just Ellen. Mason hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while either. Every creak in the house set him on edge. He wouldn’t rest until the person responsible was behind bars.
As if on cue, there was a knock on his office door, pulling him from his thoughts. He sat up straighter, forcing his mind back into work mode.
"Come in," Mason called out.
Philip walked into the room, carrying a stack of papers. He was always efficient, always reliable, and right now, a welcome distraction.
"Hey, how’s everything?" Philip asked, dropping the papers onto Mason’s desk. He sounded chill, but Mason could tell from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t just asking about work.
Mason gave a small shrug, leaning back in his chair. "Same as the last time I updated you," he replied. "The police are still working on it. Nothing new, really."
Philip nodded, concern flickering across his face. "That’s rough, man. I was hoping they’d have more by now."
"Yeah, me too," Mason muttered. "Every day that passes without any news just makes it worse. Ellen can’t sleep, and I can’t concentrate."
Philip frowned, leaning against the doorframe. "I can imagine. It’s gotta be hell not knowing who did it. But they’ll catch the guy. They always do."
"I hope so," Mason said quietly. "I just want it to be over, you know?"
Philip nodded, pushing off the doorframe with a sympathetic look. "Yeah, I get it. Well, let me know if you need anything. I’ll be at my desk."
"Thanks," Mason said, giving him a small nod. He watched as Philip left the room, and then he was alone again with his thoughts.
Mason kept staring at the laptop screen, but he wasn’t actually seeing the numbers. He clenched his fists for a moment, trying to shake off the frustration, when suddenly, there was another knock at the door.
Mason looked up, surprised. Philip rarely came back so soon after leaving. "Come in," he called.
Philip opened the door and stepped inside once more, holding a medium-sized package in his hands. "Hey, this just came for you," he said. "I think it’s from your lovely wife."
Mason couldn’t help but smile at that, the tension easing from his shoulders for just a moment. Ellen had probably sent him something sweet, some little surprise to brighten his day. "Thanks," Mason said, reaching for the package as Philip set it on his desk.
"No problem," Philip replied. "I’ll leave you to it."
As Philip left, Mason sat back in his chair, his hands resting on the cardboard box in front of him. It wasn’t very big, but it was sealed neatly. Mason grabbed a letter opener from his desk drawer and slid it under the tape, opening the package carefully. Inside, he found an envelope resting on top. He set the box aside and pulled the envelope out, noting how thick it was.
But when he tore open the envelope and took out what was inside, he felt his heart drop.
It wasn’t a letter.
It was a stack of photographs.
Mason’s fingers froze as he flipped through the first couple of photos. He felt his stomach knot, and a wave of anxiety washed over him.
They weren’t just any photos. They were pictures of his family—his dad, his mom, his brother. And on each photo, their faces were marked with a bold, red ’X.’
He flipped through the rest of the photos with trembling hands. Each one felt more disturbing than the last. His family—people he loved—reduced to horrifying images with violent marks slashed across their faces.
And then, the last photo stopped him cold.
It was a photo of Ellen.
There was no ’X’ on her face, but instead, a question mark scrawled across the image. It was as if whoever had sent this was taunting him, leaving the final decision up in the air.
"Shit," Mason breathed, his voice barely a whisper as the photos scattered across his desk. His heart was pounding in his chest now, every instinct in his body screaming at him that something was terribly, terribly wrong.
He stared at Ellen’s photo, the question mark taunting him, his hands shaking. His mind was all over the place, trying to figure out what this meant, what the next move should be.
Was this a threat? A warning? Was the person who had broken into their house planning something worse?
Mason felt a rush of fear, and all thoughts of work, of anything normal, just flew out of his head. All that mattered now was Ellen. He needed to protect her. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.
He quickly pulled out his phone, found Ellen’s info, and dialed her, but she wasn’t answering. He also tried to call the bodyguard, but got the same result. Shit, is something up?
Mason didn’t think twice as he pushed away from his desk and left his office.
"Please, please, please, don’t let anything bad happen to her."