I Am the Advocate of Justice

The guy definitely wasn't expecting me to fight back. I managed to land a few solid kicks before he even reacted.

But there was no way I could overpower him. I was just trying to buy time, praying that Michael would get home soon.

"Little girl, I wasn't planning to kill you, but you just had to make things difficult, didn't you? Now, you're gonna die," he snarled, sounding fed up like he was done messing around.

In the pale moonlight, our shadows tangled as we struggled. He pinned my legs beneath his weight, one hand grabbing both my wrists and forcing them over my head, while his other hand wrapped around my throat, pressing me against the wall.

That's when I finally got a good look at his face.

A deep, jagged scar ran across his cheek, making him look even more horrifying in the dark.

My face flushed as I tried to scream, but his grip on my throat tightened, cutting off my air. My vision started to blur, and I felt my eyes rolling back. This is it, I thought. I'm going to die right here.

And then, out of nowhere, he let go.

I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, and coughing as I clutched my neck.

"Jessica, why are all the lights off?" Michael's familiar voice came from the doorway.

Michael was back!

As I caught my breath, I glanced toward the window. Somehow, the man had already vanished-- probably slipped out through the window. We were only on the second floor, so it wasn't that much of a leap for him.

A second later, the lights flickered back on.

Michael must have fixed the breaker. He walked over with a giant jug of dish soap in one hand, and without a second thought, I threw myself into his arms.

"Michael, what took you so long?" I asked, my voice still shaky.

Now that he was home, the fear and shock caught up with me, and before I could stop them, tears started pouring down my face.

"Jessica, what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked gently, stroking my hair with his free hand.

"There was someone in the house," I whispered through my sobs. "The power went out, and this guy just... he got in somehow. He nearly killed me! If you hadn't come when you did."

Michael didn't say another word-- he grabbed his phone and immediately called the police.

By the time the officers showed up, it was almost midnight.

Michael handed me a glass of water, sitting close as I recounted everything-- the blackout, the intruder, and the strange message I had received earlier that afternoon.

"Ms. Brown, we've got all your details," the officer, James, said after taking my statement. "Based on what you've described, we suspect the man who broke into your home might be tied to the serial killer case we've been investigating in Silverwood City. I'll request extra patrols to monitor your building for the next few days. Please stay inside, and we'll reach out if we have any further updates."

The officer shook my hand, and for the next few days, Michael stuck to me like glue, barely leaving my side.

Later, when things started to calm down, I asked him why he came home so late that night.

"Well, I was heading out of the store when I saw a pregnant woman whose water broke," he explained, gesturing like he always did when he was nervous. "I had to flag down a car to get her to the hospital."

His guilty, worried expression made me laugh, and just like that, the whole incident was brushed aside.

I expected the man to come back, but instead, things were eerily quiet.

The police called me in a few more times to ask about the details of that night-- the strange message, the broken circuit. I told them everything I knew.

After my final interview, I was ready to leave when I grabbed the officer's hand and dropped to my knees in mock gratitude.

"Please, officer, you have to catch this guy! The sooner you do, the sooner we can all feel safe again!" I begged, my voice shaking for effect.

The officers rushed to help me up, their faces filled with sympathy.

"Ms. Brown, don't worry," the lead officer said, nodding firmly. "If this man is the serial killer, we won't rest until he's caught. It's our duty-- we won't let you down!"

I flashed him a grateful smile, but as soon as I turned my back, that smile twisted into a smirk.

As if I actually wanted their help. This was all just a performance-- my own private show.

The truth? My gratitude was nothing more than an act.

I just wanted to see who was pretending to be me.

Because, you see, I'm the real serial killer.