The Missing Pattern

The Calm Before the Storm Part 27

A few more days had passed, and the routine had settled into an unsettling calm. The same faces, the same conversations, the same process. Me, Calvin, Bailey, Ford, the psychiatrist, and the anger management chick—each of us playing our parts in this bizarre dance. I was no longer consumed by the feeling of being hunted. The gnawing need for revenge had dulled, and for the first time in a long while, I felt... peaceful. Not the kind of peace that's born from denial or distraction, but the kind I remembered from long ago. Before the case that ruined everything.

I spoke about it with the psychiatrist, trying to understand my fleeting peace. I remembered locking up Tim Woods six years ago—the man who had kidnapped and assaulted five teenage girls. At the time, we had done everything by the book. We built a case, got him convicted for ten years, and the system locked him up. He only served four years, though—good behavior, they said. I knew better. The bastard was released, and just days later, he snatched another girl. And this time, he didn't stop at assault. He killed her.

I told the psychiatrist about my fleeting sense of peace, the kind of calm that felt like an illusion, something I hadn't experienced in years. I described it to her, trying to make sense of it, but the truth kept gnawing at me—something darker, more twisted, was simmering just beneath the surface.

I remembered locking up Tim Woods six years ago—the man who had kidnapped and assaulted five teenage girls. I had tried to warn everyone, tried to make them understand that he wouldn't stop, that he was a monster hiding behind the guise of a human. But no one listened. At the time, I did everything by the book—built a case, got him convicted, and the system locked him up. They gave him ten years. Ten. As if that was ever going to be enough. But I knew better. I knew how prisons worked, how overcrowded they were. He served four years, and just like I'd predicted, they released him. Good behavior, they said. Another fucking joke.

Less than a week after his release, he snatched another girl. And this time, he didn't just assault her. He killed her.

That was when everything unraveled. The moment I realized that little girl's death could've been prevented. That it should've been prevented. I'd failed. I hadn't stopped him when I had the chance. I hadn't crippled him when I had the power to do so. In that moment, I thought—if I'd just taken him down where it mattered, I could've spared her. I could've stopped him from hurting anyone else. But the system failed him, and I failed him.

And then, another case. Another monster. The same story. I thought about it—the fact that there were so many more like him out there, hiding behind charm and lies, slipping through the cracks, only to reoffend. And I knew, deep down, that nothing would change. Nothing would ever stop them until someone took matters into their own hands.

This time, I didn't give him the chance to hurt anyone. I didn't waste time with the system. I ended it differently. This time, I made sure he'd never touch another soul. I shot him in the leg, because he was running, and then in the hand when he tried to pull a gun on me. I shot him again, this time in the other hand, just to be sure. I made damn sure he couldn't hurt anyone, not ever again.

But even then, it didn't feel right. Not the way I'd thought it would. The gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach grew. I hadn't just stopped him—I'd crossed a line. He had a partner, and I didn't even bother to follow through. I didn't try to bring them both down. I just shot him, straight through the groin. I didn't care about justice anymore. I didn't care about the law. I just wanted him to suffer, to make sure he couldn't do the same thing to anyone else.

And now, I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think straight. I felt it—the shift inside me. I was becoming one of them. Justifying my actions to meet their twisted logic. I was losing myself, piece by piece, and I didn't know how to stop it.