Xion Island Zero: Chapter 36

Nash stood at the window with a vague hum in his ears. He was staring out of a lot of windows these days.

At the table behind him, Kelvin hummed to the radio as he wrapped Christmas presents. The concentration meant his smile had dropped, and he wore worry like an accessory. It was Sellotaped into every movement.

And the snow came that morning and was already falling harder now, gusting in swirls like a shaken globe outside the kitchen. It reminded Nash of another snow scene. Something about it niggled him, and he went to his office to sort through the messages from Bernstein that he’d brought home to show Kelvin.

Kel was involved, whether Nash liked it or not, and Nash felt Kelvin needed to see them. They had to be highly aware of their movements and actions until the killer was found.

He’d obtained permission to bring the evidence out of holding from Bronwyn. Though the correspondence would have to be resubmitted before any trial could take place. They’d been scrutinised for prints and had come up clean before being cleared.

Nash picked up the Christmas card he was looking for and turned it over. The front showed a rustic log cabin nestled in a snowy wood. Smoke curled from the chimney, and fairy lights sparkled in the windows.

 Nash’s eyes snagged on the shape of the trees. The conifers reminded him of being blocked by the forest during the chase three days earlier. Something in their perspective and the lean of the branches made his skin crawl.

He opened the card and remembered it was blank inside except for a single word: Soon. —T.

Now, in red ink beneath the warning, it said: Beneath the pines, the end begins.

He jerked backwards in shock. When did that line appear?

Bernstein had been in their house.

The message hadn’t been there when he’d packed up the card at the office the night before. He’d looked at it dozens of times.

‘Kel,’ he said, holding it up. ‘He’s been in the house while we slept.’ Nash felt sick. He tried to smile at Kel so he wouldn’t see how rattled he was, but it didn’t land.

Kelvin peered at the addition to the card. ‘Why would he just write a stupid message when he had a clear shot at us?’

 ‘Because he’s using control to intimidate me. I looked at this card last night, and the last line wasn’t there.’ Nash muttered something else and turned back to the window. Beneath the pines. His mind jumped back to the chase. He thought about Alan’s Harley, the escape, and Grizedale Forest. That man had been in their home, and Nash felt violated.

‘Fat lot of good that watch is,’ Kelvin said, but there was no malice in his words. Only worry.  

Nash checked the security cameras and spoke to the guards outside. Bernstein was a shadow with stealth enough to break through any barriers they put in his way. And that was the message he was sending.

Nash grabbed his phone. There were no alerts. But his messages showed a new image.

It was a photo of a similar cabin to the one on the card, but this was no twee design. It was an actual photograph. I’m waiting. See you soon. —T.

For the rest of the day, they worked on a plan. A foolproof search and raid were organised. Several teams of undercover agents were sent out posing as hikers. The forest was sectioned into a grid with a team in each segment so that no corner was left unsearched.

One of the teams radioed in to confirm a sighting of fresh tracks on an overgrown trail and asked if they should proceed down the trail. Bronwyn told them to withdraw. Bernstein would be on the lookout, and the last thing they needed was two more dead officers. Nash spoke to the head of the forest rangers. ‘I can assure you, inspector, none of our vehicles have been in that part of the forest for months. It’s a natural area of conservation for the wildlife.’

Nash was convinced they’d found the entrance to Bernstein’s lair.

Bronwyn ordered an armed unit, and Nash was seasoned enough to know that if Bernstein was holed up in the forest, he wasn’t going anywhere else. If Alan was already dead, they were too late. And if he was still alive, they couldn’t risk messing this up. Nash could have had a team surrounding the forest in an hour, but he held back, rode on his wits, and waited. Travis had sent him a timed invitation. He’d expect Nash to turn up with the big guns and a negotiator during daylight hours.

Going in at night might throw him off his game enough to give them an advantage. He was betting on one thing—that Bernstein wouldn’t expect them after dark. It was a risky move, but it could give them the only edge they had.

A single word followed him around—DEATH was everywhere.

The headline of a newspaper in the station coffee room said: Death Toll Rises.

New graffiti scratched into a toilet cubicle gave the dire warning: Death lives here.

A phone was handed in by somebody who found it in Tesco. Scratched into the case were the words: I see you, Nash.

A trained officer used the department’s specialised software to bypass the phone’s security. When it came to life, the wallpaper showed a stick figure labelled Mr. Death. It had a full stop, hinting that it might have been scratched there by a US citizen. Nash only knew one of those hanging around town like a bad smell. He also knew that Bernstein had purposefully left the full stop clue. He was too savvy to make a childish error like that. The stick man had a smile. It was only a few lines, but it managed to look smug, standing next to a crudely drawn cabin.

They checked Tesco’s security cameras, and it seemed to be a genuine find, but Nash was taking nothing for granted and hauled the middle-aged lady into Interview Room Three. She was checked out and grilled until they were sure she had no connection to Travis Bernstein.

A recipe had been pinned to one of the cupboard doors in the station kitchen. It was for a Death by Chocolate dessert. Nobody had ever pinned a recipe up before. Nash questioned the staff, and Hayley, the station cleaner, admitted that she’d found it on the counter and thought it belonged to one of the officers. She’d pinned it up so they wouldn’t forget it.  

‘Coincidence,’ Nash muttered.

But death wouldn’t leave him alone. It was everywhere.

Even on the side of a delivery lorry parked outside the station, DEATH BY CHOCOLATE was written in bold pink lettering. Seeing the same phrase twice in an hour was no coincidence. He couldn’t escape it.

 His eyes burned from lack of sleep. He couldn’t flag, not today, so he went to the bathroom to freshen up. As he leaned in to splash water on his face, he looked into the mirror. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he saw somebody behind him. Nash jumped. It wasn’t an officer. His first thought was Bernstein. He froze, and his fear caught in his throat.

It was Max. When he caught his breath, Nash said, ‘You need to stop treating bathroom mirrors like WhatsApp.’ Nash’s nerves couldn’t take it, but he was pleased to see his dead friend.

Max grinned at Nash for a split second, and then his face settled. He’d come to him again. Not in a dream, this time, in a reflection. He was pale and looked mournful. Manifesting took energy and effort. This was urgent. ‘There’s going to be another death,’ Max whispered. ’He wants you.’

‘I know. Are you saying he’s going to get me?’

‘I’ve been trying to warn you.’

Max was fading. He lifted a finger and wrote in the condensation on the mirror: Watch Out.

‘Wait,’ Nash shouted.

The glass cracked.

He stumbled back to avoid the crashing shards, but when he looked up, the mirror was intact.

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