Chapter 8: We Both Go Home Tonight
Samantha's POV
The basement was freezing cold, but spotlessly clean. Concrete floors polished to a shine, buzzing fluorescent lights, no windows. The kind of place you'd expect to find old boxes or a water heater.
Ballet shoes covered every wall. Hundreds of them, nailed up in neat rows. Pink ones, black ones, beat-up leather ones that looked decades old. Some had ribbons hanging loose. The shiny satin ones reflected the harsh lights back at us.
The air was thick with the scent of leather and satin, decades of dance shoes creating an almost suffocating atmosphere.
"My God," Sarah whispered beside me.
"Each pair tells a story," Volkov said, his voice dropping to something almost religious. He ran his fingers along a row of pale pink slippers like he was stroking skin. "The wear patterns, the way the satin has aged, the shape left by the dancer's foot... it's all preserved here forever."
I watched him touch those shoes, and my stomach turned. It was like some sick obsession. What normal teacher would act like this?
While Sarah kept him talking about different shoes and their "stories," I let my gaze wander the room. There had to be something here, some clue about Emma's killer. But all I saw were more shoes, more obsessive organization.
Then I spotted it. A metal storage cabinet in the far corner, secured with a heavy padlock.
I drifted toward it while Sarah launched into some bullshit story about her childhood dance lessons. The lock looked new, expensive. Whatever was inside mattered enough to keep it secured.
I pulled out the hairpin from my hair, keeping one eye on Sarah and Volkov across the room. She was doing great keeping him distracted, but I needed to work fast. Thank God for those lock-picking classes back at the Academy.
The lock clicked open.
I opened the cabinet door and my blood turned to ice.
Glass slippers sat on the top shelf, catching the dim light like crystal daggers. Identical to the ones found on Emma's feet. But that wasn't the worst part.
Next to them was a photograph. A young Asian girl, maybe sixteen, with the lean build and perfect posture of a serious dancer. She looked so damn young, so alive.
I flipped the photo over with trembling fingers.
The same neat handwriting from Emma's apartment: "Next Cinderella - Lily Rose, Swan Lake Ballet Academy, Second Year."
My heart hammered against my ribs as I took photos with my cell, hands shaking so bad I nearly dropped the phone. Every second felt like an hour.
I replaced everything exactly how I found it and clicked the lock back into place just as Sarah's laughter echoed across the basement.
"...and that's why I quit dancing!" she was saying. "Cost my mom a fortune, but I was hopeless!"
I rejoined them, hoping my face looked normal. "This has been really interesting, Mr. Volkov, but we should probably get back to work."
"Of course!" He practically bounced as he led us back upstairs. "I hope you catch the monster who did this terrible thing to Emma. She was destined for greatness."
The afternoon sun felt harsh after that dim basement, and I had to blink hard against the sudden brightness.
"So," Sarah said as we walked back to our car, "learn anything interesting down there?"
I pulled out my phone and showed her the photo. "We need to find Lily Rose. Right now."
"I need Lily Rose's address, now!" Sarah's voice cracked through her headset as we tore through downtown traffic. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel.
The radio crackled back. "Got the address! But heads up - parents called in a missing person about an hour ago. Lily's been gone for over three hours."
Sarah and I looked at each other.
"Tech's pulling surveillance now," the voice continued. "You should get back here."
Sarah yanked the wheel hard, tires screaming as we U-turned back toward the station.
The tech division was chaos when we burst through the doors. Officers surrounded us immediately.
"Confirmed - Lily Rose is a student at Swan Lake Ballet Academy," one said. "Second year, just like your photo."
"We've got surveillance footage," another officer called from behind a wall of monitors. "You need to see this."
The nervous tech analyst - some kid with thick glasses and coffee stains on his shirt - had pieced together Lily's last movements. Multiple screens flickered with grainy black-and-white footage.
"There," Sarah pointed at one screen. "Black van. Can't see the plates."
I watched the nightmare unfold. Lily walking out of a convenience store, plastic bag in hand. She looked so normal, so alive. Then a figure in dark clothes appeared from the shadows.
The struggle was brief. Violent. Over before anyone could help.
My hands clenched into fists as the van swallowed her and disappeared.
"Van goes east," the tech kid said, fingers flying over his keyboard. "Tracking through traffic cams... heading toward the industrial district."
More screens lit up, more cameras. The van wound through side streets, avoiding main roads, but there were enough digital eyes to follow.
"There." Sarah leaned forward. "Stops at that warehouse complex. Building 47."
"That was at 6:45 PM," the tech said. "Based on the timeline and the previous murder's pattern..."
He didn't need to finish. We all knew what midnight meant.
My watch read 10:50 PM.
"Shit," I muttered. "How long to get there?"
"Twenty minutes if we floor it," Sarah said, already grabbing her gear.
Chief Richards stepped forward. "I'm sending backup - two patrol units to set up a perimeter. The police will coordinate with you on scene."
The industrial district at night was like driving through hell. Abandoned factories squatted under harsh streetlights, throwing shadows that seemed to move on their own. The air tasted like metal and decay.
Building 47 sat at the end of a dead-end street like a concrete tomb. Two patrol cars were already positioned at strategic points, officers crouched behind cover. I could see Detective Morrison coordinating positions through hand signals.
No lights came from the warehouse, no signs of life, but I could hear it - faint classical music drifting from inside.
Swan Lake. Of fucking course.
"I'll take the back with Team Two," Sarah whispered, checking her weapon. "You go front with Team One. Stay on comms."
"Don't be a hero," I said.
Sarah looked at me and gave that familiar smile, "Relax, we'll both go home tonight."
I watched her disappear around the building with two officers, then turned toward the main entrance. The music was clearer now - beautiful and completely wrong in this place of rust and death.
Two officers flanked me as we approached the entrance. I drew my weapon and moved forward.
The warehouse entrance gaped like a mouth. I pressed against the wall and listened, trying to separate the music from other sounds. Footsteps. Movement. At least one person inside.
I was about to signal the team to move when footsteps crunched behind us.
We all spun around, weapons raised.
"Whoa there, beautiful. Easy with the guns."
A man stood about ten feet back, hands up. The dim streetlights made it hard to make out his features clearly - tall, maybe six-two, wearing what looked like a wrinkled shirt. He had a beer can in one hand, swaying slightly.
"Sir, you need to leave this area immediately," An officer barked. "This is an active crime scene."
The guy tilted his head, and when he grinned, I caught a glimpse of deep green eyes. "Just walking by, heard the music. Thought maybe there was a party going on." He lifted the beer can toward me. "Want some? You look stressed."
I studied him more carefully. He looked drunk, sounded drunk, but something about his posture suggested otherwise. And nobody just wandered into an industrial district at night carrying beer.
As I wanted to tell him to leave, a scream cut through the night air.
Lily.
I didn't think. Just moved. The team and I burst through the warehouse door.