The murderer

Jasmine Johnson woke with a start, her chest heaving, eyes wide open, and sheets twisted around her legs. The dream—no, nightmare—had left her drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. She tried to steady her breathing, but her heart pounded as if it wanted to escape her chest. She could still hear the gunshots, still see the shadows dancing across the walls, still feel the cold floor beneath her bare feet as she tried to run. And the scream… her mother’s faint, terrified scream, echoing through the darkness… it was as real as anything she had ever felt in her life. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets, trying to convince herself it had just been a dream. Just a dream. Nothing more. Just a dream. But a cold knot in her stomach told her otherwise. Her instincts screamed danger. Something was terribly wrong. The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator downstairs. Jasmine rubbed her face and swung her legs off the bed, shivering at the cold floor. She glanced at the clock. 3:17 a.m. Every instinct she had screamed at her to check on her parents. Slowly, she made her way down the hall, each step heavier than the last. Her fingers trembled as she reached out and turned the knob of her parents’ bedroom door. Empty. The bed was made, perfectly so, but empty. Not a trace of her parents anywhere. Jasmine’s chest tightened as she tried to hold back a wave of panic. “Maybe… maybe they went out,” she whispered, but even to her own ears, the words sounded hollow. She ran to the living room, looking for their car, their shoes, anything that could explain their absence. Nothing. Silence hung over the house like a dark, suffocating cloud. Her siblings stirred. Jasion appeared in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Where are they?” His voice was hoarse, but beneath it was fear. “I… I don’t know,” Jasmine stammered. “I had a dream… something bad… I don’t know why, but I feel like—” Her voice broke. Jasion’s frown deepened. “A dream? Jasmine… you’re scaring me.” But he didn’t move to reassure her. His brow furrowed in worry, and Jasmine knew he, too, sensed something was off. Nina, the youngest, peeked from behind the doorway, her small hands clinging to Jasmine’s arm. “Did something happen? Are Mom and Dad… okay?” Her voice trembled. Jasmine swallowed hard, words failing her. The hours crawled by. Jasmine called their phones. No answer. She tried to push back the fear, but each passing minute made it worse. By the time the sun began to rise, dread had settled in her chest like a weight she couldn’t lift. Then came the call. The voice on the other end was cold, official. “Is this Jasmine Johnson? I’m calling from the 9th Precinct. I’m afraid I have tragic news. Your parents… Mr. and Mrs. Johnson… have been found… murdered.” Jasmine’s world shattered. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor. Nothing she had imagined could have prepared her for the truth. Tears rolled down her cheeks as a scream clawed at her throat, but no sound came. Jasion’s hands balled into fists, and his anger erupted uncontrollably. “What? Who… who did this?!” He paced, the room shaking with the force of his steps. “They can’t just… they can’t—how could someone—” His voice broke, then rose again. Rage mixed with fear, forming a dangerous edge. Nina sobbed quietly, holding Jasmine tighter. “Why… why them?” she whispered, the question tearing at her very soul. Jasmine tried to speak, but her own throat felt raw. She swallowed, trying to form words, but her voice came out barely audible. “We… we’ll find out,” she managed. “We’ll… we have to… we have to be careful.” But deep inside, she knew this was no ordinary tragedy. Their parents’ deaths were deliberate. Calculated. Someone wanted them gone. The funeral was a blur. The house, usually full of warmth and laughter, felt empty and cold. Friends and neighbors came and went, offering condolences and murmuring in hushed tones about the tragedy. Jasmine observed everyone carefully. Faces she had trusted looked stranger now, their expressions unreadable. She couldn’t shake the feeling that danger lurked in their midst, hidden behind polite words and sympathetic eyes. Jasion was restless throughout. Every whisper made him tense, every shadow caught his attention. He barely spoke, but his anger simmered, threatening to boil over at any moment. Nina stayed close to Jasmine, crying quietly, her small hands clutching at her sister’s arm as if holding on could protect them. After the funeral, the siblings returned to the house, numb with grief. Jasmine wandered into their parents’ bedroom, the air thick with memories. Everything smelled the same—polished wood, lavender, and faint traces of her mother’s perfume—but it all felt tainted now. Her eyes fell on a drawer she had never opened fully. Something urged her to look inside. Inside lay a folded piece of paper, her father’s handwriting unmistakable. Her hands shook as she unfolded it. The words were simple, yet they carried a weight that pressed down on her chest like a stone: "If you are reading this, then something has gone terribly wrong. There are people watching us—people who will stop at nothing to take everything we have. You must not trust anyone. Not even those closest to you. Go low. Disappear if you must. Because if they got to me… they will come for you next." Jasmine’s eyes widened, fear twisting her insides. She looked at Jasion and Nina, her voice trembling. “They’re coming for us.” Jasion’s jaw tightened. “Because of money. Or power. Or revenge. Someone wants it all.” Nina clung to Jasmine even tighter. “But… how can we stop them?” Her small voice cracked. Jasmine swallowed hard. “We… we survive. That’s all we can do for now. We keep quiet. We watch. We wait. And we protect each other.” That night, as the three siblings sat silently in the living room, a car engine rumbled outside. Jasmine froze, staring at the window. Her pulse quickened. She pressed herself against the wall, peeking through the curtain. A black sedan idled across the street. Her instincts screamed danger, every hair on her body standing on end. “Just… wait,” Jasmine whispered. “We don’t know who it is yet. But we will.” The house, once a haven, had become a cage. And someone… someone was out there, waiting. Watching. A sudden knock at the door made Jasmine’s blood run cold. Her body froze. Who could it be?