Page 72 of Girl, Deceived

‘One mile up ahead,’ Ripley said. ‘Keep going, but piece this together for me. I believe you, but I don’t see it.’

In the absence of traffic, Ella pushed down on the gas. They were reaching the outskirts of Maywood, where Los Angeles met the San Gabriel Mountains. The landscape transformed from the city's sprawling streets to a rugged terrain of thick woods, isolated warehouses, and the odd building.

‘Okay, so we know our killer is focused on final girls. Every victim so far had a connection to a famous final girl. Remember on Jessica Owen’s death video? He saidI’m finishing what we started.Notice the group term.We.Harry wouldn’t be so inclusive. His film is his baby, no one else’s.’

‘Right, so?’

‘That means Harry isn’t our killer, but given that our guy is using the same mask used inIn Hell,he’s somehow connected to the film.’

‘I agree,’ Ripley said.

‘At every scene, he’s left clues leading us to the final showdown. The messages, the videos, the red herrings. Harry said his film had four victims, that means we’re at the last one. And our killerwantsus to meet him there. This whole finale is part of his grand plan to create a real-life horror film.'

‘Up here and left,’ Ripley said. ‘Half a mile away.’

‘Got it.’ Ella veered in the direction, leaving Maywood behind and entering Hollsworth according to the signage.

‘And remember how we couldn’t trace the sources of the masks? Remember how they were high quality and hand-crafted?’

‘Yeah. He probably brought them online.’

‘No,’ Ella said, finally seeing the obvious. The world was much darker now, observing everything through the eyes of a horror-obsessed psychopath. ‘He’s making them himself. Remember what we saw in the casting call? It saidthe costume designer and FX artist were already on board.Obviously, Harry would have shown his special effects designer the mask concept.’

Ripley pointed to a desolate building in the distance. Harry’s rented warehouse.

'Okay, Dark, I get it, but what doesthisfilm have to do with everything? Our killer mimicked the classics. Why has he finished with some rinky-dink film that doesn’t even exist?’

Ella had wrestled with that question too, but the answer lay in the killer’s previous actions. ‘Because he’s not just a serial killer, he’s a slasher villain. Textbook psychos don’t think about the end game, but horror icons do. Michael and Jason don’t end up in jail, so someone is going to have to take his place inside.’

Ripley slapped the dashboard. ‘And when a murder crops up on Harry’s film set, all eyes are going to stick on the eccentric director.’

‘It’s a perfect out,’ Ella said. ‘He already did a decent job of framing Alex Morton, and Harry Faulkner has a history of voyeurism. I wouldn’t be surprised if our killer plants Alex’s phone at Harry’s place. With Harry’s deviant past, it would be easy to believe he attended Alex’s watching parties.’

'Here,' Ripley cut her off, pointing at the giant black cube in front of them. The parking lot was a few acres of barren land. Ella sped towards the door and slammed the handbrake on. She double-checked her ammunition levels, then leaped out of the car with Ripley not far behind.

The warehouse loomed large and foreboding, a black monolith silhouetted against the evening sky. The entrance seemed tiny in comparison; a rectangle set into the wall, an unhooked chain dangling off the handle.

‘Someone’s been here already,’ Ella said.

‘This chain would have blown off in the wind if it had been here for three months,’ Ripley confirmed. Ella gripped the handle, turned and twisted, but couldn’t breach it.

‘Son of a bitch has locked it from the inside.’

‘Time to get our hands dirty,’ Ripley said.

‘This is solid metal, Mia. I couldn’t kick…’

‘So is this,’ Ripley said as she pulled out her Glock 17 and aimed it at the lock. Without warning, Ripley squeezed the trigger, brightening the night with flames for a hundredth of a second. The metal lock exploded, steel versus steel, releasing the door from its chains.

Ella, taking a moment to recover from the sudden explosion, nodded approvingly at Ripley. ‘Finally got that misdemeanor.’

‘About time. Let’s go.’

Ella cautiously stepped into the warehouse, the door swinging inward with a groan. The dim, shadowy expanse inside immediately caught her attention. Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to the center, where an elaborate shrine dedicated to horror films of generations past was set up.

The interior was reminiscent of a macabre museum. Vintage costumes from legendary horror films were encased in glass, each positioned as if to capture a moment of sheer terror. She recognized the dirty butcher knife and jumpsuit belonging to Michael Myers, its blade gleaming ominously as it lay on a satin pillow. In another corner, the unmistakable worn hockey mask from Friday the Thirteenth series was mounted, staring blankly at the onlookers.

The entire shrine was an homage to horror, a visual representation of the genre's legacy. Rows of gaffed body parts hung from meat hooks, swaying slightly as a result of her entry. Mock props of different sizes were scattered around, some eerily realistic.

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