The chase For Blood

The next morning, Evelyn arrived at the bustling newsroom, clutching her notebook and a cup of coffee. She loved her job, even if it came with its fair share of stress. As one of the top journalists, every piece of breaking news passed through her hands before making its way to the big screen. It was exhilarating—but exhausting.

Her first task of the day was to deal with the perpetually malfunctioning copy machine. She crouched beside it, her fingers fumbling with the stubborn tray as she muttered under her breath.

"This thing belongs in a museum," she grumbled, giving the side of the machine a frustrated smack.

She stood up to stretch, only to find someone standing right next to her. She jumped, gasping. "Geez, you scared me!"

"Sorry," came the familiar voice. It was Dane.

Evelyn turned to face him, her green eyes scanning his oddly reddish ones. He had a way of appearing out of nowhere, and it always threw her off. Her own appearance didn't help; her red hair was swept into a messy high ponytail, and she felt every bit as frazzled as she looked. Meanwhile, Dane looked as polished as ever, like he'd stepped out of a magazine ad.

His black hair was perfectly styled, and he wore a tailored suit that seemed out of place in their somewhat chaotic newsroom. If someone saw him without context, they'd never guess he worked here.

"You heard the news about last night?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence.

Evelyn nodded, turning back to the copy machine to pull out the freshly printed photos. "The serial killer strikes again," she said, her voice quieter now.

She glanced at the photos in her hands, her stomach turning. The latest victim was a beautiful blonde woman, her face eerily peaceful. There were no visible wounds, no cuts or scratches—she simply looked drained, her skin pale as porcelain.

"Poor woman," Evelyn murmured, frowning as she set the photos on the table.

Dane stepped closer, his tone low and unsettling. "I wonder who the serial killer could be."

Evelyn glanced at him, her unease growing. "Me too," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "He should be locked up. I hope they catch him soon—"

"Before he gets to another woman," Dane interrupted, finishing her sentence.

She looked up, startled by the intensity in his gaze. His reddish eyes seemed darker, more piercing, as he stared at her without blinking. The air between them grew heavy, and Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine.

This was why she felt so uneasy around him. Dane wasn't just weird —he was weird, weird.

"Okay... um, I need to finish my report," she said, lowering her eyes and stepping past him. She could feel his gaze following her, but he didn't move.

Unable to help herself, she glanced back over her shoulder. Dane was still standing there, watching her with that same unreadable expression. Her discomfort deepened, and she quickly turned away, her steps hurried as she left the room.

Weird. So weird, she thought, shaking her head. She couldn't understand how Arianna had fallen for him—oh, right. His looks. That was probably it.

As Evelyn walked back to her desk, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more to Dane than he let on. Never mind that, she had a report to finish

_________

Evelyn had worked hard today. Too hard, really. By the time she looked at the clock, it was already 10 PM. The newsroom was eerily silent, the usual hum of activity long gone. Everyone else had left hours ago, but Evelyn had stayed behind, pouring over articles and reports. Now her eyes were dry and strained from staring at the computer screen for so long, making the darkness beyond her desk seem even murkier.

She packed her things into her bag, her stomach rumbling—a harsh reminder that she couldn't even recall the last time she ate. The only sound was the faint buzz of the overhead lights and the occasional distant shuffle from the security guard at his post outside.

As she zipped up her bag, a faint noise reached her ears—a rustling, like someone moving nearby. Evelyn froze, her fingers pausing mid-motion. Wasn't I alone? she thought, glancing around the office. Shadows danced in the corners, but she saw nothing out of place. Shaking her head, she dismissed it as her tired mind playing tricks on her and resumed packing.

But then she heard it again. This time, it was louder, unmistakable—a dragging sound, heavy and deliberate. Panic prickled at the edges of her mind, her heart picking up pace.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling as it echoed into the darkened office.

No answer.

Clutching her bag, Evelyn made her way toward the elevator, her footsteps quickening with every step. The unease pressing down on her chest was growing unbearable, the silence feeling too heavy, too unnatural.

She was almost there when something slammed into her from behind with such force that she was sent sprawling onto the cold, hard floor. Her bag skidded away, the contents spilling out as she gasped in shock.

Dazed, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her eyes darting around. But there was nothing. No one. Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as she scrambled to her feet. This building isn't haunted, right? she thought wildly, trying to rationalize the irrational.

Then she felt it—cold, unyielding hands grabbing her arms and yanking them across her chest, trapping her in an iron grip. Her heart thundered in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins.

But Evelyn wasn't defenseless. Years of self-defense training, courtesy of her detective ex-husband, kicked in. Twisting sharply, she broke free of the hold and staggered back. She barely had time to catch her breath before an unseen force slammed into her again, this time sending her crashing into a row of desks.

The impact rattled her bones, pain flaring through her back and shoulders. She groaned, her vision swimming, but she didn't have time to recover. Something cold and invisible wrapped around her throat, tightening with terrifying strength.

Evelyn clawed at her neck, gasping for air, her vision darkening at the edges. Her hands flailed, desperate to grab anything, and her fingers closed around the smooth ceramic of a flower pot on the desk behind her. With the last of her strength, she swung it blindly.

The pot shattered on impact, the invisible grip on her throat loosening as the force seemed to recoil. Evelyn fell to the floor, coughing and clutching her neck as she tried to crawl away.

But it wasn't over.

She felt it again—something cold wrapping around her ankle. She screamed as she was dragged backward across the floor, her nails scraping against the polished surface in a futile attempt to stop herself. Panic surged through her as she twisted, kicking wildly until her heel connected with something solid. The grip released, and she didn't waste a second.

Scrambling to her feet, Evelyn bolted for the stairwell, the only source of light in the otherwise darkened office. She burst through the door, the fluorescent glow blinding but welcome. She turned, expecting to see the shadow—or whatever it was—following her.

But it didn't.

For some reason, the presence stopped at the edge of the light, as though it couldn't—or wouldn't—cross the threshold. Evelyn's chest heaved as she stared into the darkness, her heart racing.

She didn't wait to find out why it hadn't followed her. Taking the opportunity, she fled down the stairs, her legs trembling as she descended them two at a time, her only thought to get as far away from the office as possible.