Something about that man seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “Liam,” she muttered the name, something about it seemed familiar too. Like she had said it many times in the past. It almost seemed more familiar to her than the Miranda warning. She shook her head when nothing came to mind. Maybe she knew someone with that name before she appeared in Gavinmire.

She walked into the apartment building alone, letting herself into the main doorway with her key before locking it behind her. After that she headed up the stairs to her apartment. She unlocked that door and walked inside, unsure of why her hair was standing on end. Something was wrong. Stephanie tried to identify the cause. Everything seemed to be in place, nothing was missing, but it felt like someone had been in her apartment. She walked towards the kitchenette and sat the files down on the table there, before heading towards her closet. That was when she saw it. She stared at the unfamiliar canvas bag sitting on the foot of her bed. The bag was tan, about the size of a soccer ball, and tied shut with twine. It was the two black feathers sitting next to the bag that made her shiver. The killer had been here, or somebody who knew about the case. Stephanie pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, not wanting to contaminate the evidence. How had they managed to get into her apartment and how had they gotten out? Stephanie double checked the window and found it securely locked. Her apartment door had been locked when she arrived as well. How in the hell had the killer got in and out without breaking anything, disturbing anything?

Only when she was certain that she was alone in the apartment did she step towards the bag. She held her breath and pulled on the twine. The contents of the bag spilled out onto her bed, making her breath escape her lips in a whimper. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think through her terror. Five pairs of eyes had rolled onto her bed, and none of them appeared to belong to the same victim. There were even more in the bag, but there was no way she could check them as well. She backed away and into the wall. How had the killer found out where she lived?

She heard a noise outside her doorway and drew her sidearm. Stephanie crept towards the door, afraid that she wouldn’t get the chance to fight back if it was the killer behind the door. She opened the door and pointed the gun at the person outside.

“Woah, Steph,” Hale backed away suddenly. “I just came to check on you. What’s wrong?” Her arms shook and her legs gave way as she devolved to a trembling mass on the floor. “What’s going on Stephanie?” Hale said from a crouching position next to her.

“The murderer has been here,” she managed through gasping breaths.

Hale paled and pulled his own weapon before calling Isiah. When he did a walkthrough of her apartment, he cursed loudly before telling the chief to send a forensics team out to gather the evidence. The evidence, that was what they were calling the eyes that were left on her bed. Decapitation was almost better. She had taken enough classes to know that the eyes must have been removed before death. How had the killer preserved them so well? Stephanie shook her head of the thought. Who cared about that? What she needed to worry about was why the killer seemed focused on eyes. The feathers had obviously come from the raven she had seen on the murderer’s shoulder. Something about the footage didn’t set right with her, and it wasn’t just the missing time. How had the killer found out where she lived? That bothered her almost as much as the fact that they had been in and out of the apartment without disturbing anything.