The girl's name was Emily Carter.
Twenty-three.
Graduate student.
Worked evenings at a coffee shop just outside Branson.
She had brown hair.
Soft features.
A quiet smile.
She wasn't Sarah.
But she resembled her enough.
That was all Jack needed.
He watched her for three days before approaching.
Not from obsession.
Not from attachment.
This wasn't about keeping.
This was about sending something.
The abduction was quick.
Parking lot.
Closing shift.
One blind corner between the café and the employee lot.
No struggle loud enough to draw attention.
No witnesses.
By morning, her car was found abandoned two miles from the shop.
Her phone was discarded in a roadside ditch.
And the first call came in at 6:12 a.m.
Brian was already in his office when the Chief walked in without knocking.
"You need to see this."
Brian followed him into the conference room.
On the table sat a sealed evidence bag.
Inside it—
A flash drive.
Delivered directly to the front desk of the Branson Police Department at opening.
No return address.
No note.
Just one word written on the envelope.
Look.
Brian's stomach tightened.
"Who brought it in?"
"Dropped in the mail slot overnight."
They moved to the secured digital lab.
The file on the drive was simple.
One video.
No background noise.
No timestamp.
Just Jack.
Seated in a dimly lit room.
Calm.
Composed.
Looking directly into the camera.
"Good morning, Brian."
The room went still.
"You've been patient," Jack continued. "I admire that."
Brian didn't blink.
"You took something from me."
The words weren't shouted.
They were measured.
"And I tried to adjust. I tried to accept loss."
Jack leaned slightly closer to the camera.
"But erasure is disrespect."
Brian felt something cold settle in his chest.
"She deleted herself," Jack said softly. "You helped her disappear."
Silence in the room.
"And when you remove someone from my reach… I compensate."
The camera shifted slightly.
A second chair was visible in the background.
Someone seated.
Head lowered.
Motionless.
Brian's jaw tightened.
"You wanted proof of life once," Jack said. "Now you'll have proof of consequence."
The video cut.
Abruptly.
No further explanation.
The room stayed silent long after the screen went black.
"Is she alive?" the Chief asked quietly.
Brian didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the paused frame.
The girl in the chair.
Still.
Too still.
"We don't know," he said finally.
But in his gut—
He did.
By noon, Emily Carter's body was found.
Abandoned in a wooded area fifteen miles outside city limits.
No signs of prolonged captivity.
No elaborate staging.
Just placement.
Deliberate.
Intentional.
This wasn't possession.
This was retaliation.
Brian stood at the scene, staring down at the sheet-covered form.
Jack had crossed a line.
Not emotional.
Not obsessive.
Calculated.
"You think this was always possible?" the Chief asked quietly.
"Yes."
"But now it's different."
Brian nodded.
"He's not trying to keep control anymore."
"What is he trying to do?"
Brian's eyes hardened.
"Punish."
News broke quickly.
"Second Victim Found in Branson."
"Fugitive Former Detective Escalates."
The manhunt reignited publicly.
Federal agencies re-engaged aggressively.
Roadblocks reinstated.
Task forces expanded.
Press conferences scheduled.
But the most dangerous thing wasn't the media.
It was the message.
Back at the station, another envelope arrived.
This one is addressed specifically to Brian.
Hand-delivered by an anonymous pedestrian who claimed to have found it on a park bench.
Inside—
A printed photograph.
Emily.
Seated in the same chair as in the video.
Alive.
Fear in her eyes.
On the back, handwritten:
You removed her from me.
Now you watch what that costs.
Brian stared at the words.
Personal.
Targeted.
Jack wasn't chasing Sarah anymore.
He was confronting Brian.
And that made it worse.
Across state lines, Molly was studying in the campus library when her phone buzzed with a news alert.
She glanced down casually.
Then froze.
"Second victim found in Branson…"
Her breath caught.
She opened the article.
No names released yet.
But the details were enough.
Her pulse began to race.
Claire noticed instantly.
"What?"
Molly turned the phone toward her.
Claire's face drained of color.
"Do you think—"
"No," Molly said quickly. "He's still there."
"But what if—"
"He's not here."
Not yet.
But the certainty didn't feel as strong as it once had.
Sarah walked into the library moments later.
"What's wrong?"
Molly hesitated.
Then showed her.
Sarah went pale.
"He's escalating," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Because of me."
"No."
Molly grabbed her hand.
"This is not because of you."
But deep down—
They both understood.
Jack had lost access.
Lost visibility.
Lost control.
And control demanded replacement.
Back in Branson, Brian stood alone in his office late that night.
He replayed the video again.
Studied Jack's posture.
His tone.
His eyes.
He wasn't frantic.
He wasn't spiraling.
He was deliberate.
"You wanted proof of life once…"
The words echoed.
This wasn't random violence.
It was communication.
Jack had stopped trying to retrieve Sarah.
Now he wanted Brian to feel loss.
Because that was the only leverage left.
The Chief stepped into the doorway.
"We're expanding the task force statewide."
"Good."
"He's dangerous in a new way now."
"Yes."
Brian turned slowly.
"He believes this is a balance."
"And?"
Brian's expression hardened.
"It's war."
In a remote shed outside Branson, Jack sat alone again.
No camera this time.
No victim.
Just silence.
He read the news coverage on a borrowed device at a public library earlier that day.
He watched the outrage.
The urgency.
The fear.
They were paying attention again.
Control restored — partially.
But not enough.
He stared at the lake map pinned to the wall.
This wasn't over.
Not for him.
Not for Brian.
And not for Sarah.
Because erasure demanded response.
And now—
He had made sure they were listening.