#anna willis

PREV //

When you look once more into the envelope, you realize the "him" she was referring to is the man who's depicted in this arrest record.

It was great when Anna was thorough, and it saved Kara a lot of work. But knowing her, Kara would be more likely to find the charred remains of this assailant than anything else.

Anna often took it upon herself to "clean up" a bit before the cops, but that was just fine. She always made it look like it was the fire alarm's fault.

PREV // NEXT

You open the note to find this message inside. 

"It's like she's written me a goddamned love letter..." she laughed, copying the address down on a scrap piece of paper.

// NEXT

You open the envelope that has been slipped under your door to find a note addressed to you.

Kara unlocked the door to her apartment, finding the envelope at her feet. She picked it up, recognizing the handwriting immediately. A smile grew on her lips as she opened up the card.

Flicking my cigarette onto the concrete ground, I adjust my coat and begin a leisurely walk down the desolate street toward Detective Yan’s apartment. My hands cling to an envelope that holds the information for my next tip to Kara––a kidnapper who’s already made a habit out of sexually assaulting teenage girls. Now, I’m planning on making him pay the price for the crimes he’d committed against those girls. 

When I arrive at the apartment building, I ascend three flights of stairs until I come to a stop at Kara’s door. Pressing one hand against the metal, I hang my head. I know that as soon as I complete this killing, I’ll have to flee. Mal Fallon has caught on to my act of playing the double agent, and in order to keep myself and Kara safe, I have to disappear. In a twisted way, Kara turned out to be the only person I have any sort of attachment to here in the city. I wish I could say goodbye, but instead I just quietly slip the envelope under the door.

The night breeze is brisk on my skin, and it blows the smoke of my newly lit cigarette as I continue toward the warehouse that my newest target has acquired as his sadistic lair. I take a slow, deliberate breath and gaze around the city as I set a leisurely pace down the street. I want to remember this city just as it is in this moment when I have to leave it: the streetlights brightening the indigo sky in the peaceful murmur of the night life that inhabits San Francisco. 

At last, I arrive at the warehouse. As far as I can see through the shattered windows that have been long boarded up, it’s dark. Without my lead, I would have never guessed that there was anything heavier than squatting going on inside. So far, everything was quiet; however, I knew that soon the silence would be replaced with screaming.