Wondering myself how all this fits in with my nagging gut ache about a girl.
The one.
All three victims are male.
“John Doe, our homeless friend, shows up on CCTVafterthat too,” Frank explains.
“He may or may not have a history of mental illness, but in every frame for a twelve-hour period… Well, you can watch it for yourself if you want.” He suddenly huffs impatiently.
“Frank, what is it?” I ask, sounding like I need some answers right now because I do.
Frank pushes air out from between his teeth.
“He was running, Harry. Running. Not like a man possessed, but like a man who was being chased.Hunted,” he adds for effect.
I feel the chill go up my spine as I focus on another loop of footage, then another.
Same guy, hours later. Still running and still holding the one thing that makes him shine at night, a ticket in his hand.
“Why do I get the feeling that’s not the end of it?” I ask aloud, but my inner voice and my mind, my whole body are screaming the same thing.
A winning ticket.
A girl.
The one.
“John Doe finally succumbed to whatever was chasing him. Died in the street, with no visible injuries. Coroner won’t commit to a cause of death, but off the record Harry, this guy died of fucking fright. Something scared him to death.”
“And this?” I ask, moving my own finger closer to the only square he hasn’t played.
“This is where you come in, Harry,” he says, sounding like the old Frank. The one guy who always had my back, even when people were lining up to stick a knife in it.
He plays another loop. Grainy as all hell.
One of the city’s own cameras, funnily enough.
I can see my own house from space on my telephone, but when I wanna see who mugged me for the same phone on CCTV?
Welcome to the 21stCentury.
“A girl,” Frank says. My eyes follow her figure as she pulls a bright pink suitcase before she bends down to pick something up.
The unmistakable glow of a ticket
“A winning ticket,” Frank continues, narrating the action as if I’m watching a silent movie.
The girl keeps walking, out of shot.
“She’s the one,” Frank says suddenly. “She’s who we gotta find, and before she ends up as contestant number four.”
My head hurts for a second before I feel myself swaying. Not dizzy. But getting all the information I need that matches what I’ve been telling myself since last night.
A winning ticket.
A girl.
The one.