Chapter 6: Collision

  Scene 1

  5:47 AM

  The FBI field office was already at full operational capacity.

  Agent Morrison stood at the head of the briefing room, forty federal agents watching her. Tactical vests being strapped on. Weapons checked. Radios tested.

  "DNA results came back at 4:17 AM," Morrison said. Her voice cut through the room like a blade. "Positive match on all three suspects. Adrian Winters, Ryder Morrison, Simon Reeves. Their blood was at the scene where Detective Mustang was murdered."

  She clicked a remote. Three photos appeared on the screen.

  Yearbook pictures. Clean-cut. Honor roll. Student athletes. They looked like college applicants, not killers.

  "These suspects are seventeen years old," Morrison continued. "But do not let their age deceive you. They killed at least five people—including one of our own. They are organized, intelligent, and extremely dangerous."

  She gestured to three team leaders.

  "Team Alpha: Adrian Winters' residence. Team Bravo: Ryder Morrison's residence. Team Charlie: Simon Reeves was staying at the Winters house—hit both locations. Simultaneous breach at exactly 6:00 AM. Warrants are signed. Rules of engagement: treat as armed and dangerous. If they resist, you are authorized to use appropriate force."

  Agent Chen raised his hand. "What if they run?"

  "Roadblocks are going up at every major artery out of LA. LAPD has patrol units on standby. Air support is launching in ten minutes. They won't get far."

  She checked her watch. 5:49 AM.

  "Eleven minutes. Move out."

  The room exploded into motion. Agents grabbing gear, loading into vehicles, engines starting.

  Morrison pulled on her tactical vest, holstered her weapon.

  Chen approached. "You really think they'll be there? At 6 AM?"

  Morrison's jaw tightened.

  "They better be."

  Scene 2

  5:52 AM

  Simone hadn't slept.

  She'd spent the entire night reviewing her notes, checking timelines, making sure she had everything organized. Her "Patterns" document was printed, highlighted, annotated. Forty-seven pages of evidence.

  Evidence that three of her classmates were serial killers.

  She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the stack of papers. Her hands were shaking.

  Am I sure?

  Yes. The patterns were undeniable. The coincidences weren't coincidences. Simon's bandages, his lies, his absence during Mustang's murder—it all fit.

  Am I doing the right thing?

  She thought about Simon. The way he'd looked at her yesterday in the hallway. No nervousness. No guilt. Just... nothing.

  But there'd been something else too. Something in his eyes when she'd confronted him. Not fear. Resignation. Like he'd been waiting for this moment.

  She picked up her phone. Pulled up Simon's contact.

  Part of her wanted to text him. To warn him. To give him a chance to explain, to run, to do something.

  But Emma Mitchell was dead. Rick Stanler, Maria Edward, John Winter—all dead. Detective Mustang—murdered.

  She set the phone down.

  6:15 AM. She'd leave then. Drive to the FBI field office. Appointment at 8 AM, but she wanted to be early. Wanted this over with.

  She got dressed. Jeans, hoodie, comfortable shoes. Grabbed the stack of papers, her laptop, her phone.

  Texted her mom: Going to library early to study. Home by lunch.

  A lie. But necessary.

  She walked downstairs, grabbed her car keys.

  Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten. Dawn breaking over Los Angeles.

  She got in her car, started the engine.

  And drove toward a collision she didn't see coming.

  Scene 3

  5:58 AM

  They'd been arguing for hours.

  Adrian's basement looked like a war room. Whiteboard covered with contingency plans, all of them crossed out. Laptop showing news coverage of Mustang's murder. Three phones on the table, all burners, all ready to be destroyed.

  Adrian paced. Ryder sat on the couch, leg bouncing with nervous energy. Simon stood by the door, arms crossed.

  "Simone goes to the FBI at 8 AM," Adrian said for the third time. "We have two hours. Maybe less."

  "So we stop her," Ryder said. "Before she gets there."

  Simon's voice was flat. "No."

  Adrian spun to face him. "We don't have a choice."

  "There's always a choice. And I'm choosing not to kill her."

  "Then you're choosing prison. For all of us."

  Simon met his gaze. Didn't blink.

  "Maybe we deserve it."

  The words hung in the air like smoke.

  Ryder stood. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means we killed eleven people, Ryder. Eleven. And you want to make it twelve?"

  "To survive? Yes."

  "That's not survival. That's just more killing."

  Adrian was watching Simon with an expression that might have been pity. Or contempt.

  "You're different," Adrian said quietly. "Since you got shot. Since Simone."

  "I'm the same. I've just stopped pretending."

  "Pretending what?"

  "That this was okay. That we were doing something noble. That we were anything other than murderers."

  The word fell like a hammer.

  Ryder's face flushed. "We eliminated threats. People who hurt others. Rick was a predator. Maria was a kidnapper. They deserved—"

  "And John Winter?" Simon interrupted. "What did he deserve? He was an accountant. A father. We killed him for fun."

  Silence.

  "This conversation is pointless," Adrian said finally. "Simone is a threat. We eliminate the threat. That's how we've survived for three years."

  Simon grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

  "Where are you going?" Ryder demanded.

  "To warn her."

  Adrian moved between Simon and the door.

  "You leave this basement, you're choosing her over us."

  "I know."

  "We're your brothers, Simon. We've been planning this for three years. We've protected each other. Killed together. And you're going to betray us for a girl you barely know?"

  Simon's response was quiet but firm.

  "I'm not betraying you. I'm stopping you from making the worst mistake we've ever made."

  "And if we go after her anyway?"

  Simon's voice went cold.

  "Then I'll turn myself in. Tell the FBI everything. About all of us."

  The threat landed like a bomb.

  Ryder's hand went to his pocket—where he'd been carrying a knife since they left the storage unit.

  Adrian saw the movement. Put a hand on Ryder's shoulder.

  "Don't."

  He looked at Simon. Really looked at him. Saw the determination. The finality.

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  Simon wasn't bluffing.

  "Go," Adrian said quietly. "But when they catch us—and they will—remember that you chose this."

  Simon pushed past him, headed for the door.

  Behind him, he heard Ryder's voice:

  "What do we do now?"

  Adrian's response was barely audible.

  "We run."

  Scene 4

  6:03 AM

  Three locations. Three tactical teams. Three breaches.

  Simultaneous.

  ADRIAN WINTERS' RESIDENCE:

  "FBI! SEARCH WARRANT!"

  The battering ram hit the door. Wood splintered. Agents poured in, weapons drawn, flashlights cutting through the dim interior.

  "CLEAR LEFT! CLEAR RIGHT!"

  Adrian's mother appeared at the top of the stairs in a robe, screaming. His father behind her, demanding explanations.

  "Where is Adrian Winters?" Team Alpha leader demanded.

  "He's—he's in the basement. He's been down there all night—"

  Two agents rushed the basement door. Kicked it open.

  Empty.

  Whiteboard wiped clean. Laptops gone. No phones. The room had been sanitized.

  Team leader keyed his radio: "Team Alpha. Suspect Adrian Winters not on premises. Repeat: suspect has fled."

  RYDER MORRISON'S RESIDENCE:

  Team Bravo hit the door three seconds later.

  "FBI! ON THE GROUND!"

  Ryder's father answered the door, confused, still in pajamas.

  "Where's your son?"

  "Ryder? He left about twenty minutes ago. Said he had early lacrosse practice—"

  Agents swept the house anyway. Bedroom: empty. Bathroom: empty. Garage: car gone.

  Team Bravo leader: "Second suspect fled. Vehicle missing. Issuing BOLO on Ryder Morrison's vehicle."

  SIMON REEVES (AT ADRIAN'S HOUSE):

  Team Charlie checked Adrian's house specifically for Simon.

  Guest room: bed made. Clothes gone. Phone left behind on the nightstand—deliberately.

  One of the agents picked it up. Checked recent calls.

  Last outgoing call: 5:47 AM. To Simone Laurent.

  But Simon himself: gone.

  Team Charlie leader: "Third suspect also fled. All three are in the wind."

  FBI COMMAND:

  Agent Morrison's radio crackled with all three reports within thirty seconds.

  She closed her eyes. Breathed once. Opened them.

  "Issue an APB. All three suspects. Considered armed and extremely dangerous. Lock down all major roads out of LA. Get helicopters in the air. And find them. Now."

  Chen appeared at her shoulder.

  "How did they know we were coming?"

  Morrison's jaw tightened.

  "Because they're smart. And we underestimated them."

  Scene 5

  6:18 AM

  Simone was three blocks from the FBI field office when she saw him.

  Simon. Standing on the sidewalk. Waving her down.

  Her first instinct was to accelerate. Drive past him. Get to the FBI.

  But something in his posture stopped her. He looked... broken. Pale. Swaying slightly like he might collapse.

  She pulled over. Left the engine running.

  Simon approached the passenger side, opened the door, slid in.

  "Simon, what are you—"

  "Don't go to the FBI," he said. His voice was hoarse. "Please. Just—don't go. Not yet."

  She stared at him. He looked worse up close. Dark circles under his eyes. Sweat on his forehead. His hoodie pulled tight, hiding the bandages she knew were there.

  "Simon, what's happening?"

  He took a breath. Then another. Like he was gathering courage for something impossible.

  "We killed Detective Mustang."

  The words hung in the car like poison gas.

  Simone's hand went to the door handle. Instinctive. Flight response.

  "Adrian, Ryder, and me," Simon continued. His voice was flat. Clinical. Like he was reading a report. "He found us. Confronted us. We fought. I got shot. We killed him. Dumped his body near the river."

  Simone's entire body had gone cold.

  "You... you killed him?"

  "Yes."

  "And the others? Emma? Rick? Maria?"

  Simon didn't answer. Just met her gaze.

  That was answer enough.

  Simone's hand tightened on the door handle. "Get out of my car."

  "Simone—"

  "GET OUT OF MY CAR!"

  Her voice cracked. Tears streaming down her face. Fear and rage and betrayal all crashing together.

  "I came to warn you," Simon said quietly. "Adrian and Ryder—they want to stop you. Before you get to the FBI. They're... they're willing to kill you."

  The fear crystallized.

  "And you?"

  "I won't let them touch you."

  "Why? Why would you help me?"

  Simon looked down at his hands. Blood under his fingernails. Mustang's blood. Still there after days of scrubbing.

  "Because you're the first person in three years who made me feel like I was more than a killer."

  Before Simone could respond, headlights appeared in her rearview mirror.

  A car pulled up behind them. Blocked them in.

  Adrian's car.

  Two figures stepped out.

  Scene 6

  6:23 AM

  Simon got out of Simone's car before Adrian and Ryder reached them.

  Stood between them and Simone's door.

  Adrian approached slowly. Ryder flanked him on the left. Both of them moving like predators. Controlled. Precise.

  "Move, Simon," Adrian said. His voice was calm. Too calm.

  "No."

  "She's going to the FBI. She's ending everything."

  "I know."

  "And you're protecting her?"

  "Yes."

  Inside the car, Simone watched in terror. Her phone in her hand, 911 already dialed but not sent.

  Ryder stepped forward. "You're really doing this? After everything we've been through? Three years, Simon. Three years of planning. Of executing perfectly. And you're throwing it away for her?"

  "I'm not throwing it away. It was already over. The moment we killed Mustang, it was over."

  "It's over when we say it's over," Ryder shot back.

  Adrian pulled something from his jacket.

  A gun.

  Mustang's service weapon. They'd kept it.

  He pointed it at Simon.

  "Move."

  Simon didn't move.

  "You won't shoot me."

  "Won't I?"

  "If you do, you lose your only chance at running. The FBI is probably looking for us already. Every second you waste here is a second closer to getting caught."

  Adrian's hand was steady on the weapon.

  "Then we have nothing to lose."

  The standoff stretched. Five seconds. Ten.

  Then: sirens.

  Distant but getting closer. Multiple vehicles.

  Adrian's eyes flicked toward the sound.

  "They found us," Ryder said.

  Adrian lowered the gun. Not out of mercy. Out of calculation.

  "This isn't over, Simon."

  "Yes it is."

  Adrian and Ryder ran back to their car. Engine roared to life. They peeled out, tires screeching.

  Simon turned to Simone's car.

  "Drive," he said through the window. "Now. Get to the FBI."

  "What about you?"

  "I'm done running."

  Simone stared at him. This boy who'd killed eleven people. Who'd just confessed everything. Who'd stood between her and death.

  "Simon—"

  "Go. Please."

  The sirens were getting louder.

  Simone hit the gas. The car lurched forward. She didn't look back.

  Simon stood on the sidewalk. Alone.

  Three FBI vehicles screeched around the corner. Lights flashing. Armed agents piling out.

  "SIMON REEVES! ON THE GROUND! NOW!"

  He didn't resist.

  Dropped to his knees. Hands behind his head.

  Agents swarmed him. Handcuffs clicked tight around his wrists.

  Agent Morrison approached. Stood over him.

  "Simon Reeves, you're under arrest for the murders of Jean Mustang, Emma Mitchell, Rick Stanler, Maria Edward, and John Winter. You have the right to remain silent..."

  Simon didn't hear the rest.

  It was over.

  For him, at least.

  Scene 7

  7:04 AM

  Adrian drove like a man possessed.

  Seventy miles per hour through residential streets. Running red lights. Cutting through alleyways.

  "Where are we going?" Ryder asked. His voice was tight. Panicked.

  "Mexico. If we can get across the border—"

  "With what money? What IDs? They'll have roadblocks up within the hour."

  Adrian didn't answer. Because there was no answer. They had two hundred dollars in cash between them. No fake IDs. No plan beyond run.

  The police radio scanner app crackled to life:

  "All units, be advised. Simon Reeves is in custody. Repeat: one of three suspects in custody. Adrian Winters and Ryder Morrison still at large. Consider armed and extremely dangerous. Roadblocks established on all major arteries..."

  Ryder punched the dashboard. "FUCK!"

  Adrian's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

  Three years of perfect planning. Three years of never making a mistake. All of it collapsing in one morning.

  Because of Mustang. Because of Simone. Because of Simon's betrayal.

  "We ditch the car," Adrian said. "Go on foot. Lay low until—"

  "Until what? They have our DNA. Our names. Our faces all over the news by now."

  Adrian pulled into an abandoned warehouse district. Industrial buildings, most of them empty or condemned. He killed the engine.

  "We hide. We wait. We figure something out."

  They got out of the car. Ran into the nearest warehouse. Rusted metal, broken windows, graffiti covering every surface.

  In the distance: helicopters. The rhythmic thump of rotors getting closer.

  "They're searching from the air," Ryder said.

  Adrian looked around the warehouse. No back exit. No tunnels. No escape.

  They were trapped.

  Scene 8

  8:15 AM

  The helicopters had found them.

  Thermal imaging picked up two heat signatures inside the warehouse. FBI ground units surrounded the building within minutes.

  Agent Morrison stood behind an armored vehicle, megaphone in hand.

  "Adrian Winters. Ryder Morrison. This is the FBI. You are completely surrounded. There is no way out. Come out with your hands up."

  Inside the warehouse, Adrian and Ryder crouched behind old machinery.

  Adrian still had Mustang's gun. Six rounds left.

  "We could fight," Ryder said. His voice was hollow. "Go out on our terms."

  Adrian stared at the weapon in his hand.

  For the first time in his life, he had no plan. No control. No way out.

  He thought about the last three years. The planning. The kills. The perfect execution. Rick Stanler. Maria Edward. John Winter. Emma Mitchell. Jean Mustang.

  All of it for nothing.

  "No," he said quietly.

  "What?"

  "We don't go out fighting. That's what they expect. That's what they want."

  "Then what do we do?"

  Adrian ejected the magazine from Mustang's gun. Let it fall to the floor.

  "We survive. In prison, we survive. We plan. And maybe—maybe—we find a way out."

  Morrison's voice echoed through the megaphone again:

  "You have thirty seconds to exit the building. Hands up. No weapons. If you do not comply, we will use force."

  Adrian looked at Ryder.

  "It's over. For now."

  They walked to the warehouse entrance. Hands raised. Empty.

  Stepped out into blinding sunlight.

  Fifty FBI agents. Weapons drawn. Helicopters overhead. News cameras rolling from safe distance.

  "ON THE GROUND! NOW!"

  They dropped to their knees. Then to their stomachs. Hands behind their heads.

  Agents swarmed them. Handcuffs. Pat-downs. Rights being read.

  As they were led to separate vehicles, Adrian caught sight of the news helicopters. Cameras broadcasting live.

  Their faces. Their capture. Everything exposed.

  The perfect killers. Caught.

  Agent Morrison walked past Adrian as he was being loaded into the vehicle.

  "It's over, Adrian."

  He met her gaze. Didn't blink.

  "Not yet."

  Scene 9

  8:47 AM

  Simone sat in an FBI interview room, still shaking.

  She'd driven straight to the field office. Told them everything. Given them her timeline document. Her notes. Her observations.

  And she'd told them about Simon's confession.

  Agent Morrison sat across from her, taking notes.

  "Simon Reeves confessed to you?" Morrison asked. "To Mustang's murder?"

  "Yes. This morning. He said they killed him. That he got shot during the fight."

  "And he warned you? About Adrian and Ryder?"

  Simone nodded. Tears streaming down her face.

  "He tried to protect me. From them."

  Morrison exchanged a look with Chen.

  "Simone, all three suspects are in custody. Simon surrendered. Adrian and Ryder were captured. You're safe now."

  Safe.

  The word felt foreign. Wrong.

  She'd spent four months investigating Emma's disappearance. Four months noticing patterns, asking questions, getting close to the truth.

  And the truth was: three of her classmates were serial killers. And one of them had developed feelings for her.

  She didn't feel safe. She felt destroyed.

  "What happens now?" she asked.

  "Now we build the case. Your testimony will be crucial at trial. We'll need you to testify about what Simon told you. About the patterns you noticed. Everything."

  Simone closed her eyes.

  Trial. Testimony. Reliving all of this in front of cameras and juries and the families of the victims.

  It wasn't over.

  It was just beginning.

  Scene 10

  9:15 AM

  Every news channel in America was covering the story.

  BREAKING: THREE TEENAGE SERIAL KILLERS ARRESTED IN LOS ANGELES

  Footage of Adrian and Ryder being led out of the warehouse in handcuffs. Simon's arrest earlier that morning. Mugshots. Yearbook photos.

  Reporters scrambling for details:

  "Seventeen years old... honor students... no one suspected... connected to at least five murders including LAPD Detective Jean Mustang..."

  Sarah Mitchell watched the coverage from her living room, phone in hand. She'd already gotten the call from FBI. They'd caught them. The boys who killed her daughter.

  She didn't feel relief. Just exhaustion.

  At the FBI field office, agents were processing the suspects. Separate cells. No communication allowed.

  Adrian Winters: silent. Lawyer already called. Giving nothing.

  Ryder Morrison: angry. Demanding his rights. Threatening lawsuits.

  Simon Reeves: cooperative. Answering questions. Already negotiating a plea deal.

  Agent Morrison stood in the observation room, watching Simon through one-way glass.

  He looked small. Broken. Nothing like the methodical killer Mustang had described.

  But she'd seen the evidence. The blood. The bodies. The perfect frames.

  He was exactly what Mustang had described. Just better at hiding it.

  Chen appeared at her shoulder.

  "What do you think? Will he testify against the others?"

  "He's already started. Gave us details on all eleven murders. Locations. Methods. Everything."

  "Why? Why turn on them?"

  Morrison watched Simon. Saw him staring at his hands.

  "Guilt," she said finally. "Or the closest thing to it he's capable of feeling."

  Outside, news vans surrounded the field office. Reporters shouting questions.

  The story was just beginning.

  Trial. Testimony. Media circus. Public outrage.

  Three teenage killers. Eleven victims. One detective who'd died trying to stop them.

  And somewhere in a cell, Adrian Winters stared at the concrete wall.

  Planning.

  Always planning.

  This isn't over, he thought. Not even close.