HOPE
What the actual fuck…
I resist the overwhelming urge to hurl my phone across the room, opting instead to clamp it in a death grip and slam my fist into the mattress, which, unsurprisingly, feels about as satisfying as punching a bowl of mashed potatoes.
So, I pace. Back and forth. Like a caged animal.
Five minutes later I try again to do something productive—like dig up any new information on this fellow—but the internet gives me the same handful of breadcrumbs it's been offering for almost thirty minutes: a missing hiker, children assaulted, a body pulled out of a ravine, a car dredged… everything. All tragic. His only victims are women.
Whatever the officials saw in this room to have sent that message that screamed *serial killer and pedo* must've been some sixth-sense bullshit, because nothing here adds up. I'm starting to think they sent us on a wild goose chase just to fuck with us.
