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Damien arrived at the Hayeston library at dusk, the cooling sky reminding him of the few nights before when the killer escaped his chase. He replayed the moments before Darlene was set on fire, knowing he had the opportunity to act, but didn’t. That night, following procedure, obeying the rules of engagement as defined by the police force, cost Darlene her life.

As much as the guilt ebbed through him, he also knew he wasn’t a vigilante.

He had to get eyes on the perpetrator, determine the risk, identify the location of the victim, and make sure, if gunplay was involved, she wasn’t in the line of fire. All those decisions needed to be made, each one adding seconds between his instinct and his duty.

The end result was a dead teen and another trophy for the serial killer.

Damien knew the only way he could make it right was to bring the killer to justice. He hoped what was in the library would do just that.

He entered through the automatic doors of the single story red brick building and approached the desk of the librarian, Mrs. Kennisaw. She’d been working at the library since Damien and Jacob went there for after school programs as kids. A much younger Mrs. Kennisaw would read to the children who needed somewhere to go between elementary school and when their parents got home.

Mrs. Kennisaw was Damien’s first crush. Decades ago, she had shoulder length brown hair, porcelain skin and smiling eyes that welcomed him every day after school. Her voice was gentle and soft, a stark difference from his home life. She knew all the children by name and found ways to engage each of them every afternoon.

Now, nearly twenty years later, her hair had prominent streaks of gray and her skin was dotted with age spots, but the smile in her eyes greeted him this evening as it had all those years before.

“Good evening, Damien,” she said. “Good evening, Mrs. Kennisaw.”

“Your old enough now to call me Gracie.”

Damien smiled and shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. You’ll always be Mrs. Kennisaw to me.”

“I’ll take it as a sign of respect instead of you just calling me old,” she said with a laugh.

“That’s the way I intended it.”

“You always were a good boy.”

“No,” Damien said. “Jacob was the good boy. I was a trouble maker.”

“With a good heart,” she added. “A very good heart.

Now, what can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you could help me find all the news articles from the Hayeston Herald about the murders tied to Mark Kent. And any other sources you have here.”

“In most towns, I’d send you to a computer and show you how to search through digitized copies of old documents, but we haven’t had the budget for that, so you’re going to have to be patient with me while I get those news- papers and magazines from our archive.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, dear. Just take a seat and I’ll have it out to you shortly.”

Damien popped a cola out of a vending machine and guzzled it down as he paced outside the door of the archive room. A few minutes later, Mrs. Kennisaw opened the door, carrying a stack of yellowed newspapers and ten year old magazines.

“Maybe I could use your help after all,” she said.

Damien took the heavy magazines from the top of her stack and led her to a nearby table. She placed the newspapers in front of his seat and patted him on his back as he sat. “Good luck,” she said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Me too,” he said.

Damien glanced at the first newspaper, thinking of how much had changed since Mark’s arrest. Back then news was printed daily. Even though the internet was established, a decade ago most of people’s lives weren’t posted in social media sites and smart phones were a new phenomenon.

And yet, as Damien flipped through the Hayeston Herald, he hoped the print in these old papers would help him solve the murders occurring today. He skimmed past advertisements for television shows he used to watch, cars he wanted to buy, and movies to which he took Raquel when they first dated.

Another time. Another life.

The headlines of Mark’s crime grew in size each week, as did the hysteria in the town. The beat writer for the stories was also the Herald’s owner, Chuck Harrison. Long since passed, his writing captured both the fascination and excitement of a small town discovering its first serial killer.

The regional and national magazines regurgitated most of what Harrison had written, adding connections to fictional killers like Jason from the Friday the 13th movies and Michael Meyers from Halloween. It was easy for them to play Hayeston’s tragedy as entertainment. Their daughters weren’t at risk.

As a journalist, Harrison was as diligent as Sanders was as a detective.

Having read Sanders’ notes and, now, Harrison’s reporting, Damien could see they must have worked together to try to force Mark out into the open, either from public pressure or awareness.

No one was better connected with the Hayeston PD than Harrison. No doubt the local television station relied heavily on his work as well.

At his prison cell, Mark had mentioned he read and watched every story about his murders. Having gone through the material available to Mark at the time, Damien finally understood what he had.

Damien figured out what Hayeston’s new serial killer knew and what made Mark’s fan so special.