Abigail's limbs were stiff as she slowly walked step by step along the street.
Even though the cold metal had already left her temple, the terrifying closeness to death still made her heart race. She didn't have to look back to know that the gun was just a short distance from her waist. The killer was obviously clever, not raising the gun to point at her head to avoid suspicion from passersby.
At this moment, the man in the black hoodie, reeking of a strange stench, was holding her arm as if walking affectionately by her side.
He lowered his voice so much that even if someone passed by and saw them, it would just look like a couple whispering sweet nothings in the middle of the night.
His voice, damp and foul-smelling, came close to her ear: "Anna, I've been so good to you. What's wrong? Why have you been avoiding me? You blocked all my messages and calls, even moved away. I don't understand. Why?"
He muttered, almost in a fit of rage: "And why did you go to that place today? Who were you going to meet? Have you moved on? Have you found someone new? I'll tell you, he's not good enough for you!"
Although Abigail had no idea who Anna was, she could more or less guess the man's identity.
This was probably the infamous "White Hunter" serial killer, the one who had dominated the headlines of The New York Times for an entire week.
The name was simple enough, because he only targeted young women between the ages of 18 and 25, and only those wearing white.
Abigail bitterly looked at her own white fishtail dress. This man, whose crimes were committed in silence, had already killed seventeen girls without leaving a trace, and that was only the confirmed number. Recently, the serial murders in New York had terrified everyone. The number of girls wearing white had drastically dropped. Abigail, unfortunately, had chosen the most ill-timed day to wear her white dress.
She had considered whether this outfit was too dangerous when she left her home, but soon dismissed the thought. It was her most beautiful dress, and she remembered the look of amazement Peter had when he saw her in it. It had been a long time since she and Peter had spent time together, and she hoped this dress would give her 21st birthday a touch of beauty.
What girl wouldn't want to look her best in front of someone she liked?
And she had jokingly thought to herself as she left, which killer would be brave enough to kidnap someone right under Spider-Man's nose?
Looking back, that naïve thought seemed rather ridiculous.
A bitter pang filled Abigail's chest, but she didn't have the luxury of blaming Peter for not showing up on time. Right now, what mattered was escaping.
The man who had abducted her lowered his voice, almost desperately repeating in her ear: "Anna, why did you betray me? Why?"
Abigail's mind was sharp, and she quickly understood. Not only did he mistake her for Anna, but he seemed incapable of telling the difference between the two of them.
That meant he was probably in a manic state, his mind completely unhinged.
Abigail quickly scanned the surroundings. There was no hope of help. Even if Peter arrived in time, he wouldn't be able to reach her faster than the killer's gun. Abigail was angry, but she didn't want to die.
Although she was safe for now, based on the man's behavior, if she followed him to wherever he was taking her, the only possible outcome was—
To meet the same fate as the previous seventeen girls: tortured, killed, dismembered, and thrown into a river.
The black vehicle ahead was her destination. Abigail knew all too well that once she entered that car, there would be no turning back.
Step by step, he was guiding her to it.
The killer beside her eagerly opened the car door and gently said, "Anna, stop being angry. Come back home with me."
His gaze was full of warmth, and it made Abigail's back crawl.
Damn it, she had to think of something—anything—to get out of this.
The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a look of wounded sorrow. Hidden in the darkness, his eyes suddenly flashed with sharpness as he asked, his voice tinged with sadness: "Anna, don't you want to come with me?"
Of course not!
Abigail forced a light smile, pretending to be casual: "Darling, I left something back at the restaurant."
The man's confused eyes fixed on her, apparently not detecting any anxiety in her face. He reached out and gently touched her cheek, whispering, "I'll buy it for you later. Let's go home now."
The moment his strange, fetid hand brushed her face, a chill swept through Abigail. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and her scalp prickled.
Her smile became stiff, like a poorly made-up doll.
The killer's thumb briefly pressed her lips before slowly brushing her cheek.
Abigail instantly realized what he was doing. Even though she couldn't see herself at that moment, she knew the lipstick would spread from her lips all the way to her ear—just like all the other dead girls, their mouths slit open in a gruesome smile.
Fear and despair crept into her heart.
Peter… Peter!
Just then, her phone suddenly rang, cutting through the eerie silence of the night.
The killer's dazed expression vanished in an instant. His eyes grew sharp and cold. He grabbed Abigail's throat and slammed her against the car, muttering in a low voice: "Are you on a date with someone else? I knew it. You wouldn't be sitting by the window alone at night. You were waiting for someone, weren't you? Who are you waiting for?"
Abigail struggled, unable to make a sound, gasping for air.
The man suddenly released her throat, his voice low and incredulous: "Do you have a new lover?"
Abigail collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
How strange…
How strange…
Just as she was on the verge of suffocating, she felt an almost terrifying power gathering in her palm.
But the moment she hit the ground, it all vanished.
Before Abigail could think any further, the man grabbed her again, forcing her against the car, practically pressing the phone to her face: "Answer the phone. Now!"
Abigail took the phone.
The "White Hunter" clicked the safety on his gun with a sharp sound and pressed it against her stomach. "If he finds out I'm here, you're dead."
Abigail took a deep breath and answered the call.
Peter's anxious voice came through, sounding as if he was rushing to apologize: "Abigail, really, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you wait so long. Can I explain?"
The cold metal of the gun pressed against Abigail's stomach. The killer's burning, furious eyes were only inches away.
Abigail forced a helpless laugh: "Sorry, but I don't think I can listen to your explanation."
Peter said urgently: "Where are you now? I'll come find you right away, okay?"
Looking into the killer's eyes, Abigail did her best to make her voice steady: "No."
Peter continued anxiously: "I can tell you're angry, but it's too late now. It's not safe for you to be out there alone. Even if you're still mad at me and don't want to listen to my explanation, let me at least take you home, okay?"
Abigail said: "I'm not angry."
I'm just scared. Desperate.
The killer seemed to be enraged. He couldn't tolerate his "Anna" having another man, and he forgot to hide his rage. He asked Abigail: "Who is he?"
Peter, on the other end, immediately tensed when he heard the man's voice and asked urgently: "Abigail! Are you in trouble?"
The cold metal of the gun pressed against Abigail's temple.
She did her best to calm down and answered in a voice as even as possible: "No one. Just some man I don't know."
Peter was taken aback. "You… you're in danger, aren't you? Where are you? Who was that voice just now?"
Abigail glanced at the narrow alley. It was blocked off at the other end, and even Spider-Man wouldn't be able to spot them from above.
The cold metal made her shiver, and the man suddenly laughed. His bloodshot eyes gleamed menacingly in the night: "Since you won't tell him who I am, don't you want to say it now?"
He seemed to be boasting about his victory.
Abigail took a deep breath, and despair spread from deep within her.
Staring at the tiny light on her phone, she quietly said: "Lover."
Peter on the other end clearly didn't believe her, but he continued urgently: "Don't be afraid. I'll find you right away. I'll find you quickly. Trust me, okay?"
Abigail gritted her teeth and, as per the killer's instructions, answered Peter's question word by word:
"He's my lover."
The man on the other end seemed to find satisfaction, smiling gleefully. He reached out his foul, stinking hand to take the phone, pressing the last bit of light off, snuffing it out into the