Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 848 - 850

Chapter 848: Chapter 850

He turned the glass slowly in his hand and thought of Mara. She had texted him once since she left. Just one line. "I hope you’re okay." No questions, no accusations, no attempts to return. He hadn’t replied. He didn’t know how. She deserved more than he could offer, and she had made that painfully clear the night she walked out. Jude had always believed that people like him weren’t meant for happy endings, but what stung was that Mara had started to believe that too.

The door of the bar opened and a gust of wind rolled in, making a few napkins flutter off the counter. A figure entered, trench coat brushing his knees, eyes scanning the room until they landed on Jude. Without invitation, the man walked over and took the seat across from him. Jude didn’t look up right away. He already knew who it was.

"Elias," Jude said after a pause, finishing the last of his drink.

"You’ve been hiding," Elias replied. His voice was lower than usual, weighted with something that didn’t sit right.

"I’m not hiding," Jude muttered. "I’m waiting."

"For what?"

Jude didn’t answer. Elias let the silence stretch. He was good at that, letting people fill it with their own confessions. But Jude didn’t flinch. Not anymore. They had known each other too long, through too many failed operations, through blood and broken promises. What bound them wasn’t friendship, it was survival. And guilt.

"You should come see this," Elias said eventually, dropping a small photograph on the table between them. It was folded, slightly torn at the edges, and stained with something brown. Jude stared at it. A warehouse. But not just any warehouse. He recognized the rust patterns, the overhead structure, and the old rail tracks leading out of it.

"Where was this taken?"

"Three days ago," Elias said. "North end. The one we burned down two years ago."

Jude leaned back, his jaw tightening. "We didn’t burn it. They did. We just watched."

Elias gave a half-smile. "Does it matter who lit the match?"

"What’s inside?"

"People," Elias said. "Or what’s left of them."

Jude’s hand curled into a fist under the table. "You think it’s him?"

"I don’t know. But it smells like him."

They didn’t say his name. They never did. The man had a name once, but over time it had become a whisper of dread, associated with missing children, burned bodies, and shattered neighborhoods. Once part of their team, now a ghost with blood on his hands.

Jude stood abruptly. The stool screeched against the floor. The bartender looked over but said nothing. Elias followed without a word as Jude marched out into the night. The cold slapped him awake, cutting through the heat of the bar and the fog of his mind. Elias unlocked the car and they got in, the silence settling again as the engine started.

As they drove, the city blurred past them. Jude watched the familiar streets with an unfamiliar ache. Every alley seemed to have a memory. Every streetlight flicker reminded him of someone he’d failed. The warehouse was on the outskirts, near the broken part of town no one claimed anymore. A graveyard of dreams, Elias used to call it. A place where even hope had forgotten its way home.

When they arrived, Jude saw the caution tape flapping in the wind, half torn and useless. The building stood like a carcass, charred, skeletal, and full of shadows. They parked a few feet away and walked the rest. Elias handed Jude a flashlight, but he didn’t turn it on immediately. He stood at the threshold, breathing in the air thick with ash and something else, something metallic and wrong.

They entered quietly. The floor groaned under their weight. Rats scurried somewhere in the distance. Elias moved ahead, flashlight sweeping side to side, until it landed on something slumped against a pillar. Jude’s stomach twisted. A body. No, two. Tied together. Skin pale, lips blue, eyes wide open as if the horror had followed them into death.

"Same pattern," Elias said softly. "He always makes them watch each other die."

Jude crouched down, inspecting the ropes. They were old, but the knots were precise, surgical. And around the corpses were scattered cards. Tarot. Just like last time. He picked one up.

"The Hanged Man," he muttered.

Elias looked over his shoulder. "He’s leaving us messages now."

"No," Jude said. "He’s taunting us."

There was movement above. A faint creak from the rafters. They both froze. Jude drew his gun, and Elias raised his light. But nothing came. The silence returned, thicker than before.

"We need to go," Elias whispered. "I’ll call it in."

Jude stayed a moment longer. He stared at the bodies, then the card in his hand. The Hanged Man. Sacrifice. Suspension. Surrender. He didn’t believe in signs, but this one was hard to ignore.

Back outside, the wind had picked up. Clouds rolled in like smoke, swallowing the stars. Elias lit a cigarette, cupping it from the wind. Jude didn’t smoke, but he stood close, drawing what warmth he could.

"You still have contacts in the south?" Jude asked after a long silence.

"Some," Elias replied. "You thinking what I’m thinking?"

"If he’s back," Jude said, "then the others will follow."

Elias didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. They had seen it before. One monster never came alone. They were like wolves, one howl was enough to call the rest.

"Start making calls," Jude said, walking toward the car. "We don’t have much time."

Elias nodded and flicked the cigarette away, the embers vanishing in the wind.

They drove back into the city, but neither of them felt like they were going home. There was no home anymore. Just battlegrounds. And the lines were already being drawn.

Later that night, Jude stood on the roof of his apartment building. Below, the city lights flickered like a map of all the lives he couldn’t protect. He held the tarot card in his hand, running his thumb over its rough surface. He remembered the last time he saw that symbol. It was painted in blood on a mirror. And the girl who saw it never stopped screaming, until she stopped breathing.