Chapter 2Valentine's Nightmare at the Cinema

I was taken downtown. The interrogation room at the precinct felt even more suffocating than the theater.

The cold, sterile light of the fluorescent bulbs illuminated every corner of the room, and every flicker of expression on my face. The officers questioning me now were from the Homicide Division.

One was a middle-aged man, Detective Miller, with eyes as sharp as a hawk’s and an unshakeable calm. Next to him, a young female officer, Davis, took notes.

"Ms. Brooks," Miller began, his voice even but carrying an undeniable weight. "Walk me through what happened last night again. Don't leave out a single detail, no matter how insignificant you think it is."

I took a deep breath, fighting to control the tremors running through me, and started from the moment we entered the theater, recounting everything up to the bizarre black-and-white film.

I described every detail I could remember: the grainy, low-resolution quality of the picture, the lack of a soundtrack—only ambient noise—and the soft shhhk, shhhk of the masked man sharpening his blade. I even remembered how he’d looked up at one point, straight into the camera, his smiling mask seeming to pierce through the screen and stare right into the audience…

"You said he looked at the camera?" Miller seized on the detail.

I nodded, my throat tight. "Yes… it felt like he was looking right at us…"

"When did you fall asleep?"

"Maybe twenty minutes after the movie started? I’m not sure…"

"And after you fell asleep? You were completely out? You didn't hear any unusual sounds? Feel any vibrations? Smell anything strange?"

I searched my memory. "I think… I think I had a short dream. I heard this heavy, rhythmic thudding? Like something banging against a wall… but I fell back into a deep sleep."

"As for smells… right before I drifted off, I think I smelled something faintly sweet, kind of like almond brittle…"

At that, Miller’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. He nodded at Officer Davis.

She held up a clear evidence bag containing my noise-canceling headphones.

"Ms. Brooks, your headphones are the XN-5 model. They feature active noise cancellation and a 30-hour battery life. We checked—they still have over 60% charge."

Miller’s gaze returned to me. "Our tech department ran a test," he said slowly. "At that power level, the noise-cancellation is more than capable of blocking out the operational hum of a vintage film projector."

My heart clenched.

"However," he continued, his tone shifting, "it can't completely block out strong, low-frequency physical vibrations. For instance, a heavy object striking a wall."

I stared at him, confused. What was he saying? That the thudding in my dream was real?

His gaze pinned me in place. "According to the preliminary M.E. report, most of the victims suffered multiple blunt-force trauma wounds to the head. The weapon is believed to be a vintage fire axe that was mounted as a decoration in the back of the theater."

He paused. "The old fingerprints on the handle had been wiped clean, but the blade itself showed clear, fresh marks of recent use."

A cold sweat drenched my back. A fire axe? In the back of the theater? That was right near where I was sitting.

"As for the almond brittle smell…" Miller leaned forward slightly. "That’s a common scent for a high-concentration inhalant anesthetic mixed with a cyanide derivative."

"It induces rapid unconsciousness and, eventually, asphyxiation."

"Interestingly, we found the remains of a dispersal device inside the air conditioning vent. It could have been triggered by a simple timer. Or… a remote control."

A remote?

"Ms. Brooks, besides your phone, did you have any other electronic devices with you last night?"

"No… nothing!" I said quickly.

"Oh?" Miller slid a crime scene photo across the table. It showed a small, black, matchbox-sized device, like a tiny power bank or Bluetooth receiver.

"We found this wedged deep in the cushions of your seat. It's a modified, high-powered micro-transmitter. One of its frequency channels is a perfect match for the receiver on the dispersal device in the vent."

My mind went completely blank.

"That's not mine! I've never seen that before in my life!"

"But it was under your seat, Ms. Brooks," Miller’s voice turned to ice. "And it had only one person’s fingerprints on it. Yours."