Detective Thompson stormed into his office, his steps heavy with frustration. With a forceful slam, he shut the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the room and rattling the windows in their frames.

"Fuck!" he shouted, pounding his fists against his desk.

Months of relentless investigation had led nowhere. Each lead turned out to be a dead end, leaving him feeling defeated and drained. The elusive serial murderer seemed to taunt him from the shadows, slipping through his fingers time and time again. It was a maddening game of cat and mouse, and Thompson was running out of patience.

He couldn't shake the nagging question from his mind: was this truly the calculated vengeance of a simple, scorned woman or the meticulous work of a seasoned serial killer? The lines between the two blurred with each day, leaving him grasping at straws in a maze of uncertainty.

With a heavy sigh, he sank into his chair, the weight of the case bearing down on him like a ton of bricks. His shoulders slumped forward as he stared at the clutter of files surrounding him, each one a reminder of the countless hours spent chasing empty leads. Overwhelmed, he buried his face in his hands, seeking solace from the relentless barrage of unanswered questions.

The elusive nature of their suspect was nothing short of frustrating. She seemed to possess an uncanny ability to evade detection, slipping through their fingers time and time again. She knew when to avoid the cameras, when to keep her head down, and when to strike. It was clear that she meticulously scoped out each crime scene in advance, carefully planning her every move to minimize the risk of being caught.

She always changed her features and disguise and adapted her demeanor to her surroundings, making it nearly impossible to track her down. It was as if she had mastered the art of invisibility, slipping through the cracks of their investigation with ease.

Each time they thought they had a lead based on physical characteristics, it would crumble under scrutiny. Most, if not all, of the information they gathered failed to align. Shoe sizes, body measurements, facial attributes—all of it was inconsistent across crime scenes. 

It was akin to chasing shadows; you knew they were there, and you could see them, but try as you might, you couldn't grasp them.

Thompson heaved a sigh, massaging his forehead. His gaze wandered upward, drawn to an unfamiliar, red envelope that had found its way onto his cluttered desk. It smelled of roses and scribbled on its surface was a single line: "To the ones who failed me."

The detective sprung up, his heart racing as he shakily tore it open.

"Hello, detective.

I'm the girl who was kidnapped and raped by five men.

I have executed my judgment on my rapists, and I've sentenced them to death. I couldn't rely on you to deliver the justice these monsters deserved, since you've failed me more than you should. I had to take matters into my own hands and deliver my form of justice to my assailants. I couldn't rely on you to ensure they faced the consequences they deserved.

They extinguished my dreams, desecrated my body, and shattered my soul. They stripped away even the faintest glimmer of happiness and joy from my existence. I was left hollow, a mere shell of a person. I continue to exist but without purpose or vitality. It's as if I'm merely going through the motions of life, devoid of true feeling or emotion. 

Perhaps this is how zombies are made.

You may not be aware, but allow me to enlighten you. I sought help from the police the moment my violated body was discarded on the sidewalk, after enduring three agonizing days that gnawed away at my sanity. I turned to you, hoping for solace and justice, only to be met with indifference and disrespect. My emotions and mental state were dismissed, and I was treated as an inconvenience, an unwanted burden to be dealt with. 

The authorities didn't believe my story. They couldn't even feign concern or attempt to offer assistance and comfort.

The shop owner and cab driver who encountered me initially showed me more kindness and respect than you ever did. I'll never forget them, and shall forever be grateful for them. Without their compassion and support, I wouldn't have had the strength to gather myself and make it to the police station, where you broke me once more, past the threshold of no return.

Know this: YOU forced me to seek my own justice. You and those five monsters were complicit in the murder of my former, hopeful self.

I was left alone to grapple with the aftermath of three consecutive days of violation, without respite. I couldn't confide in anyone, and I haven't. Perhaps this will only frustrate you further, but I managed everything on my own. 

Amazing, aren't I?

Consider it a job well done, albeit perhaps more extreme than you would have pursued, or should have. But let's look on the bright side: five fewer monsters roam this planet now.

I'm sure plenty of girls would thank me, the other ones you have failed, just like me. This letter is accompanied by information regarding the rapists' other crimes. There, I did your job for you again. You're welcome."

Thompson exhaled deeply, his hold tightening around the flimsy paper as he glanced at the flash disk that had slipped out of the envelope when he opened it. With a shaky inhale, he continued reading.

"Amidst all the chaos of seeking revenge and battling my crumbling sanity, I managed to complete my studies. Yes, I am a student. Or perhaps I was, it's hard to say now. But humans never cease to learn, do they? Just as I've learned firsthand the incompetence of the police, you too have learned the tenacity of a simple broken girl.

'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'

It seems I'm confiding a lot in you, Detective. Perhaps it's the liberation that comes with letting go of the burden of revenge... or maybe I find solace in finally confiding my pain and secrets to a stranger.

There's a strange comfort in that, don't you think?

So, I'll share one more thing with you.

I've also discovered that a tiny fetus is growing inside me. I don't know who the father is, and frankly, I don't wish to. I've contemplated abortion, but I could never bring myself to step into the clinic. It's ironic, isn't it? I've always been pro-life. Trust me, I never imagined I'd find myself in a situation like this...never thought I'd end up taking lives, let alone five. But life has a funny way of steering us down unexpected paths.

This unborn child is innocent. Despite the darkness I've been consumed by, I still hold onto a stronger moral compass than most. Yes, I'm referring to you, silly police officers, protecting rapists. I've lost my innocence in the most horrendous manner imaginable, yet I can't bring myself to harm a pure soul. This child may have been conceived in sin, but they bear no responsibility for it. 

They're blameless, aren't they? Just like I was. I didn't ask to be kidnapped and raped. I didn't provoke anyone. I was dressed in the most unnoticeable and unflattering outfit a girl could wear.

It wasn't my fault.

Why should this fetus be held accountable for my misfortune and their heinous actions?

Throughout my vengeance spree, I've convinced myself that I was acting for the greater good, ridding the world of monsters. It was what fueled me, what kept me going. But how could I justify ending the life of an innocent soul? It would strip away my last shred of righteousness, leaving me no better than those I sought to punish.

I would no longer have an excuse. I would no longer lie to myself that I was better than them.

I must apologize for the length of this letter, it wasn't my initial intention. I'm not sure why I decided to write to you in the first place. However, once I started, I couldn't seem to stop. I've kept everything bottled up for too long, Detective. If I didn't let it out, I was afraid I would explode.

I returned home, by the way. I roamed the familiar streets, slept in my bed, and shared laughter and meals with my family. Despite the semblance of normalcy, I still felt hollow inside. Yet, it was a good opportunity to recharge, to rid myself of some of the negativity that had dug its claws into my heart. Then, I left with a fake smile and a murky picture of my future.

You're the first and only person who knows I'm pregnant. I haven't told anyone else, and I can never tell anyone. It would devastate my parents and shatter the dreams they have for me. I'll bear this burden alone, but I wanted you to share it with me, even from a distance.

So, if or when I falter, I'll take solace in knowing that someone, even from afar, knows and remembers.

At least, even if you've failed me before, you'll help me in this regard.

Farewell, Detective. I sincerely hope you don't let down other victims, and that you increase patrols around educational facilities. It's a shame that such measures were only taken when you were searching for me, rather than to prevent tragic attacks on innocent civilians from occurring in the first place.

By the time you read this letter, the plane will have already taken me to a distant country where I'll start anew, creating a new life for myself and my child. Somewhere where no one knows who I am, or the mental baggage I carry with me.

But...

Did you know, Detective? Petals fall once, never twice.

Cheers, 

The rapee,

The one who didn't fail to deliver justice."

Detective Thompson sunk into his chair, his hands quivering as silent droplets slithered down his cheeks. A single tear splashed onto the letter, causing the ink of a word to blur slightly where hers must have smudged it.

Although it was typed and printed, another smart move on her part to avoid the analysis of her handwriting, the pain and raw emotions it conveyed overwhelmed him beyond measure. And, instead of anger, he found himself grappling with the suffocating weight of empathy, realizing the depth of the trauma this young woman had endured. 

Despite the calculated nature of her actions, he couldn't help but feel profound sorrow for her suffering.

Leaning back in his seat, Thompson sighed, his shoulders sinking with the weight of the letter's contents. Deep in thought, he absentmindedly waved the paper around until something on its back caught his eye. Frowning, he flipped it over, and his expression changed from confusion to amusement as laughter bubbled up from deep within him.

"Sorry for further dampening your morale, but I really, really, REALLY, love crime shows, mysteries, and thriller movies. I may have bested you this time, but who knows? Perhaps one day, you'll track me down. Or maybe we'll cross paths again at some point in our lives, Detective. I hope the police will be doing better by then."

Reynolds burst into the room, startled by his boss' sudden laughter. "What's up, old man? You sounded pretty ticked off a minute ago."

Thompson sighed, setting down the letter. "Nothing. I was just thinking how we were outsmarted by a silly, crime fiction fanatic."

"Huh?"

Ignoring his colleague's confusion, he tossed him the flash disk. "Take this and get it analyzed. We've got a lot of work to do." Then, he stood up and stretched before heading after him. "I'll catch you, someday, Miss Petals."

The end.

Word count: 1971.

Total word count: 22379.