She checked the Airbnb’s garage and found shovels and a carrycart, their handles worn but sturdy. Lila, a strong woman whose physical prowess had always been an asset in her job handling large animals like horses and cattle, steadied herself. Her hands trembled as she loaded his limp body into the cart, her muscles flexing with the effort, then transferred him into his own truck parked outside. The rental’s isolated location, far from other houses, proved to be a fortunate convenience at that moment.


She drove into the Nevada desert, the headlights cutting through the endless dark, until she found a remote spot. For hours, she dug a deep hole, her strength allowing her to power through the hard-packed sand, though blisters burned her palms and her mind swirled with a chaotic blur of fear and guilt. She rolled him into the grave, still breathing, and shoveled dirt over him, her powerful arms working steadily as the sound of his shallow gasps faded with each layer. When it was done, she drove his truck to a gas station, hid it in the brush, and hitched a ride back to Vegas, her body shaking with adrenaline. She thought it was over.


But now he was here, alive, and driving her back to the desert. “I saw you kill my sister”, Lila said, her voice breaking. “Emily Harper, 1995. You tortured her. It was you, I watched you take her”.


The man’s grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles white. “I didn’t kill your sister”, he said, his voice low, almost convincing. “My name’s Caleb. I had a twin brother. Identical. He was the killer; raped, tortured, killed girls with that spiked rod. My mother gave birth to twins, but she was told one of us died at birth. Turns out, he didn’t. He grew up in foster care, became a monster. The police called him the Spike Killer. They found his body five years ago, thought it was me at first. Contacted my family, said I was dead. They never even knew his real name”.

Lila’s breath caught. A twin? It sounded too convenient, but the pain in his voice, the way his eyes flickered with shame. It felt real. “You’re saying… it wasn’t you?”


“No”, Caleb said, his tone softening. “I’m sorry about your sister but I have never hurt a fly in my life”. He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Did you tell anyone about me? About what you did?”


Lila shook her head, her voice small. “No. I didn’t think you’d… come back”.

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good”. He turned the truck around, heading back toward Vegas. “Let’s get you home. Your friends are waiting”.


Relief washed over her, though a nagging unease lingered. They started small talk, the tension easing. She told him about the bachelorette party, how Marissa and the others were finally here, ready for a weekend of celebration. He asked about her friends and Lila answered, thinking he was harmless now, just a man wronged by her mistake. She told him about Marissa’s bubbly laugh, Tara’s sarcasm, Jess’s love for dancing,they chatted about their plans in Vegas, and for a moment, she let her guard down.


But she didn’t see the spiked metal rod beneath her seat, its bloodstained tip glinting faintly in the shadows. There was no twin who was found dead. He’d been the Spike Killer all along, hunting girls across Nevada, leaving his signature puncture wounds. And now, with Lila’s friends waiting at the Airbnb, he had new targets. He’d made sure she hadn’t told anyone, and that meant he could finish what she’d started.


Lila didn’t know she was sitting inches from the tool that had killed her sister...


As the truck rumbled toward Vegas, he smiled to himself, already imagining the screams that would echo through the desert tonight.