The Bouncer Slipped A Knife Into My Pocket During The Pat-down And Whispered

Documenting the Truth

I gathered everything up and found an old shoebox in my closet. I put the knife in first, then the photo, the key, the hair sample, and the napkin with the address written on it. I shoved the box under my bed behind some storage bins where Flynn wouldn’t accidentally find it.

I tried to sleep, but kept seeing Ms. Monkowski’s calculating stare and Axel’s desperate eyes. When my alarm finally went off at 6:00, I’d maybe slept two hours total and felt horrible. I got up, grabbed my phone, and retrieved the shoebox from under my bed.

I opened my phone’s camera and started taking pictures, making sure to get multiple angles of everything. I took probably 50 photos total, way more than I needed, but I wanted to make sure I had everything documented. Then I went through my text messages and took screenshots of every message from M.

I uploaded the entire folder to Google Drive first, then to Dropbox, then to OneDrive. If something happened to my phone or someone took it from me, at least the evidence would still exist somewhere. I opened a new text message to M and typed carefully.

“Need more proof before I do anything. No in-person meetings yet. Explain why you chose me.” The message showed as delivered immediately. My phone buzzed before the coffee finished brewing.

M had already responded. The message was short, just three words that somehow made everything more real and more scary at the same time. “You looked kind.”

Roommate Suspicions

Flynn came out of his room around 7:30, still in his pajama pants and a wrinkled shirt. I was sitting at the table with my coffee, trying to look normal and not like someone who’d barely slept and was hiding evidence under their bed. Flynn glanced at me while cracking eggs into a pan.

“You okay? You look rough.” I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug and nodded. “Yeah, just had too much to drink last night. Felt pretty sick.”

Flynn studied me for a second, and I could tell he wasn’t totally buying it, but he didn’t push. “That sucks. You should drink some water and maybe eat something.” The lie sat heavy in my stomach because Flynn and I had always been honest with each other about everything.

Infiltrating Secure Space Storage

After Flynn left for class, I opened my laptop and pulled up the address from the napkin. The place was called Secure Space Storage and looked pretty basic from the photos. I learned that the facility had cameras covering the main gate, the office, and all the hallway areas.

Around 11:00, I got in my car and drove toward the warehouse district. The storage facility sat on the outskirts of town in an industrial area. I drove past the entrance slowly, noting the camera mounted on a pole pointing at the main gate.

I parked near the office and walked inside, trying to look casual and confident. A woman in her 30s sat behind the counter. “Hi there, can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m thinking about renting a unit for some college stuff. Just wanted to check out the place and see what you have available.” The woman, whose name tag said Carly Sanford, pulled out a brochure. I asked about the security system, trying to sound like a concerned customer.

Carly assured me they had cameras throughout the facility that recorded everyone who entered units. “We take security seriously here. The hallway cameras catch everyone coming and going.” I thanked Carly for the information and walked out of the office like I was heading back to my car.

Discovering Unit 7

Instead, I turned toward the nearest storage building and walked inside, following the signs for unit numbers. Unit 7 was about halfway down the first hallway on the right side. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.

I reached Unit 7 and pulled the key from my pocket. It fit perfectly. I turned it and heard a quiet click as the lock disengaged.

I grabbed the door handle and lifted, rolling the door up just enough to duck inside. The space was small, maybe 5×10 ft, with a single overhead bulb that came on automatically. The unit was mostly empty except for a few items against the back wall.

A metal document case with a combination lock sat in the center. Several blank envelopes were stacked next to it. A cheap burner phone sat beside the envelopes, and next to everything was an old-fashioned ledger.

The Ledger of Missing Persons

I picked up the ledger and started flipping through pages filled with columns of dates, initials, and dollar amounts. Some entries had locations written next to them, places like Eclipse VIP and Riverside Suite. I’m taking pictures of every page when my eyes drift up to the hallway outside.

The security camera mounted on the wall is angled perfectly to see directly into my unit. Every single move I’ve made since opening this door has been recorded. My hands start shaking so bad I almost drop my phone.

If Monkowski has any connection to this storage facility, she could already know that someone is in here right now. I force myself to breathe slowly and think clearly. I hear a car door slam outside, and heavy footsteps approach the building entrance.

I quickly grab the burner phone and stuff one of the blank envelopes into my jacket pocket. The footsteps pass right by my unit and continue down the hall. The scare makes my decision for me.

I close the ledger carefully and put everything back exactly how I found it, except for the phone and envelope I took. I pull the unit door down and lock it with the brass key. I walk as calmly as I can manage back to the office and tell the manager I’d like to rent a unit after all.

Identifying the Victims

Back home, I examine the items. The burner phone is brand new, and the envelope smells of expensive floral perfume. I send several of the clearest ledger photos to M’s number, asking what this all means.

The response explains that those initials match names from missing person forums. The dates next to the initials match up with when those people disappeared from clubs around the city. “Monkowski vets clients who want access to the VIP section, and some people who go in never come out the same as they went in.”

M sends another message asking if we can do a voice call because typing everything out is taking too long. I agree, as long as M uses a voice changer app. The voice comes through sounding robotic and distorted.

M says Monkowski runs a network that identifies vulnerable people at clubs. Then she connects them with wealthy clients who pay a lot of money for “discretion services.” M believes their sister was forced into this network and given a new identity.

The Anonymous Tip

That evening, I returned to Eclipse, hoping to catch Axel. But there’s a different bouncer working the door. They say Axel has been reassigned to a different venue and is not working at Eclipse anymore.

The next morning, I find my coworker who’s really good with computer research. He finds that Eclipse is owned by a shell company registered in Delaware. Buried in one filing, there’s a document listing Monkowski as operations director.

I close the phone app and open my email instead, creating a new anonymous account. I attach one photo of the ledger showing the clearest entries and type the storage facility address. My hands shake as I write a vague explanation about finding suspicious documents.

I hit send before I can change my mind, then delete the email account completely. On the third day, my phone rings from an unknown local number. “Detective Callaway from the city police department.”

Meeting Detective Callaway

The detective explains that the storage facility manager provided my information after police inquired about Unit 7. We agree to meet at a coffee shop near campus in two hours. I show him my copies, and he studies them carefully.

Detective Callaway looks up from the ledger photos with a serious expression. He tells me that one of the alias initials matches a cold case from two years ago. The ledger might be the break they needed to reopen it.

Around 11:00 that night, I get up to get water and glance out my window, then freeze completely. Across the street, standing under a streetlight, is the VIP suit-man from Eclipse. He’s just standing there looking at my building, not moving, just watching.

I back away from the window and grab my phone, texting Detective Callaway about what I’m seeing. Twenty minutes later, when I look again, he’s gone. I drag my desk chair over and wedge it under my doorknob.