The Yarra River Echoes

Chapter 1: The Scream Over the Yarra

The night was alive with sound and light. The Moomba Festival had drawn thousands to the banks of the Yarra River, their faces upturned as fireworks exploded in bursts of gold and crimson above the water. The air smelled of popcorn, fried dough, and the faint tang of the river itself—a muddy, organic scent that lingered no matter how much the city tried to tame it.

Dr. Evelyn Hayes stood at the edge of the crowd, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to come. Festivals weren’t her thing. The noise, the crowds, the forced cheerfulness—it all felt like a performance she hadn’t rehearsed for. But her friend, Claire, had insisted.

“You spend too much time with the dead, Evie,” Claire had said earlier that evening, dragging her out of her apartment. “Tonight, you’re going to live a little.”

Evelyn had rolled her eyes but allowed herself to be pulled along. Now, as the fireworks reached their crescendo, she found herself scanning the crowd, her sharp eyes catching details others missed. A child crying near the food stalls. A couple arguing under the shadow of Princes Bridge. A man in a dark hoodie, standing too still, too close to the water’s edge.

And then, the scream.

It cut through the noise like a knife, sharp and primal. The crowd froze, the cheers dying in their throats as heads turned toward the source. Evelyn was already moving, her training overriding any hesitation. She pushed through the throng, her heart pounding in her ears.

By the time she reached the riverbank, a small crowd had gathered near the water. A police officer was kneeling beside a figure sprawled on the ground—a woman, her skin pale and slick with river water. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the sky, and her mouth was frozen in a silent scream.

Evelyn’s breath caught. She’d seen death before, countless times, but there was something about this woman’s face that struck her. Something… wrong.

“Step back, please,” the officer said, his voice firm but tinged with unease. Evelyn ignored him, her eyes locked on the woman’s arms. They were bare, her sleeves rolled up to reveal intricate markings etched into her skin. The patterns were unfamiliar, a mix of spirals and jagged lines that seemed to pulse in the flickering light of the fireworks.

“Those markings,” Evelyn murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “They’re not tattoos.”

The officer glanced at her, his brow furrowed. “Ma’am, I need you to step back.”

Evelyn didn’t move. She crouched beside the body, her mind racing. The markings were too precise, too deliberate to be random. They reminded her of something she’d seen before, in her research—ancient indigenous rituals, tied to the land and its spirits.

“Who is she?” Evelyn asked, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

The officer hesitated, then shook his head. “We don’t know yet. She was pulled from the river a few minutes ago. No ID, no witnesses.”

Evelyn’s gaze drifted to the water, its surface now dark and still. The Yarra had always been a symbol of Melbourne, a ribbon of life winding through the city’s heart. But tonight, it felt different. Ominous.

“Dr. Hayes?”

The voice startled her. She turned to see a man approaching, his badge glinting in the light. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a face that looked like it had seen too many long nights. His eyes, though—they were sharp, assessing.

“Detective Marcus Reid,” he said, extending a hand. “I was told you were here. We could use your expertise.”

Evelyn straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans. “On what, exactly?”

Marcus nodded toward the body. “On her. And whatever the hell those markings mean.”

For a moment, Evelyn hesitated. She’d spent years burying herself in research, avoiding the messy, emotional world of active investigations. But something about this case—about the woman’s empty eyes and the river’s dark surface—pulled at her.

“Alright,” she said finally. “But I’ll need access to everything. No secrets, no red tape.”

Marcus gave her a wry smile. “Welcome to the team, Dr. Hayes.”

As they walked away from the river, the crowd slowly returning to the festivities, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the shadows along the bank.

There, near the base of Princes Bridge, stood the man in the hoodie. He was too far away to make out his face, but Evelyn could feel his gaze on her. Before she could say anything, he turned and disappeared into the night.

Chapter 2: The Markings

The morgue was quiet, save for the hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional clatter of instruments. Evelyn stood over the body of the woman from the river, her gloved hands hovering above the intricate markings on the victim’s arms. Up close, the patterns were even more striking—a mix of spirals, jagged lines, and symbols that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

“Well?” Marcus asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His tie was loosened, and there were dark circles under his eyes, but his gaze was sharp. “What are we looking at?”

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. She reached for a magnifying glass, examining the edges of the markings. They weren’t tattoos, as she’d initially thought. The lines were too precise, too deep, as if they’d been carved into the skin with surgical precision.

“These aren’t just decorative,” she said finally, straightening up. “They’re ritualistic. And old. Very old.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “How old are we talking?”

“Centuries,” Evelyn said, her voice tinged with awe. “These symbols—they’re reminiscent of indigenous ceremonial art. The Wurundjeri people, the traditional owners of this land, used similar patterns in their rituals. But this…” She gestured to the markings. “This is something else. Something darker.”

Marcus frowned. “You’re saying this is some kind of… ancient curse?”

Evelyn shot him a look. “I’m saying it’s a clue. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. They didn’t just kill her—they marked her. And that means something.”

Marcus pushed off the wall, stepping closer to the table. “Alright, let’s say you’re right. What’s the connection to the river? Why dump her there?”

Evelyn hesitated, her mind racing. She’d spent years studying Melbourne’s history, but this case was pushing her into uncharted territory. “The Yarra—or Birrarung, as the Wurundjeri call it—has always been sacred. It’s not just a river; it’s a living entity, with its own spirit. In the old stories, the river could be both a giver of life and a taker. If these markings are part of a ritual, it’s possible the killer is trying to invoke that spirit.”

Marcus stared at her, his expression unreadable. “You’re talking about a killer who believes in river spirits.”

“I’m talking about a killer who knows how to send a message,” Evelyn snapped. “Whether they believe in it or not, they’re using these symbols for a reason. And if we don’t figure out what that reason is, there’s going to be another body.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Let’s say I buy into this. Where do we start?”

Evelyn turned back to the body, her mind already racing ahead. “We start with the markings. I’ll need to cross-reference these symbols with historical records, see if I can find a match. And we’ll need to look into the victim’s background. Who was she? Why was she chosen?”

Marcus nodded, pulling out his notebook. “I’ll get my team on it. In the meantime, you might want to brace yourself. The media’s already caught wind of this. By tomorrow, this case is going to be front-page news.”

Evelyn grimaced. The last thing she needed was a spotlight. But if it meant stopping the killer, she’d deal with it.

Later that night, Evelyn sat in her apartment, surrounded by books and papers. Her desk was a chaotic mess of notes, maps, and photographs, but she didn’t care. She was close—she could feel it.

The markings on the victim’s arms matched a pattern she’d seen before, in an old journal from the 1800s. The author, a colonial settler, had described a ceremony performed by the Wurundjeri people—a ritual meant to appease the spirit of the river. But there was a darker side to the story. According to the journal, the ritual had gone wrong, unleashing something terrible.

Evelyn’s phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. It was Marcus.

“We’ve got another one,” he said, his voice grim.

Evelyn’s heart sank. “Where?”

“Southbank Promenade. Same markings, same MO. And this time, there’s a message.”

“What kind of message?”

Marcus hesitated. “It’s for you.”

Chapter 3: The Message

The Southbank Promenade was usually bustling with life, even at night. Street performers, late-night diners, and couples strolling along the river gave the area a lively, almost romantic energy. But tonight, the atmosphere was different. Police tape cordoned off a section of the walkway, and the flashing lights of patrol cars cast an eerie glow over the scene.

Evelyn arrived just as the forensic team was finishing their initial sweep. Marcus stood near the edge of the river, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. He looked up as she approached, his expression grim.

“Over here,” he said, leading her to the body.

The victim was a man in his early thirties, his face pale and lifeless. Like the woman from the river, his arms bore the same intricate markings, the lines dark and precise against his skin. But this time, there was something else—a piece of paper clutched in his hand, the edges damp from the river.

Evelyn crouched beside the body, her gloved hands carefully prying the paper loose. It was a single sheet, folded neatly, with a message scrawled in bold, jagged handwriting:

“Dr. Hayes, the river remembers. Do you?”

Her breath caught in her throat. The words were simple, but they carried a weight that made her chest tighten. She looked up at Marcus, who was watching her closely.

“What does it mean?” he asked.

Evelyn shook her head, her mind racing. “I don’t know. But it’s clear the killer knows who I am. This isn’t random—it’s personal.”

Marcus frowned, his jaw tightening. “You think this is about your work? Your research?”

“Maybe,” Evelyn said, standing up. “Or maybe it’s about something else. Something from my past.”

Marcus studied her for a moment, his gaze searching. “Is there something I should know, Dr. Hayes?”

Evelyn hesitated. She wasn’t ready to talk about the dig, about the colleague she’d lost and the guilt that still haunted her. Not yet. “Not now,” she said finally. “But if this killer is targeting me, we need to move fast. There’s going to be another body.”

Marcus nodded, though his expression remained wary. “Alright. Let’s focus on what we do know. The killer’s choosing specific locations along the Yarra—Princes Bridge, Southbank Promenade. What’s the connection?”

Evelyn turned to look at the river, its surface dark and rippling under the city lights. “The Yarra has always been a focal point for Melbourne—geographically, culturally, spiritually. Each of these locations has historical significance. Princes Bridge was one of the first major crossings over the river. Southbank was once a hub for trade and industry. If the killer is following a pattern, they’re likely targeting places tied to the river’s history.”

Marcus pulled out his notebook, jotting down her words. “So, what’s next? Federation Square? The Arts Centre?”

“Possibly,” Evelyn said. “But it’s not just about the locations. It’s about the ritual. The markings, the messages—they’re all part of a larger narrative. The killer isn’t just killing; they’re performing a ceremony. And if we can figure out what that ceremony is, we might be able to predict their next move.”

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Let’s get to work. But Hayes—” He paused, his tone softening slightly. “Be careful. If this killer is targeting you, you’re not just part of the investigation anymore. You’re part of the game.”

Evelyn met his gaze, her expression resolute. “Then I’ll just have to win.”

As they left the scene, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the shadows along the promenade. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing near the edge of the river, their face obscured by a hood. But when she blinked, they were gone.

Chapter 4: The Pattern

Evelyn’s apartment was a fortress of research. Maps of Melbourne were spread across the floor, marked with red circles at each of the crime scenes. Books on indigenous history, colonial settlements, and river mythology were stacked precariously on every available surface. Evelyn sat in the middle of it all, her laptop open, her eyes scanning page after page of digital archives.

The markings on the victims’ arms had led her to a series of old journals and sketches from the 1800s. One in particular caught her attention—a detailed account of a Wurundjeri elder describing a ritual known as Birrarung Marr, the “river of shadows.” According to the elder, the ritual was meant to honor the spirit of the Yarra, but it had a darker side. If performed incorrectly, it could awaken something ancient and malevolent.

Evelyn’s phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. It was Marcus.

“We’ve got a lead,” he said without preamble. “The second victim—his name was Daniel Carter. He was a historian, specializing in Melbourne’s colonial past. Sound familiar?”

Evelyn’s breath hitched. “He was working on something related to the Yarra, wasn’t he?”

“Bingo,” Marcus said. “According to his colleagues, he was researching the river’s indigenous history. Specifically, its role in early settler conflicts. Sound like something our killer might be interested in?”

“It does,” Evelyn said, her mind racing. “If Daniel was digging into the river’s history, he might have stumbled onto something—something the killer didn’t want him to find.”

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Marcus said. “I’m sending you his research files. See if you can find a connection.”

Evelyn’s laptop pinged as the files came through. She opened them, her eyes scanning the documents. Daniel’s notes were meticulous, filled with references to old maps, settler diaries, and indigenous oral histories. One name kept appearing: William Colbrook, a colonial surveyor who had been involved in several conflicts with the Wurundjeri people in the 1830s.

According to Daniel’s notes, Colbrook had been obsessed with the Yarra River, believing it held some kind of power. He’d even written about a “ritual of shadows” that could control the river’s spirit. Evelyn’s pulse quickened. This had to be the connection.

Her phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text from an unknown number:

“The river flows, Dr. Hayes. Do you hear its song?”

Evelyn stared at the screen, her heart pounding. The killer was watching her. They knew she was getting close.

The next morning, Evelyn met Marcus at Federation Square, the site of the third victim’s discovery. The body had been found near the edge of the square, close to the river. The markings on the victim’s arms were identical to the others, but this time, there was no message—just a single word carved into the ground near the body: “Remember.”

“What do you think it means?” Marcus asked, crouching beside the word.

Evelyn shook her head. “I’m not sure. But it’s clear the killer is trying to tell us something. They’re not just killing—they’re telling a story.”

Marcus stood, his expression grim. “A story with you at the center, Hayes. We need to figure out why.”

Evelyn hesitated, then nodded. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

She led him to a nearby bench, away from the chaos of the crime scene. For the first time, she told him about the dig—about the colleague she’d lost, the artifacts they’d uncovered, and the guilt that had driven her to bury herself in research.

“I think the killer knows about my past,” she said finally. “They’re using it against me. And if I’m right, this isn’t just about the river. It’s about me.”

Marcus was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the river. “Alright,” he said finally. “Then we use that. If the killer wants your attention, we’ll give it to them. But on our terms.”

Evelyn nodded, though the thought made her stomach churn. She didn’t like the idea of being bait, but if it meant stopping the killer, she’d do it.

As they left Federation Square, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the crowd. For a moment, she thought she saw a familiar figure—a man in a hoodie, standing near the edge of the square. But when she blinked, he was gone.

Chapter 5: The Trap

The Arts Centre spire loomed over the Yarra River, its sharp silhouette cutting into the night sky. Evelyn stood at the base of the tower, her breath visible in the cold air. The area was quiet, the usual crowds thinned by the late hour and the chilling news of the recent murders. Marcus had arranged for a discreet police presence, but they were keeping their distance. The plan was simple: lure the killer out by making Evelyn a visible target.

Evelyn hated it.

She adjusted the wire hidden beneath her jacket, the tiny device feeling like a lead weight against her chest. Marcus’s voice crackled in her earpiece, low and steady.

“You good, Hayes?”

“Peachy,” she muttered, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Any sign of them?”

“Not yet. But if they’re watching, they’ll show. Just stick to the plan.”

The plan. Evelyn clenched her fists, trying to steady her nerves. She was to walk along the river, stopping at key points to mimic someone conducting research. Marcus and his team would be nearby, ready to move in at the first sign of trouble. It was a solid plan—in theory. But Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was always one step ahead.

She started walking, her footsteps echoing on the paved path. The river flowed silently beside her, its dark surface reflecting the city lights. She paused at a bench, pretending to examine something in her notebook. Her heart pounded in her ears, every sound magnified by the tension.

Then she saw it.

A figure stood near the water’s edge, partially hidden by the shadow of a tree. Evelyn’s breath caught. She couldn’t make out their face, but the hoodie was unmistakable. It was the same figure she’d seen at the festival, at Southbank, at Federation Square.

“Marcus,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’ve got eyes on them. Near the tree by the river.”

“Stay calm,” Marcus said. “We’re moving in.”

Evelyn forced herself to keep walking, her eyes darting toward the figure. They didn’t move, just stood there, watching. As she drew closer, she could see the faint outline of their face—pale, gaunt, with eyes that seemed to glint in the darkness.

Then they turned and walked away.

Evelyn hesitated, torn between following and waiting for backup. Before she could decide, her phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number:

“You’re close, Dr. Hayes. But not close enough.”

She looked up, but the figure was gone.

Back at the station, Evelyn paced the room, frustration etched into every line of her face. Marcus sat at the table, his arms crossed, his expression grim.

“They’re playing with us,” Evelyn said, her voice tight. “They knew we were there. They knew the plan.”

Marcus nodded. “Which means they’re watching us more closely than we thought. But we got something out of it.”

He held up a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a small, carved wooden figure—a crude representation of a river spirit, its features twisted and menacing. It had been left on the bench where Evelyn had stopped, along with another note:

“The river remembers. Do you?”

Evelyn took the bag, her fingers trembling slightly. “This is Wurundjeri craftsmanship. Old. Very old. But the note… it’s not just about the river. It’s about me.”

Marcus leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What aren’t you telling me, Hayes?”

Evelyn hesitated, then sighed. “The dig I told you about—the one where I lost my colleague—we found artifacts like this. Carvings, tools, even human remains. The local indigenous community asked us to stop, but we didn’t. We kept digging. And then… the accident happened.”

Marcus’s expression softened slightly. “You think the killer is connected to that?”

“I don’t know,” Evelyn said. “But it’s possible. If they’re trying to send a message, it’s not just about the river. It’s about what happened. About what I did.”

Marcus was silent for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. Then we dig into that. If the killer’s tied to your past, we’ll find the connection. But Hayes—” He paused, his tone firm. “You need to be honest with me. No more secrets. If we’re going to catch this guy, we need to trust each other.”

Evelyn met his gaze, then nodded. “No more secrets.”

As she left the station, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was still watching. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the darkened streets. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing under a streetlamp, their face obscured by a hood. But when she blinked, they were gone.

Chapter 6: The Dig

The archives of the Melbourne Museum were a labyrinth of history, their shelves lined with artifacts, documents, and relics from the city’s past. Evelyn stood in the dimly lit room, her fingers tracing the spine of an old journal. The air smelled of dust and aged paper, a scent that always brought her a strange sense of comfort.

Marcus stood nearby, his arms crossed, his expression skeptical. “You really think we’ll find something here?”

“If there’s a connection between the killer and my past, it’ll be here,” Evelyn said, pulling the journal from the shelf. “This is where the artifacts from the dig were sent after the accident.”

She opened the journal, her eyes scanning the faded handwriting. It was her own, written years ago during the excavation. The dig had been her first major project—a chance to prove herself in the field of forensic anthropology. But it had ended in disaster.

“What exactly happened?” Marcus asked, his voice softer now.

Evelyn hesitated, then sighed. “We were excavating a site near the Yarra, just outside the city. The local indigenous community had warned us to stop—they said the land was sacred, that we were disturbing something ancient. But we didn’t listen. We kept digging.”

She flipped through the pages, her fingers trembling slightly. “Then one night, there was a collapse. My colleague, Sarah, was trapped. By the time we got her out, it was too late.”

Marcus was silent for a moment, then nodded. “And the artifacts?”

“They were sent here,” Evelyn said, closing the journal. “But there was one piece—a carved figure, like the one we found last night—that went missing. I always thought it was lost in the collapse, but now…”

“You think the killer has it,” Marcus finished.

Evelyn nodded. “And if they do, they’re using it to send a message. Not just to me, but to everyone who ignored the warnings.”

Marcus frowned, his gaze thoughtful. “So, what’s the next move?”

Evelyn turned back to the shelves, her mind racing. “We need to find out who else was involved in the dig. Someone who might have a grudge. Or someone who knows more about the artifacts than we do.”

Later that night, Evelyn sat in her apartment, surrounded by documents from the dig. The carved figure from the crime scene sat on the table in front of her, its twisted features seeming to leer in the lamplight. She’d spent hours cross-referencing names, dates, and locations, but the connection still eluded her.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. It was a text from an unknown number:

“The river flows, Dr. Hayes. But the past never dies.”

Evelyn’s breath caught. The killer was taunting her, pushing her to remember. But what were they trying to make her see?

She picked up the carved figure, turning it over in her hands. There was something etched into the base—a series of symbols she hadn’t noticed before. They were faint, almost worn away, but unmistakable.

Her heart raced as she grabbed a magnifying glass, examining the symbols more closely. They matched the markings on the victims’ arms.

“Marcus,” she said into her phone, her voice urgent. “I’ve got something. Meet me at the museum. Now.”

When Marcus arrived, Evelyn was waiting at the entrance, the carved figure clutched in her hands. She led him to the archives, where she’d laid out a map of Melbourne and the surrounding area.

“The symbols on the figure match the markings on the victims,” she said, pointing to the map. “But they’re also coordinates. Locations tied to the Yarra River.”

Marcus frowned, studying the map. “You’re saying the killer’s following a pattern?”

“Exactly,” Evelyn said. “And if I’m right, the next location is here.” She pointed to a spot on the map—a stretch of the river near the Royal Botanic Gardens.

Marcus nodded, his expression grim. “Then that’s where we’ll be waiting.”

As they left the museum, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the darkened street. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing under a streetlamp, their face obscured by a hood. But when she blinked, they were gone.

Chapter 7: The Gardens

The Royal Botanic Gardens were eerily quiet at night, the lush greenery transformed into a labyrinth of shadows. Evelyn stood near the edge of the lake, the water’s surface reflecting the pale glow of the moon. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, but the beauty of the place was lost on her. All she could think about was the killer—and the trap they’d set.

Marcus was nearby, hidden among the trees with a team of officers. They’d spent hours preparing, positioning themselves to cover every possible escape route. But Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was already one step ahead.

Her earpiece crackled, and Marcus’s voice came through, low and steady. “You good, Hayes?”

“Fine,” she whispered, her eyes scanning the darkness. “Any movement?”

“Not yet. But if they’re coming, they’ll show. Just stick to the plan.”

The plan. Evelyn clenched her fists, trying to steady her nerves. She was to wait by the lake, acting as bait while Marcus and his team watched from the shadows. It was a solid plan—in theory. But Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was playing a different game altogether.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight. The killer had struck at this time before, and if the pattern held, they’d do it again.

Then she heard it—a faint rustling in the bushes behind her. Her heart pounded as she turned, her eyes straining to see through the darkness. For a moment, there was nothing. Then a figure stepped into the moonlight.

It was the man in the hoodie.

Evelyn’s breath caught. He was closer than she’d ever seen him, close enough to make out the details of his face. He was younger than she’d expected, with sharp features and hollow eyes that seemed to glint in the dim light.

“Dr. Hayes,” he said, his voice soft but carrying an edge of menace. “You’ve been busy.”

Evelyn forced herself to stay calm, her hand hovering near the panic button hidden in her pocket. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The man smiled, a cold, humorless expression. “I want you to remember. The river remembers. Do you?”

Before Evelyn could respond, Marcus’s voice crackled in her earpiece. “We’ve got him. Move in!”

The man’s smile widened, as if he’d heard the command. “Too late,” he said, stepping back into the shadows.

Evelyn lunged forward, but he was gone, disappearing into the trees like a ghost. She heard shouts behind her as Marcus and his team rushed to her side, but she knew it was no use. The killer had slipped away again.

Back at the station, Evelyn sat in the briefing room, her hands trembling as she clutched a cup of coffee. Marcus stood nearby, his expression grim.

“He was there,” Evelyn said, her voice tight. “He was right there, and we still couldn’t catch him.”

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll get him, Hayes. But we need to figure out what he’s after. Why you? Why now?”

Evelyn hesitated, then pulled out the carved figure she’d brought from the museum. “It’s not just about me. It’s about this.”

She placed the figure on the table, its twisted features seeming to leer in the fluorescent light. “This was part of the dig—the one where I lost my colleague. The killer’s using it to send a message. But I still don’t know what it means.”

Marcus studied the figure, his brow furrowed. “Then we dig deeper. If this thing is the key, we’ll find out why.”

As Evelyn left the station, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the killer was still watching. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the darkened street. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing under a streetlamp, their face obscured by a hood. But when she blinked, they were gone.

Chapter 8: The Artifact

The Melbourne Museum’s storage room was a cavernous space, filled with rows of shelves and glass cases. Evelyn stood in the center of the room, the carved figure resting on a table in front of her. Marcus leaned against a nearby shelf, his arms crossed, his expression a mix of curiosity and impatience.

“Alright, Hayes,” he said. “What’s so special about this thing?”

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. She was too focused on the figure, her gloved hands carefully turning it over. The symbols etched into its base were clearer now, their lines sharp and deliberate. She’d spent hours researching them, cross-referencing them with old texts and indigenous records. And finally, she had an answer.

“This isn’t just a carving,” she said, her voice tinged with awe. “It’s a key. A key to something much larger.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “A key to what?”

Evelyn turned to him, her eyes bright with excitement. “To a ritual. A ritual tied to the Yarra River. According to the records, this figure was used in a ceremony meant to honor—or control—the river’s spirit. But if the ritual was performed incorrectly, it could unleash something terrible.”

Marcus frowned. “You’re saying the killer’s trying to perform this ritual?”

“Exactly,” Evelyn said. “And they’re using the victims as part of it. The markings, the locations—it’s all part of the ceremony. But they’re missing something. Something only this figure can provide.”

Marcus studied the carving, his expression thoughtful. “So, if we have the figure, we have the upper hand.”

“For now,” Evelyn said. “But the killer knows we have it. And they’re not going to stop until they get it back.”

Later that night, Evelyn sat in her apartment, the carved figure resting on her desk. She’d been poring over old journals and maps, trying to piece together the ritual’s final steps. But there was something missing—a piece of the puzzle she couldn’t quite see.

Her phone buzzed, breaking her concentration. It was a text from an unknown number:

“The river flows, Dr. Hayes. But the key is yours to turn.”

Evelyn’s breath caught. The killer was taunting her, pushing her to solve the puzzle. But why? What did they want her to find?

She picked up the figure, her fingers tracing the symbols on its base. There was something about them—something familiar. And then it hit her.

The symbols weren’t just coordinates. They were a map.

Evelyn grabbed a pen and paper, quickly sketching out the symbols and their corresponding locations. As she connected the dots, a pattern emerged—a spiral, centered on a single point along the Yarra River.

Her heart raced as she realized what it meant. The killer wasn’t just following a pattern. They were leading her somewhere.

The next morning, Evelyn met Marcus at the location marked by the spiral’s center—a secluded stretch of the Yarra, just outside the city. The area was overgrown, the riverbank littered with rocks and tangled roots.

“This is it,” Evelyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. “The final stage of the ritual.”

Marcus frowned, scanning the area. “What are we looking for?”

“A marker,” Evelyn said. “Something tied to the river’s history. Something the killer needs to complete the ceremony.”

They searched for hours, their progress slow and painstaking. Just as the sun began to set, Evelyn found it—a stone slab, half-buried in the dirt. Its surface was covered in carvings, their lines worn but still visible.

“This is it,” she said, her voice trembling with excitement. “The final piece of the puzzle.”

Marcus crouched beside her, his eyes scanning the carvings. “What does it say?”

Evelyn traced the lines with her fingers, her mind racing. “It’s a warning. A warning about the river’s spirit. If the ritual is completed, it will awaken something ancient. Something dangerous.”

Marcus frowned. “Then we need to stop the killer before they finish it.”

Evelyn nodded, but her mind was already racing ahead. The killer had been one step ahead of them this whole time. But now, they had the upper hand.

As they left the riverbank, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the trees. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing in the shadows, their face obscured by a hood. But when she blinked, they were gone.

Chapter 9: The Ritual

The stone slab lay on the table in the police station’s evidence room, its carvings illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights. Evelyn stood over it, her fingers tracing the ancient symbols. Marcus leaned against the wall nearby, his arms crossed, his expression grim.

“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. Her mind was racing, piecing together the fragments of the ritual. The carvings on the slab were clear—a series of steps, each tied to a specific location along the Yarra River. The killer had already completed most of them, but the final step was still missing.

“We need to figure out where they’re going next,” she said finally. “If we can get there first, we might be able to stop them.”

Marcus nodded. “Any ideas?”

Evelyn hesitated, then pointed to a series of symbols near the edge of the slab. “These symbols correspond to a location—a place where the river narrows, just outside the city. It’s called Black Rock. According to the carvings, it’s the final stage of the ritual.”

Marcus frowned. “Black Rock? That’s a pretty remote spot. Why there?”

“It’s a place of power,” Evelyn said. “The Wurundjeri believed it was a gateway to the spirit world. If the killer’s trying to awaken the river’s spirit, that’s where they’ll do it.”

Marcus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Then that’s where we’ll be waiting.”

The drive to Black Rock was tense, the silence in the car broken only by the hum of the engine. Evelyn stared out the window, her mind racing. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were walking into a trap. The killer had been one step ahead of them this whole time. Why would this be any different?

As they approached the site, the landscape grew wilder, the river narrowing to a swift, dark channel. Black Rock loomed ahead, its jagged surface glistening in the moonlight. Evelyn’s heart pounded as they parked the car and stepped out into the cool night air.

“Stay close,” Marcus said, his hand resting on his holster.

They moved cautiously, their footsteps crunching on the rocky ground. The sound of the river was deafening, its waters rushing past with a force that seemed almost alive.

Then they saw it—a figure standing on the edge of the rock, their back to the river. It was the killer.

Evelyn’s breath caught. The man in the hoodie turned to face them, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. In his hands, he held the carved figure.

“Dr. Hayes,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of menace. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Evelyn stepped forward, her heart pounding. “It’s over. Whatever you’re trying to do, it ends here.”

The man smiled, a cold, humorless expression. “It’s already too late. The ritual is complete. The river will awaken, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

Before Evelyn could respond, Marcus stepped forward, his gun drawn. “Put the figure down. Now.”

The man’s smile widened. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about you. It’s about her.” He pointed to Evelyn. “She’s the key. She always has been.”

Evelyn’s breath caught. “What are you talking about?”

The man’s eyes locked onto hers, his gaze piercing. “You were there, Dr. Hayes. You saw what happened. You felt it. The river remembers. And so do you.”

Evelyn’s mind raced, fragments of memory flashing before her eyes. The dig. The collapse. The feeling of something ancient, something powerful, stirring beneath the earth.

“No,” she whispered. “It’s not possible.”

The man’s smile faded, replaced by a look of cold determination. “It’s time to finish what you started.”

He raised the carved figure, its twisted features seeming to glow in the moonlight. The ground beneath them began to tremble, the river’s waters churning with a force that seemed almost unnatural.

Evelyn’s heart pounded as she realized the truth. The killer wasn’t just trying to awaken the river’s spirit. He was trying to awaken something much older—something tied to her past.

And she was the only one who could stop it.

Chapter 10: The Awakening

The ground shook violently, the river surging with a force that seemed almost alive. Evelyn stumbled, her heart pounding as she stared at the killer. He stood at the edge of Black Rock, the carved figure raised high in his hands. His voice echoed over the roar of the water, chanting words in a language she didn’t understand but felt deep in her bones.

“Stop!” Evelyn shouted, her voice barely audible over the chaos. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

The man turned to her, his eyes blazing with a fanatical light. “I know exactly what I’m doing, Dr. Hayes. This is what you were meant to do. What you failed to do.”

Evelyn’s mind raced, fragments of memory flooding back. The dig. The collapse. The feeling of something ancient stirring beneath the earth. She had felt it then, but she had buried it, just like she had buried her guilt.

Marcus stepped forward, his gun trained on the man. “Put it down! Now!”

The man laughed, a harsh, guttural sound. “You think your weapons can stop this? The river has waited centuries. It will not be denied.”

The ground beneath them cracked, water surging up through the fissures. Evelyn felt the pull of the river, its power drawing her in. She fought against it, her eyes locked on the carved figure.

“The figure,” she said, her voice urgent. “It’s the key. If we destroy it, we can stop the ritual.”

Marcus nodded, his jaw tight. “Then let’s take it.”

They moved together, Evelyn’s heart pounding as they approached the man. He turned to face them, his expression twisted with rage.

“You’re too late,” he snarled. “The river will rise, and you will drown in its wrath.”

Before he could react, Marcus fired, the shot echoing over the roar of the water. The man staggered, the carved figure slipping from his grasp. Evelyn lunged forward, catching it before it could hit the ground.

The moment her hands closed around the figure, she felt it—a surge of energy, ancient and powerful. Images flashed before her eyes: the river, the land, the people who had lived and died along its banks. She saw the ritual, the ceremony meant to honor the river’s spirit. And she saw what would happen if it was completed.

“Evelyn!” Marcus’s voice broke through the haze. “Do it!”

She didn’t hesitate. With all her strength, she brought the figure down on the edge of the rock. It shattered, the pieces scattering into the water.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the ground stilled, the river’s waters calming as if a great weight had been lifted. The air grew quiet, the only sound the gentle lapping of the water against the rocks.

Evelyn sank to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Marcus was beside her in an instant, his hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

Evelyn nodded, though her hands were trembling. “It’s over. The ritual’s broken.”

They turned to the man, who lay motionless on the ground. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the sky. Evelyn felt a pang of pity, though it was quickly overshadowed by relief.

Later, as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, Evelyn stood at the edge of the river, the shattered pieces of the carved figure in her hands. Marcus joined her, his expression thoughtful.

“What happens now?” he asked.

Evelyn sighed, her gaze fixed on the water. “Now, we make sure this never happens again. The river’s spirit—its history—it deserves to be honored, not exploited.”

Marcus nodded. “And the killer?”

“He was just a pawn,” Evelyn said. “A man consumed by grief and anger. But he’s not the real enemy. The real enemy is forgetting—forgetting the past, forgetting the people who came before us.”

Marcus was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. And if anyone can make sure that doesn’t happen, it’s you.”

Evelyn smiled faintly, though her heart was heavy. The road ahead would be long, but for the first time in years, she felt a sense of purpose.

As they left Black Rock, Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the river’s surface. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing on the water’s edge, their face obscured by the morning mist. But when she blinked, they were gone.