The ocean's waves crashed against the jagged rocks with a violent rhythm. The sound was almost deafening, but in the small cove, where the surf was always the calmest, the waves somehow felt peaceful.
Tonight, they had an edge to them, a sharpness that made Elena's heart thump in her chest, but she wasn't sure why. She hadn't been here in months. It had always been her escape, but now… something was different.
She scanned the empty beach. The sand stretched for miles, undisturbed by footprints except her own, and the moon's pale light made the water shimmer with a strange, cold beauty. There had been rumors of him—whispers, or what some called urban legends.
They said a man, a surfer, was out there. They called him the "Silent Wave." A killer. But Elena was here for a reason. She needed answers.
Her feet sank softly into the damp sand as she walked toward the water's edge, her mind clouded with memories. The summer of her senior year, she'd met a man. He was everything.
Tall, tan, with eyes the color of the ocean. She hadn't known his name, but she'd never forgotten his smile. They spent hours together—on the beach, in the surf, beneath the stars. But after that night, she never saw him again.
That was before people started talking about the murders. A young girl was found, floating near the cove, her body torn apart, barely recognizable. Then more. Bodies, mutilated beyond recognition, all found near the beach. And the whispers grew. They spoke of a man who surfed alone, his eyes cold and distant, a predator cloaked in a wetsuit.
Elena shuddered as she pulled her jacket tighter around her. A chill crept up her spine. Something was wrong. She couldn't explain it, but she had to know. She needed to know what happened that night. The night she met him.
A distant sound broke her thoughts—footsteps. Slow, deliberate, as if someone was walking toward her. She glanced over her shoulder, heart racing. The beach was still empty, except for her. Then, she saw him.
A man. Tall, broad-shouldered, his silhouette etched against the moonlight. He stood near the rocks, staring at her. His face was obscured by the shadows, but the outline of his figure was unmistakable. She froze. Her breath caught in her throat. The air seemed to go still.
"Elena," the voice was rough, familiar. Too familiar. "You shouldn't have come here."
The hair on her neck stood up. She knew that voice.
"Why?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, though she hadn't meant to sound weak. "Why did you disappear?"
He stepped closer, the sand crunching under his feet. There was a strange calmness to his movements, almost unnatural. "You don't understand," he said, his voice low. "You don't know what you're asking for."
The closer he got, the more Elena's heart pounded. There was something off about him. The man she had met years ago was gone, replaced by something darker, something colder. His eyes were different now. Empty. The man she had known had disappeared, replaced by the figure before her—his presence suffocating.
"You're not him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Who are you?"
His lips curled into a smile, but there was nothing warm about it. "I'm what's left of him," he said. "You should have stayed away."
Elena's legs began to tremble, her feet rooting her to the sand. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but she didn't. She couldn't. She had to know. Had to understand why.
The man took another step forward, and then, with a sudden motion, pulled a surfboard from behind the rocks. It was an old board, the edges chipped and stained. It had seen better days. But Elena's eyes went wide as she recognized the surfboard—she had seen it before.
The memory hit her like a slap. The night they had spent together. The board was his. She remembered running her fingers across the worn edges, feeling the scratches and dents, the marks of a long, strange history.
He noticed her gaze, and his grin widened. "You remember now, don't you?"
Her heart hammered in her chest. The memory of that night came rushing back. The feeling of his hand in hers, the way he held her like nothing could hurt her. The way he made her feel safe. It was all a lie.
A coldness swept over her as she backed away from him. "What did you do? What did you do to them?" Her voice cracked with a desperation she couldn't control.
The man's smile faltered. His eyes glinted in the moonlight, but there was no warmth, only an eerie emptiness. "I gave them what they wanted," he said quietly. "I gave them freedom."
Elena shook her head, her stomach turning. "You killed them," she breathed. "You killed them all."
"Not all," he said with a hint of amusement. "But you… You're different. You've always been different."
Her pulse quickened. "What do you mean?"
"I was there," he continued, his tone almost distant. "I was always there. I watched you. You just didn't know. You wanted to be saved. You wanted to be free, just like them."
She stumbled backward, almost falling as the weight of his words crashed into her. He was right. She had been seeking answers. The fear that had been building in her chest for so long suddenly made sense. This wasn't about closure. It was never about closure.
The man stepped closer again, the sound of his footsteps echoing in her ears. "You don't understand, Elena. You never will. You were always supposed to be a part of this."
The coldness in her chest expanded. The beach seemed to stretch, the rocks appearing sharper, the waves louder. Everything felt distorted, as if the world around her was slowly caving in, leaving only the two of them in the center.
"Please," she whispered, though she didn't know what she was asking for. "Please… I don't want this."
A laugh escaped his lips. "It's too late for that."
Suddenly, his hand shot out, grabbing her by the wrist. His grip was like iron, cold and unforgiving. Elena gasped, trying to pull away, but he held her firm. His eyes locked onto hers, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something—a glimmer of the man she once knew—but it was fleeting.
"You never could escape me," he said softly. "You thought you could. But I was always there. Watching. Waiting."
Terror surged through her, a white-hot surge of panic. The waves roared louder, but they were no comfort now. She tried to scream, to fight back, but it was like her voice had been stolen, her body frozen in place.
The man dragged her toward the water, his footsteps quickening, pulling her into the tide. The surfboard, the weapon of so many deaths, was in his other hand. Elena's breath was ragged, the salty air burning her throat.
She kicked, struggling, but it was hopeless. She was already drowning, not in the ocean, but in the realization of what he had become.
With one swift motion, he thrust the board into the sand, the sharp edge glinting. Elena's eyes widened, her heart slamming against her ribs as she struggled harder, but it was futile.
"There's no going back, Elena," he said, his voice like ice. "There's never been a way out."
The cold seawater surged around them, rising higher, swallowing her legs, her waist. She could feel the waves tugging at her, dragging her toward something. Not the ocean. No. Something darker.
The board was already raised, and with brutal precision, he drove it into her stomach. The pain shot through her like a blade of fire, and she choked on her own scream. Blood mingled with the salty water, turning the ocean crimson. But it wasn't enough. It never was.
Her vision blurred, the world around her melting into a dark abyss. The man's face was the last thing she saw—a smile playing at the corners of his lips, like he'd been waiting for this moment all along.
And then there was nothing but the waves, crashing relentlessly against the shore.