Friday's Fade by Ismail "Ish" Rashad - HTML preview

Chapter 7: Echoes of Valentina

The nights in Hanna’s apartment were silent, save for the steady rhythm of the rain against the window. Astrid lay motionless in bed, the dull throb of her wound a constant reminder of how close she had come to death. Hanna had stitched her up, her hands careful and precise, but Astrid could see the pain in her friend's eyes—the guilt that festered beneath the surface.

"You should rest," Hanna murmured, sitting beside her with a damp cloth, pressing it against Astrid’s forehead. "You can’t keep doing this to yourself."

Astrid exhaled, staring at the ceiling. "You know the police never believe girls like me, Hanna."

Hanna looked away, her grip tightening on the cloth. "I should’ve seen it sooner. I should’ve known—"

"Stop." Astrid turned to her, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault."

Hanna’s jaw clenched. "Then whose is it? The system? The people who turned a blind eye?" She shook her head. "It shouldn’t be on you to make this right, Astrid."

But Astrid wasn’t listening anymore. The fire inside her had long since burned away any hope she had in justice. If the system wouldn’t stop them, she would.

A few weeks passed. Hanna had gone to the hospital for her biology class, leaving Astrid alone in the apartment. Bored and restless, she picked up Jordan’s phone again, scrolling through his messages. Her eyes landed on a photo from that night— Jordan, Julian, Kyle Barkley, and Zayn, grinning like kings of their own sick empire.

Her pulse quickened.

Zayn.

Julian’s best friend. The one who had always carried a camera, the one who had laughed the most as she screamed.

She tracked him to his dorm. He was alone.

The campus was alive outside, laughter and music spilling from dorm windows, oblivious to the horror unfolding within. The lock clicked shut behind Astrid as she entered Zayn’s room, her breath steady, her pulse a slow, predatory rhythm.

He was asleep—bare-chested, sprawled on his mattress, his phone still unlocked beside him. The soft glow of the screen illuminated his face, peaceful, unaware. She took a quiet step forward, studying him.

Astrid moved with practiced precision, slipping the handcuffs onto his wrists before he could even stir. The first click made his body twitch, a groggy hum escaping his lips. By the time his eyes flickered open, his limbs were already bound— stretched to each corner of the bed, his wrists and ankles pulled tight.

He thrashed instinctively, the mattress creaking beneath him. "What the f—?" His voice was thick with sleep, confusion bleeding into panic as he tugged against the restraints.

Astrid stood over him, hood up, mask covering the lower half of her face. She wanted him to see her eyes.

She wanted him to know.

Zayn’s breathing quickened. "Who the fuck are you?" he barked, trying to buck his hips up, but the cuffs held him firm. "Let me go!” He shouted.

Astrid didn’t respond. Instead, she turned away, grabbed her phone, and scrolled through her playlist. A moment later, heavy bass and sharp beats blasted through the room—louder than the music already pounding through the other dorms, loud enough to drown out anything else. Satisfied, she began setting up the mechanism beneath the bed—a deep metal bucket positioned perfectly beneath him, rigged to a weighted pulley system. Every ounce of blood that dripped from his body would pull the cuffs tighter.

A soft whimper of realization left his lips as she returned with a knife.

Astrid climbed onto the bed, straddling his chest, pressing the cold blade against his throat. “You like to watch, don’t you, Zayn?” she murmured. “You like having control. Making sure the camera catches everything.”

He stiffened, his pupils blown wide with terror. "Wh—what the fuck are you talking about?!"

She reached beside the bed, grabbed his laptop, and flipped the screen open. A collection of videos. Some hidden in deep folders, others out in the open—untouched, untouched because he never thought he’d have to hide them.

There it was. The footage of her.

Of Valentina.

Astrid inhaled sharply, her vision tunneling into pure, blistering rage.

"Let me go!” He screamed.

Astrid ignored him, scanning the room. And then she saw it—her laptop. The one that had been stolen from her dorm after that night. Her hands clenched into fists.

"You filmed everything," she whispered. "You stole my laptop. You—" She cut herself off, her hands trembling.

Zayn shook his head wildly, panic thick in his voice. "I—I didn’t do anything, I swear! Julian, he—he’s the one who—"

She cut him off with a sharp glare. Then, without warning—"Wrong answer."

Astrid flipped the knife in her hand and plunged it into his side.

He howled, back arching against the mattress, blood blooming instantly beneath him. His body jerked, the cuffs biting into his skin as he struggled.

Astrid pulled the blade free. The first cut wasn’t fatal. It wasn’t supposed to be.

She leaned in close, her lips nearly brushing his ear. "You record pain? Let’s see how long you can endure it."

With a surgeon’s precision, she made a second incision along his inner arm, deep enough for the blood to spill freely into the bucket beneath the bed. Zayn gasped, his body convulsing as warm crimson dripped from his wounds—each drop tightening the cuffs, pulling his limbs further apart.

He screamed, bucking wildly, realizing too late that every movement only made it worse.

Astrid sat back, watching the panic settle in.

“I hope the camera’s catching this,” she murmured, holding up his own phone—streaming the entire thing.

Zayn’s breath hitched. His body trembled violently as the weight beneath the bed grew heavier, the restraints pulling his joints to their limits. His fingers twitched, his mouth opening in desperate, wheezing cries.

"Please," he whimpered.

Astrid tilted her head, considering him.

Then, without a word, she stepped off the bed and turned away.

Leaving him there.

Leaving him to bleed. To struggle. To break.

Leaving him to suffer, just as Valentina had.

And as she slipped out into the night, the only sound left in that room was the slow, steady drip of blood hitting metal—each drop dragging him closer to agony.

The news exploded the next morning. A third body. The police finally acknowledged that there was a pattern. A serial killer.

Julian was spiraling.

"It’s not a coincidence," he hissed to Kyle Barkley, pacing in his apartment. "First Jordan. Now Zayn. Someone’s coming after us."

Kyle, ever the cocky athlete, scoffed. "Man up. No one knows shit. We covered our tracks. You’re being paranoid."

Julian wasn’t so sure.

Hanna wasn’t either.

When she returned home that evening, she found Astrid curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the wall. The smell of bleach clung to the air.

"Astrid," Hanna said slowly, "what did you do?"

Astrid looked up, her expression unreadable. "I did what had to be done."

Hanna exhaled sharply. "You need to stop before you get caught. Or worse."

Astrid tilted her head, something dark flickering behind her eyes. "You think I can stop now? After what they did?"

Silence stretched between them. Hanna’s hands curled into fists.

She knew the answer.

And deep down, a part of her agreed.

Hanna stood in the doorway of their small apartment, watching Astrid from across the room. The blood on Astrid’s hands—literal and otherwise—was beginning to drown her. The bodies, the destruction, the weight of vengeance pressing down on both of them.

Astrid sat on the couch, staring blankly at Jordan’s phone, scrolling through images she had already memorized, footage she had already watched a thousand times. The ghosts of Valentina, of herself, flickered on the screen, and yet Astrid did nothing.

Nothing but plan the next kill.

Hanna clenched her jaw. This has to stop.

“I have to go take care of something,” she said, pulling her coat off the chair.

Astrid barely looked up. “Where are you going?”

Hanna hesitated. If she told the truth, Astrid would stop her.

She forced a small smile. “I’ll be right back. I will get you some coffee.”

Astrid replied back with a smile “Chai latte.”

And then she left.

She had no intention of coming back, until her best friend was safe.

The gym was nearly empty by the time Hanna slipped inside. The scent of sweat and steel filled the air, the dull hum of overhead lights casting a cold glow over the weight racks and punching bags.

Julian was alone.

He was at the bench press, his hoodie damp with sweat, completely unaware of the storm approaching him.

Hanna moved fast.

She shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back against the metal rack. Weights clattered to the floor. Julian barely had time to regain his balance before Hanna was in his face, gripping his shirt with white-knuckled fists.

"You need to come clean," she snarled, her voice shaking with fury. "Tell the truth about what you did to Astrid. To Valentina. Say it."

Julian’s expression went from shock to something dark. He searched her eyes, looking for weakness.

Then he spoke.

“Where is she?” His voice was eerily calm. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

Hanna stiffened.

Julian grinned. "Where is she?"

She didn’t answer.

Instead, she pulled out Astrid’s gun.

Julian’s smirk faltered.

Hanna raised her phone in her other hand, camera rolling. “Confess,” she ordered, her voice steady despite the fear clawing at her chest. “Tell the world what you did, or I swear to God, Julian, I’ll put a bullet in you.”

His lips parted, his confidence cracking for the first time. He took a slow step back. “Hanna, think about what you’re doing.”

Her hands didn’t shake. “I have. Now start talking.”

Julian’s breath was uneven, his gaze flicking from the gun to the phone. Hanna could see the war inside him. The weight of the truth.

And then—

A dumbbell flew through the air.

The impact was immediate—the heavy metal slammed into Hanna’s head, the crack of bone against steel like a gunshot in the silent gym. She crumpled to the floor.

The gun skidded across the floor. The phone landed beside her, the screen still glowing. Still recording.

Kyle Barkley stepped out from the shadows of the locker room, breathing hard, his face twisted in shock.

He stared at Hanna’s motionless body, eyes wide with horror. “Is that—” He turned to Julian, voice shaking. “Is that Astrid?! How the fuck is she alive?!”

Julian stumbled forward, heart hammering. “It’s not her. It’s Hanna.” His voice cracked. “She knew. She knew everything. She was trying to get me to confess.”

Kyle didn’t hesitate.

He bent down, grabbed the gun off the floor, and pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed through the gym.

Hanna jerked once, her body seizing—then went still.

Kyle concealed the weapon. Julian was shaking.

They froze for a moment, both staring at the girl on the ground.

And then Kyle grabbed Julian by the shirt and yanked him up. "We need to go. Now."

Julian nodded numbly, his hands bloodied as he stumbled to his feet.

Without another word, they turned off the gym lights, exited through the back, and disappeared into the night.

The first thing Astrid noticed was that Hanna’s phone had stopped moving.

She had waited. Hours passed by.

And now, as she stared at the screen— Hanna’s location frozen at the campus gym— a sick feeling curled in her stomach.

Something was wrong.

She threw on her hoodie and left, moving fast, her steps soundless, her breath shallow.

The moment she entered the gym, she smelled blood.

And then she saw her.

Hanna.

Lying on the cold floor, her body still, blood pooling beneath her skull.

Astrid dropped to her knees, her breath catching, the world tilting around her. She grabbed Hanna’s limp hand, pressing it against her cheek, as if she could will warmth back into her skin.

She had been alone when she died.

Alone.

Because of Astrid.

A sob tore through her chest—one of guilt, of grief, of unspeakable rage.

Then, her gaze flicked to the phone on the floor, screen still glowing.

Still recording.

She picked it up.

And watched.

She saw Hanna confronting Julian. Saw the gun, the demand for a confession.

Heard Kyle Barkley emerge from the shadows.

Heard the dumbbell smash into Hanna’s head.

Saw them kill her.

Her hands tightened around the phone.

The world went silent.

Then, with a scream that shattered the night, Astrid picked up a nearby weight and hurled it into the mirrors. The glass shattered on impact, shards exploding around her like deadly stars.

She destroyed everything in her path—punching lockers, throwing weights, flipping benches. The sound of destruction filled the gym, but it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

Astrid stood among the wreckage, chest heaving, Hanna’s blood staining her fingertips.

Her friend was dead.

And Julian—Julian was still breathing.

Her lips parted, a single whisper slipping through her bloodstained lips.

"I’ll kill them all."

And then she left.

She had work to do.

Astrid stumbled back into Hanna’s apartment, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her hands were still stained with Hanna’s blood.

She locked the door behind her and dropped to the floor, her body shaking as the weight of everything crashed down on her.

Hanna was dead.

Hanna, the only person who had given a damn about her after the Fade, was gone.

Her eyes burned, but she didn’t fight it this time. The sob ripped through her chest like a knife. She curled into herself, her forehead pressed against her knees as the grief swallowed her whole.

She cried for hours. For Hanna. For Valentina. For herself.

When the sun began to rise, she sat up, her face hollow, her eyes dead.

She contemplated calling Hanna’s mother.

Her fingers hovered over the contact.

But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until Julian was dead.

Only then could she tell Hanna’s mother the truth. Only then could she say, I’m sorry.

Only then could she let herself grieve.

Astrid wiped her face, then stood.

It was time to finish this.

She packed quickly, grabbing everything she needed—her laptop, clothes, the last traces of her old life.

She was never coming back here.

There was only one place to go.

East Aurora.

Mikey’s warehouse.

The place where she had been broken.

The place where she would finally bury them all.

She pulled out Jordan’s phone and typed the message.

“I have the footage.
I have all of Zayn’s files.
Every disgusting thing you’ve ever done, Julian.
And I’m going to expose you.
Come find me first.

Address: 412 West Killian Road, East Aurora, NY.”

She hit send.

Then, she took a deep breath, grabbed her bag, and walked out the door.

Julian sat on the edge of his bed, his body still trembling, his head spinning.

He hadn’t slept. Not after what happened to Hanna. Not after Zayn was found drained of blood.

Now, as he stared down at his phone, his stomach clenched with horror.

The message from Astrid.

He read it over and over, his vision blurring.

She had the footage.

She had proof of everything.

How the fuck is she still alive?

Julian felt like he was suffocating. His mind raced. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

His hands shook violently as he showed the text to Kyle Barkley.

Kyle read it, and his entire face twisted with rage.

With a roar, he threw his phone against the wall, shattering it on impact.

“This is all your fault, Julian!” he shouted, his voice shaking with fury.

Julian flinched. “I—”

Kyle grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him up, nearly choking him. His eyes were wild, murderous.

“I will NOT let this bitch ruin my chance at the NFL!” Kyle roared, spitting every word with venom.

Julian couldn’t breathe. Kyle shoved him back onto the bed, then stormed to the closet.

He pulled out the gun.

Hanna’s gun.

The same one he had used to kill her.

Kyle cocked it, his grip tightening around the handle.

“Let’s move,” he snarled.

Julian swallowed hard, his pulse pounding. “Kyle, maybe we should—”

Kyle grabbed him again. This time, Julian saw death in his eyes.

“We end this,” Kyle growled. “Tonight.”

Julian nodded. He had no choice.

They got in the car and took the long, dark drive to East Aurora.

They thought they were heading to silence Astrid.

But Astrid had other plans.

And the warehouse?

It would be their grave.

The drive to East Aurora was filled with static silence.

Kyle’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles white. His jaw was clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Julian sat beside him, his leg bouncing, his fingers twitching. His stomach twisted in knots as the dark outline of the warehouse came into view.

The place where Mikey had kept Astrid.

The place where everything started.

Kyle killed the engine. They sat in silence.

Then, Kyle handed Julian the gun.

“You go first.” His voice was cold, dead.

Julian swallowed hard. His fingers curled around the grip as he stepped out into the cold night.

The warehouse stood in front of them like a tomb.

And they were walking straight into it.

The second they stepped inside, the doors slammed shut.

Darkness swallowed them whole.

“Fuck—” Julian spun around, his heart hammering in his chest.

Then, music exploded through the warehouse. A twisted, distorted version of “Blue Moon.”

Kyle swore, his hands flying to his ears.

The speakers blasted the sound, drowning their voices.

Then came the whispers.

Astrid’s voice, crawling through the darkness.

“Do you feel it now, Julian?”
“The fear?”
“The helplessness?”

Shadows moved in the dark. Figures darting past them.

Julian spun, panicked, raising the gun. “Show yourself, you bitch!”

Something rushed past him, brushing his shoulder.

He fired.

Kyle ducked, the bullet barely missing him.

“What the fuck, Julian?!” Kyle roared.

Julian’s breath came fast and ragged. His head was spinning. His grip tightened on the gun.

Then, another shadow moved.

Kyle lunged, grabbing at it—

And tackled Julian instead.

Kyle’s hands wrapped around Julian’s throat.

Julian gasped, struggling.

He fought back, trying to claw Kyle off, but Kyle was stronger.

His vision blurred. His lungs burned.

He reached blindly—

His fingers brushed metal.

The gun.

With the last of his strength, he fired.

The shot ripped through Kyle’s side.

Kyle howled in pain, rolling off of him.

Julian gasped for air, clutching his throat. The taste of blood filled his mouth.

He fired again.

The second shot grazed Kyle’s arm.

Then—

The lights snapped on.

Julian froze.

Kyle groaned, clutching his bleeding side.

And standing before them, in the middle of the warehouse, was Astrid.

Smiling.

“You two put on quite a show,” she said softly.

Kyle’s face twisted in rage.

“You bitch—”

The tackle dummy dropped from the ceiling.

The impact slammed into Kyle’s ribs, knocking him onto his back.

His scream ripped through the warehouse as the spikes inside the dummy punctured his flesh.

Kyle’s scream tore through the warehouse as the spikes drove into his ribs, pinning him to the cold concrete like an animal caught in a trap. Blood seeped through his shirt, his chest heaving with ragged, panicked breaths.

Julian coughed, dragging himself back against the wall, his throat raw. But neither he nor Kyle moved.

Not with her standing there.

Astrid stepped forward, calm, composed. The dim warehouse lights cast jagged shadows across her face, but the only thing Julian could focus on was her smile.

She crouched beside Kyle, tilting her head as she watched him struggle.

“You always wanted to be a star, Kyle,” she murmured. “Now look at you.”

Kyle snarled, pain contorting his face. “Y-you crazy fucking—”

She drove her boot into the spikes already embedded in his ribs.

Kyle howled.

Astrid didn’t flinch. She reached down, grabbing the gun from the ground — the same one he used to kill Hanna.

Her fingers wrapped around the handle, familiarizing herself with its weight.

Kyle’s eyes widened. Fear bloomed.

Astrid’s smile sharpened.

“This is for Hanna.”

She pulled the trigger.

The first bullet tore through his right kneecap.

Kyle’s scream cracked in the air, raw and guttural. His body jerked, convulsing against the spikes.

She reloaded.

The second bullet shattered his left knee.

He wouldn’t run. Ever again.

Kyle’s breath hitched, his body trembling. He knew. He knew what she was doing.

Astrid took her time.

She moved around him, circling her prey. She let the barrel of the gun drag along his skin, teasing, promising.

Kyle whimpered. Begging now.

“You— you don’t have to—”

The third shot blew through his right shoulder.

His arm fell limp.

Another.

The left shoulder.

Kyle’s sobs choked him. Astrid puts the gun back in his hands — the gun clattered from his useless fingers.

She picked it up again. Refilled the chamber.

“I’m not done.”

The final shots—one to each hand.

No football. No fame. No future.

Kyle Barkley was finished.

Astrid exhaled, tilting her head as she looked down at him. Broken. Bleeding. A shell of the golden boy he once was.

She knelt beside him, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“You took my best friend from me,” she said. “So I took everything from you.”

Kyle shuddered, his eyes rolling back as pain consumed him.

Astrid stood, a final look at Kyle's ruined body, and turned to Julian, tossing the gun at his feet.

Her smile was gone.

“Your turn.”

Julian’s breath came in shallow gasps.

His hands trembled as he raised the gun.

Astrid tilted her head. Unbothered.

Then—

Something yanked Julian off his feet.

He screamed as a thick metal hook pierced through his shoulder, lifting him into the air.

The pain was excruciating. Blood dripped down his arm, soaking his clothes.

Astrid stepped closer, watching him squirm.

She reached for her phone.

Turned on the camera.

“I want you to say it,” she whispered.

Julian groaned, his body jerking against the hook.

“Say what?” he gasped.

Astrid’s eyes darkened.

“The truth.”

Julian’s body convulsed with pain. His vision blurred.

“I—I can’t,” he stammered. “Astrid, please—”

Astrid’s grip tightened around the phone.

She turned to Kyle, who was still writhing under the dummy.

Blood pooled around him, but he wasn’t dead.

Not yet.

She knelt beside him, watching his chest rise and fall in sharp, painful breaths.

“I have one question for you, Kyle.”

Kyle’s bloodied lips curled into a snarl. “Go to hell.”

Astrid smiled.

“I’m already there.”

She pressed down on the dummy.

Kyle screamed, his back arching as the spikes drove deeper.

“Tell me,” she whispered. “What do you fear most?”

Kyle’s body shook.

But it was Julian who spoke next.

“Astrid.” His voice was hoarse, desperate.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

Julian’s head hung low. His body trembled violently.

“I know where Valentina is.”

Astrid froze.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“She’s still alive,” Julian choked out. “I—I can give her to you. You can save her.”

Astrid’s eyes darkened.

“You’re lying.”

Julian’s breath hitched. “I swear. I swear on my life.”

Astrid considered him.

Then, slowly, she lowered him from the hook.

He collapsed onto the floor.

Before he could move, Astrid grabbed him by the hair, dragging him toward the basement.

Julian gasped, his hands clawing at the floor.

“Astrid—please—”

She kicked open the door.

The basement.

The place where she had been beaten, starved, broken.

Julian’s eyes widened.

His breathing turned ragged as he saw what was inside.

Mikey’s rotting corpse.

Cuffed to the wall.

Julian whimpered.

Astrid shoved him inside.

The cuffs clanked as she locked Julian to Mikey’s lifeless body.

Julian’s body shook violently.

Astrid crouched beside him.

“You don’t deserve love,” she whispered.

Julian’s breath hitched.

“You are just a coward.”

With that, she stepped back.

And locked the door behind her.

Leaving Julian alone in the dark.

With a corpse.

And his own fear.

The basement was damp and suffocating, thick with the stench of rotting flesh. Mikey's decomposing body sat slumped in the corner, his hollow eyes fixed on Julian like a silent judge.

Julian was barely conscious, his body wrecked from hours of bleeding, his wrists raw from the restraints. His own screams had turned hoarse, fading into choked sobs.

Then, the sound of boots—her boots.

Astrid crouched before him, her face hidden in the dim light, a shadow of vengeance.

"I could let you die now, Julian. But you don’t deserve that mercy."

She grabbed his matted hair, forcing him to meet her eyes. Tears streamed down his face.

"Please… Astrid, please—"

She shoved a filthy rag into his mouth, muffling his cries.

She set up her phone, hitting ‘Live.’ A dark screen flickered to life, broadcasting Julian’s bloody, ruined form to the entire world.

Then, she lifted the rusted hunting knife.

Julian’s eyes bulged in horror, his muffled screams becoming feral, primal.

Astrid unbuttoned his pants, reached and grabbed his manhood — she sliced slowly, the blade digging into his flesh with excruciating precision.

The pain shattered him. He bucked against the restraints, body convulsing violently. Blood pooled beneath him, dripping through the cracks in the floorboards.

And then came the rats.

Drawn by the smell of warm, fresh blood, their tiny claws scratched across the cement. One skittered onto his exposed thigh, sniffing, tasting.

Julian sobbed—or tried to. The rag in his mouth was soaked with his own spit and vomit.

Astrid softly said to him, "This is what you deserve."

She tossed his severed penis onto the floor—right in front of the gnawing rats.

Astrid turned the camera toward herself, her face hidden by the shadows.

"This man—Julian Carter—drugged, raped, and destroyed lives. He took everything from me. But tonight, the world will see him for what he truly is."

She turned the lens back to him, zooming in on his tear-streaked, blood-splattered face.

She dropped the phone in the corner—letting it keep recording.

Then, she stood, her work complete.

Julian twitched violently, his body still leaking life. His eyes darted frantically to the floor, to the swarming rats inching closer.

"No, please—don't leave me like this!"

She turned away.

Astrid scattered the evidence across the room—Valentina’s footage, the videos, the names, the faces.

Then, she pulled out a burner phone.

9-1-1, she dialed.

"There’s a man bleeding out in the old East Aurora warehouse. He needs urgent medical attention."

She hung up. No name. No trace.

She walked out into the night, her silhouette dissolving into the darkness.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

Julian was found.

Mutilated.

Exposed.

Destroyed.

His downfall was live-streamed, shared, and seen by thousands before the video was wiped from the internet. But the damage had already been done. The truth was out.

The world whispered Astrid’s name, but she was never found.

Some swear she vanished into the night.

Others say she’s still out there.

Watching. Waiting.