Sarah C.
Claire R.
Jennifer M.
My hands freeze on the folder tabs. Why would Dante have files on women? Business associates, maybe? But the way the names are written, so personal and careful, makes my stomach clench with unease.
I pull out the first folder—Sarah M.—and open it on his desk.
Photographs spill across the polished surface.
Pictures of a blonde woman in her twenties. Walking out of a coffee shop. Getting into her car. Sitting in what looks like her living room, unaware she’s being photographed through a window. Page after page of surveillance photos, each one time-stamped and dated.
My hands shake as I pick up one of the images. The woman is beautiful, with kind eyes and an easy smile. In this particular photo, she’s laughing at something off-camera, completely unguarded and happy.
Below the photos are documents. Copies of her driver’s license, credit reports, employment records, and even medical files. Her full name is Sarah Michelle Carson. She’s twenty-one, works as a teacher, and lives alone in a studio apartment in Brooklyn.
At the bottom of the folder is a manila envelope marked “Personal.” Inside are more photos, but these are different. Intimate. Sarah is in her apartment, getting dressed, showering, sleeping. The pictures were taken through windows with a telephoto lens.
Someone was stalking her with no regard for her privacy or safety.
The final document in the folder makes my blood turn to ice. It’s a typewritten letter on expensive stationary, signed in Dante’s handwriting:
My dearest Sarah,
I’ve been watching you for months now, and I find myself completely enchanted. You have no idea how beautiful you are when you think no one is looking. The way you hum while youmake coffee in the morning. The way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating on lesson plans.
I know everything about you. Your favorite restaurant (Thai Palace on 5th Street). Your best friend’s name (Amanda). The book you’re reading (Pride and Prejudice, for the third time). Your greatest fear (being alone forever).
Don’t worry about that last one. You’ll never be alone again.
Soon, we’ll meet properly. I have plans for us. Beautiful plans.
With all my love,D
I drop the letter like it’s on fire. The stationary flutters to the floor, but I can’t bring myself to pick it up.
Dante was stalking this woman. This teacher, who had no idea a monster was watching her every move, learning her habits, planning…what?
With trembling hands, I open the second folder. Claire R.
More photos. More surveillance. More violations of privacy. This woman is brunette, maybe thirty, with the kind of face that belongs in Renaissance paintings. The pattern is identical—weeks or months of stalking documented in meticulous detail.
The letter to Claire is even worse:
I’ve decided you’re perfect for me. Your ex-boyfriend was clearly too stupid to appreciate what he had, but I won’t make that mistake. I know you cry sometimes when you think about him. I know you check your phone, hoping he’ll call.
Forget him. He’s not worthy of your tears.
I am.
The third folder—Jennifer M.—contains the same horrifying pattern, but with a difference. At the bottom of the stack is a newspaper clipping dated two years ago.
LOCAL WOMAN MISSING
Jennifer Lynn Martinez, 28, was reported missing by her roommate after failing to return home from work Tuesday evening. Martinez, an accountant at Morrison & Associates, was last seen leaving her downtown office building at approximately 6:15 PM.
Police are asking anyone with information about Martinez’s whereabouts to contact…
