“I started training at a boxing joint. I was never going to be the victim again. I went every day for hours.
“Everything else in my life fell away. I lived and breathed training and looking for Anna’s killer.
“I noticed around the fourth month that a man at the gym had taken an interest in me. He never said anything, but I could feel him watching during my sessions. He looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Around the sixth month, I was getting increasingly suspicious of him, so I snuck a picture of him after my session. That night, when I got home, I reverse searched the image, and after hours of looking, I found a creepy blog site.
“Obsessive poetry, cryptic posts, and then at the very bottom, I saw a picture of the man from the gym, standing on my street. My breath seized in my lungs. This was from over a year ago, so it was either a coincidence or this man had been watching me for much longer than I realized.”
The blood in my body is boiling. I try to stop the shift ripping its way through my body.Nai’torin.Nai’morin. Don't lose control. Don't leave her.
“As I checked out different parts of his blog, I saw several other pictures of him at places that were favorites of ours: A secluded hiking path that Anna and I had accidentally stumbled upon. A mom-and-pop shop hours away from here. In front of Anna’s school, where I dropped her off every day. I was now convinced this man was involved, and I started my plan to prove it.
“I stayed up all night looking for any details that would help me find him. The next day, I was on edge until it was time for my training session, and I couldn’t breathe until I saw him walk in the door.
“I remember seeing him for the first time after knowing exactly what he was. He was the perfect man to pull this off—one of those handsome, down-to-earth guys who don’t raise any red flags.
“He was tall, with dark hair, dark eyes, and dimples. The kind of guy you don’t know you need to look out for until it’s too late.
“I had already decided the night before; today was the day I was going to make a move. After my training session wrapped up, I “accidentally” tripped as I was passing him. He dropped the dumbbell to the floor and caught me before I hit the ground.
“He looked down at me like a savior, but I knew what he really was, under those boy-next-door good looks, he was a predator.
“I made sure to lay it on thick. “Oh my goodness, my hero! You saved me.” I praised him. His sly chuckle made me feel sick, “It’s no problem, Lumi.”
“I had never told him my name. He tried to convince me he'd heard it around the gym, but I knew better. He asked me to go out for coffee with him, and part of me wanted to, to learn everything I could about him, but a bigger part of me couldn’t bear the idea of smiling at the man I knew murdered my sister.
“I didn’t have any proof yet, but my gut knew.”
“We slipped into a steady rhythm over the next few weeks. I’d study his blog every night, combing it for anything I might’ve missed. By morning, he’d find me at the gym and make small talk, like clockwork.
“Mark. That was his name—Mark O’Reilly.”
She takes a few minutes to breathe, and I don’t know if I should touch her or let her process this alone.
“He asked me out a few more times, and I always made up bullshit excuses to get out of them. After a few months of studying him, I felt confident enough to start following him beyond the gym. I purchased wigs, colored contacts, and glasses—the whole nine yards. I was determined not to get caught. He was meticulous and stuck to a strict routine: Coffee at “The Lucky Latte” at nine a.m. A ninety-minute gym session. A walk down Main Street, then home.
“On Mondays and Fridays, he went grocery shopping at noon sharp. The market he chose was twenty-five minutes from his house, but blocks from mine. Everything he did looked so practiced, like he knew he was being watched.
“The third week trailing him, I watched as he crouched behind the gym to feed the alley cat, like he’d done it a hundred times before. He whispered something too quiet to hear. The cat arched into his hand. My stomach turned. Were those the same hands that carved into my sister?
“By the end of the first month, I had a locked folder on my phone labeled M. Photos. It contained notes, voice memos with timestamps, and pictures.
“It turned into an obsession—full-blown mania. I had to know where he went, who he saw, what he did. I quit my job of nine years.
“He became my only responsibility.
“In the second month, I was tracking him from behind the windows of an empty bookstore. He paused mid-step and tilted his head, like he was listening for something. I watched as his lips curved slightly in the reflection. I froze. Pressed myself even flatter against the glass. My heart was beating so loudly, I swear he could hear it. He never turned fully, never even looked at me. Just chuckled and said, “You’re getting bolder, Lumi.” And walked away.
“I didn’t follow him home that night. I ran as fast as I could back to my apartment. I slammed the door shut and locked all of the locks. I crawled into the bathtub and sat there until the sun went down. I wondered: How long has he known? How long has he let me watch him?
“I didn’t leave my apartment for four days. I watched through the blinds while trying to convince myself I was safe inside those four walls. That if I didn’t move, he couldn’t follow me back. The third night, I got on to check his blog, like I always did, and something had changed. He hadn’t posted a single thing since confronting me by the bookstore. I knew he was doing it on purpose. To make me feel like I didn’t know his routine anymore. To get my mind racing about where he was.
“On the fifth day, I made myself get up and shower. I pulled on a sports bra and threw on some sweats. As I was walking out the door, I bumped into someone. I was just about to apologize when a deep voice asked, “Unit 116?” I paused and looked down. He had a UPS emblem on the corner of his shirt. “Yep, that’s me,” I told him. “Lumi O’Reilly?” He questioned. My blood ran cold.
“He handed me a small box. I told him I didn’t want it... but he didn’t take it back. I stared at the box for what felt like hours. I slid my fingernail along the edge of the tape and pulled the flaps open. Inside sat exactly one item: an autographed Polaroid of the K-pop group Anna was watching the night she died.
“That was the last noise I heard from her,” she whispers. “Her giggles as she sang along to one of their most popular songs.”
