This had been a waste of time—not that I expected anythingdifferent. I had assumed thatmy friend had gone to great lengths to ensure they wouldn’t be found so easily. Using a street kid as a messenger was pretty clever; someone forgettable and desperate enough to keep quiet. But I saw no point in making a child’s life harder than it already was, especially over something that most likely led nowhere.
The most logical move right now would be to disappear for a while.
Stop killing.
Not forever—just until I got a better sense of what my friend wanted, of what game they thought we were playing.
It shouldn’t be too hard. I didn’t kill out of compulsion. There was no thrill in the death itself, no power fantasy or some other form of gratification.
Lack of patience had never been a problem for me. I could wait them out.
6
Tom
A few weeks had passed since I’d last heard from my friend. It seemed that my strategy of staying low was working, though I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. The quiet felt like the calm before the storm—deceptive in its stillness, right before it tore through everything in its path.
While I should have been relieved by the lack of contact, I was anything but. It was frustrating. No—more than that, it was maddening, because I was no closer to figuring out who they were. I was left pacing through someone else’s maze, waiting for a new trail of breadcrumbs to appear.
There was a possibility that they’d lost interest, gotten bored now that I’d stopped playing along. Or maybe they were waiting for me to make the first move. Either way, I didn’t like the idea of a loose end like that walking around.
But as time went on, their absence began to settle over everything like dust—unnoticed at first, until it lulled me into something dangerously close to complacency. So when I arrived home to find another envelope dropped at my doorstep, I was momentarily caught off guard.
The paper was warm, still holding the ghost of someone’s hand. I began reading.
You’ve been quiet for some time now, but I’m sure you have your reasons.
I’ve always admired your efficiency. Your methods are without a single flaw.
You never leave even the faintest trace behind.
I can’t imagine it to be easy, not with that detective constantly breathing down your neck.
—A friend
Though the writer remained anonymous, I liked to think I was beginning to understand the way their mind worked. Their version of justice was a brittle thing, stitched together from equal parts anger and ideology—cause and consequence. The rage was the most telling, woven into every act like a thread.
Alfred Thorne’s punishment fit that logic. A man preying on those weaker than him, left mutilated in a way that stripped him of the very thing he’d used as a weapon. Linda Fell’s punishment did, as well, considering the reason her kids had been placed into foster care.
But the picture was far from complete. Too many questions still remained unanswered.
What were they trying to achieve? Why reveal themselves to me, however cryptically? How had they even come to find out about me in the first place?
Not to mention the note…
One detail in particular unsettled me more than I cared to admit. Up until now, they’d never singled anyone out. This time, they did. If my so-called friend was watching me, it made sense that they were watching the detective, too. And if they saw her as part of the problem, they might think it prudent to correct that.
Was Detective Sawyer in danger?
The thought sat cold in my chest.
I didn’t realize I’d moved until I was already halfway to the car. I jumped into the driver’s seat and froze, the silence closing in on me all at once. I had no plan, only an instinct clawing at the inside of my ribs.
Logic told me I was overreacting. The note could have meant anything—a taunt, an observation, something else entirely. But logic only went so far, and I wasn’t willing to test its limits tonight.
I started the car.
The drive to the precinct felt longer than it should have, every red light an unnecessary delay, each second stretching thin. At least the roads were mercifully empty this time of night. I kept my speed reasonable, careful not to draw notice, though my foot itched against the accelerator the entire way.
