Chapter 12

POV Coraline

"I want to know what is being done to ensure Coraline's safety."

Adam Mortimer ran his hands through his long hair in an attempt to dispel the distress written on his face. Lucy had cornered him the moment he set foot in my house.

He was without his partner this time.

"I've already requested an escort."

Lucy crossed her arms.

"The killer didn't come into this house last night because he didn't want to, detective, because he had the opportunity," she replied. "He called her, for God's sake! Andrew's damn murderer was just a few meters away."

"Miss Armstrong." Adam exhaled loudly. "Let me do my job, how about that?"

She smiled.

"That's what I want most, Mr. Mortimer."

Lucy turned her back to him and sat down beside me on the couch. Adam was nearly twice her size and had a potent authority, hard to ignore, but she didn’t seem intimidated in the slightest. Lucy stared at him openly, holding my hand when he approached and sat on the couch opposite ours. They locked eyes, as if about to lunge at each other. Adam rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers under his chin, but his eyes weren’t focused on me.

He had been here for less than ten minutes, and they were already at odds.

I made a sound in my throat that caught his attention.

"Talk about your book."

In a futile attempt to calm myself, I picked up my cup of tea and took a generous sip before looking up.

"Sweet Carnage," I said. "It's a book of short stories."

"Go on."

For the first time, telling someone about my book didn’t feel good. Instead of speaking, I handed him what I had set aside from my private collection. He flipped through the first few pages, quickly reaching the first chapter.

"Haunted Hearts is the first one," I said, pointing to the book. "It's about a couple who travel around hunting and killing people. They take parts of the corpses and force the next victim to eat them before killing them."

Adam looked at me as if I were deranged.

"And the second?"

I took a deep breath.

"Cruel Beauty. A killer who rips out the eyes of beautiful girls and sews them onto rag dolls."

He flipped through the pages to the third story. I didn’t need to look to know which one it was—I had spent the night reading the passages.

"The fourth story is the heaviest. It’s about a pedophile who kills little girls who resemble his daughter. The fifth one you already know—it's the story that gives the book its name: Sweet Carnage. As I told you, it’s about a murderer who carves smiles onto his victims' faces."

"For God's sake!" Adam stood up abruptly. "What kind of fucked-up stories are these?"

Lucy stood up as well.

"Don’t you dare talk to her like that."

He ran his hand through his hair.

"What are we going to do if this bastard starts reenacting one of these stories, Coraline?"

"So it’s my responsibility because I wrote a book?" I challenged. "What the hell is this, detective?"

He scoffed.

I licked away the lone tear that fell on my lips, and he followed the movement with his eyes. Slowly, he seemed to calm down and pull himself together. It wasn’t the first time I had faced criticism. I wasn’t as famous as I wished, but many people had strong opinions about what I wrote, especially because I was a woman in a genre dominated by men. Every now and then, a reader would approach me at a book signing to say how inappropriate it was for someone so delicate to write such violent books. I often wondered what people would say if my work ever reached a bigger audience, and to be honest, it almost made me want to quit. Almost, because my books still meant more than the opinions people had about them.

"Why would someone use your book and not any other?"

"With all due respect, detective, that’s your job," Lucy interrupted, sharp.

He averted his gaze again.

"Are you her lawyer?"

She smiled.

"Does she need one? I thought victims were supposed to be protected, not interrogated. Coraline doesn’t have the answers to this man's behavior—you should."

He took a deep breath. I noticed Adam did that a lot.

"Do you think it could have been an obsessed fan?"

"I…"

I placed my hands on my head, trying to silence the insistent voices.

"I can’t think of anyone. I’m not a celebrity, I’m not even famous. My books are relatively well-known, but I’m not. I never wanted the spotlight."

"Make an effort and try to remember."

Make an effort—that’s what he told me to do—and suddenly, my self-control dripped down the upholstery and pooled on the floor. Everything surged to the surface violently. The blood. The fear. The endless hatred. The frustration.

"I lost someone dear to me a few days ago. His killer called me and mocked me while watching me from across the street. Sorry if I can’t answer your questions in a way that satisfies you."

Adam threw his head back, leaning into the couch.

"I’ve requested a police escort for you. I was informed they’ll start tonight," he said. "Your books are at the station and will be analyzed. We’ll find him soon, Coraline."

That was anything but reassuring.

"Do you have any theories?"

"It’s too soon to say," Adam replied. "He’s copying for a reason. It doesn’t make sense for him to use your stories unless they mean something to him, or…"

Adam hesitated.

"Or that the real target is you."

"What does that mean?"

"It’s not uncommon for public figures to be stalked by someone who likes them. It’s possible he’s a fan, Coraline, and that he decided to imitate your book because he admires you."

"Would that make him a stalker?" Lucy asked, gripping my hand tighter.

He nodded.

"It’s a possibility."

"Sorry, but I can’t believe someone could be so obsessed with me without even knowing me. He doesn’t know who I am."

"It doesn’t matter who you are." Adam looked at the windows. "When you give interviews, sign books, and interact with people publicly, you create an image that fuels the interest of those who follow you. He thinks he knows who you are—thinks he understands you—even if all he has are these little pieces of you. He’ll justify his behavior based on his perception of events, even if they have no connection to reality. This illusion of control over reality will only reinforce his obsessive behavior."

I could barely hold back.

"Why is he doing this?" Lucy asked. "Why would anyone do this? It’s fucking sick."

Adam clenched his jaw.

"Imagine yourself as someone who can’t establish real connections with people, Lucille. You’re misunderstood, lonely, needy."

She looked at him.

"Then suddenly, you find someone who seems to understand exactly how you feel. A writer who puts into words everything you’re incapable of saying, or who tells stories that excite you, that move you. It doesn’t matter why—you feel connected to someone after failing to connect with countless others. Unintentionally, you start looking for more about her.

You check social media, see her photos, look up information about her life. Out of curiosity, you go to a book signing and talk to her. She’s fascinating, beautiful, kind. You’re intrigued but don’t want to get too close."

"I get it," Lucy tried to cut in.

But he wasn’t finished.

"You spend the next two months reading everything about her and become convinced she’s special. You can’t stop thinking about her, Lucille. Maybe it’s impossible, but what if she thought about you too? The idea starts eating at you until you decide to know more—more than anyone else does."

"I said I get it!" she interrupted.

Adam took another deep breath and relaxed.

"For us, a stalker's behavior is incomprehensible, but remember: they see reality differently…"

For a second, I hesitated. No, I was wrong.

"What could she have done?"

I swallowed hard.

"I exposed myself."

I felt their eyes on me.

"Andrew was planning to ask me out," I whispered. "At the last book signing, he was there. He showed up by surprise, kissed me, and left. If the man who killed him is really a stalker, could he have been there and seen Andrew?"

I lifted my eyes and met Adam's.

"Yes."

I let out a breath.

"If he had already been watching you for some time, he might have gotten angry upon discovering that there was something between you. Maybe he wanted to incriminate you, or he just thought the crime would hurt you because you had hurt him. If he’s stalking you, Coraline, it’s possible he’s trying to eliminate anyone who threatens the fantasy he has."

"How could I have hurt him?"

"In his mind, you belong to each other. You love each other, even if you don’t know it yet. Any interaction will be interpreted as a sign of your feelings for him. In his fantasy, you’re together, Coraline. Imagine how it must have felt to see you with someone else."

"Then he should have killed me."

Adam furrowed his brows.

"If I betrayed him, he should have killed me."

"He won’t hurt you because he’s not ready to let go of you."

"What does that mean?" Lucy asked. "That he’ll keep stalking Cora until he either gets her or gets tired of this game?"

"We’ll catch him before that," he simply replied.

My God.

At that moment, I needed to scream. Violently.

Control yourself, Cora.

Control yourself.

"What do I do now?" I asked.

Adam sighed.

"We’ll analyze your books and monitor any suspicious activity around you. We’ll investigate any connections we find until the stalker is identified. You’ll have police protection at your residence, but until he makes a move, that’s all we can do."

I nodded.

"All right."

"Avoid doing anything that reveals your location," he warned. "Cancel any public events or commitments. Leaving clues could be dangerous right now. You can go to the bookstore, but the police need to be informed so they can accompany you."

Silently, I followed his advice.

"I’ll ask the officers assigned to your house to leave a walkie-talkie with you," he said, his voice concerned. "They can teach you how to use it later. It’ll be good for you to have a quicker way to contact us."

"Thank you, Adam."

He gave me a rare, subtle smile.

"We’ll find him."

That was his last sentence before he headed for the door.