Chapter 37: When He Watches You Sleep

Chapter 37: When He Watches You Sleep
Lena had never truly slept in Ethan’s bed—not the kind of sleep where dreams unfurl safely in the dark. She rested there. She performed the part. But tonight, after Eliza’s story and the profiler’s brutal insight, something shifted inside her. She no longer lay beside a man.

She lay beside a suspect.

A killer with careful hands.

She stared at the ceiling as Ethan's chest rose and fell. He’d made chamomile tea, offered her a warm towel, and pressed a kiss to her forehead like everything was fine.

Like Kara never existed.

Like her body hadn’t been fished out of the Hudson with bruises shaped like betrayal.

The clock read 2:47 a.m.

Lena's eyes were still open.

A breeze brushed through the cracked window. The room was quiet except for the tick of the wall clock and the sound of Ethan’s slow, rhythmic breathing.

Then, his voice broke the silence.

Soft. Murmured. From a dream. But the words sliced clean through the dark:

"Red silk... like Kara."

Lena didn’t move.

Her heart stuttered. Her stomach flipped. But her face stayed still—trained after weeks of pretending, hunting, playing prey.

Another whisper:

“Tighter this time. No bruises. Like she liked it.”

Her spine chilled.

He turned slightly in bed. His hand slid across the sheets, seeking her. She let him find her shoulder, then wrapped her arms tighter around her body beneath the covers.

She stayed silent.

Red silk. Kara had been found in red lingerie—never purchased by her. Lena remembered Kara’s sister swearing she didn’t own it. The detective had noted its tag still attached. A gift, maybe. One Kara didn’t want.

Like she liked it. No bruises. No signs of struggle—Kara had been careful, cautious. There had been doubts if it was suicide. Now, Ethan’s sleepy confession tipped the scale.

This wasn’t guilt.

This was possession.

The room felt smaller. His breath steady beside her. She couldn’t run now. She couldn’t scream. She could only listen.

Another breath. Then:

“I told her not to leave. Said we were better. Better than anyone else.”

The clock ticked.

Lena shut her eyes—not in sleep, but in steeling resolve.

She wanted to ask: What did she say?
What did you do when she said no?

But she couldn’t. Not yet.

Morning arrived with a dull grey sky and tension draped like a second blanket. Ethan smiled at her over eggs and toast, whistling to a song on his playlist.

“Sleep okay?” he asked.

Lena forced a smile. “Yeah. You?”

“Best I’ve had in a while. Must be your presence.”

He winked.

Lena’s jaw ached from how tightly she held it shut.

He had no idea what he’d said.

Or maybe he did.

That afternoon, Lena pulled Ray aside at the station.

“He talks in his sleep.”

Ray looked up from the case files. “You mean he… confessed?”

“Not directly. But Kara. Red silk. He said her name. Said something about no bruises. Said she liked it.”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Dream evidence isn’t admissible unless recorded. Did you capture it?”

She shook her head. “No. But I’m going to.”

That night, Lena bought a sleep recorder app and placed her phone under the bed frame near Ethan’s side.

She smiled when he wrapped his arms around her like he always did—possessive, heavy.

Inside, she was ice.

He muttered again that night.

"She flinched at the river. Said she’d tell. I said shhh. Only until the cold went numb."

Her body burned, her eyes stung.

Kara hadn’t drowned by accident.

He'd silenced her.

When morning came, she quietly transferred the recording to the cloud, then emailed it to herself, Ray, and the profiler with the subject line: "Midnight confession: Kara 3:12am."

Later, Ethan brewed coffee in his kitchen like nothing had happened. Lena watched the steam rise and wondered how long he’d done this. How long he’d fooled everyone.

How many other women had woken beside him, afraid to breathe too loud?

She asked casually: “Do you talk in your sleep?”

He froze, just briefly. “What? Nah. Not that I know of.”

“You said something last night. Dreaming, maybe?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe about Paris.”
Pause.
“Or someone from years ago. But if I said anything… must’ve been nonsense.”

She nodded. “Right. Nonsense.”

But she had the proof now.

Not just the shrine. Not just the emails. Not just the profiler’s analysis or Eliza’s testimony.

She had his voice.

The mask was cracking.

And soon, it would fall off entirely.

That night, she didn't sleep.

She stared at the man beside her and reminded herself that monsters don’t always wear claws.

Sometimes, they wear cologne and make you breakfast.