Chapter 12 THE WATCHER
\[ARIA POV\]
The chat with my rep lasted sixty minutes.
She needs the fresh draft by next month. I mentioned it’s nearly finished
It's not.
It'll happen though.
I'm hanging out at a café right now. Not the spot on Palmer Street - another place. Over near the other side of town.
I grab a black coffee. Then I park myself by the window.
Pull out my little notebook.
Start with an empty sheet.
Chapter Eight.
I write nonstop for about half an hour - just go without pausing. Stuff flows better this time, somehow. It’s like the ideas show up out of nowhere.
The detective stumbles on the pictures. Then she notices something - each person had crossed paths with him before dying. Not random picks, but chosen ones. Stalked over time. Kept under watch. Silent patience.
Now she knows.
Yet understanding doesn't mean showing it's true.
I stop writing.
Check what's outside the glass.
A lady strolls past, leading a pet. A child rolls along on wheels instead. One person glances at a screen.
Ordinary folks living day-to-day stuff.
Not one knows what’s going on
Not one notices it.
Except Aria.
I shut the book.
Check my phone.
No messages from her.
She’s likely over at the precinct by now - checking through folders, maybe flipping past old snapshots.
Wrapping things up.
Good.
I hope she stumbles on it.
That's the point.
I finish my coffee.
Slide some cash onto the table.
Walk out.
The air’s chilly. Yet clouds are gathering. Seems like more rain.
I walk two blocks - then stop by a bookstore.
Go inside.
The scent greets me right away. Pages - crisp, dry. Ink seeping through. Along with that aged timber vibe.
I love bookstores.
A woman stands by the counter - older, wearing glasses, flipping through a worn book.
She glances over as I come through the door.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Just browsing."
"Let me know if you need anything."
I nod.
Head toward the rear.
Fiction section. Thrillers.
My books sit on the shelf - three altogether - facing forward
I grab one from the rack.
The Ninth Sin.
Flip it around. Then check the back side.
A detective tracks a murderer who’s always just out of reach. Yet the nearer she comes, the clearer it becomes - he understands her. Understands her habits. What scares her. Where she falls short
He’s been keepin’ an eye on her this whole time.
I smile.
Slide the book into place.
Pull out my phone.
Open my photos.
Slide down to the shot from earlier today.
Aria. Resting in bed. Her hair fanned across the pillow. She looks calm.
She doesn't know I took it.
She never does.
I’ve used these for a couple years now - so far, they’re holding up just fine.
Pics of her dozing off. Grabbing a bite. Hustling through tasks. Strolling down the street.
She figures her phone’s the sole camera around here.
It's not.
I step out of the shop.
Headed back to my car.
Drive home.
The apartment’s quiet when I arrive - no one around.
Aria's still gone.
I head into my room.
Sit down by my desk.
The crane I built yesterday isn't here anymore
She took it.
I smile.
She opened it slowly - then checked what was written inside.
Now she's scared.
I fire up my laptop.
Pull up the folder holding the photos.
Scroll through them.
I've been paying attention - not only to those affected, but also to how things unfold around them.
I’ve noticed each person around me.
Marcus. Captain Ford. Those folks down at the station.
And Aria.
Always Aria.
I pause at a picture from last week.
She’s standing by the crime spot. Her eyes fixed on body number six. Cheeks tense. Teeth pressed together.
She had no idea I was around.
But I was.
I'm always there.
I shut the laptop.
Pull out my notebook.
Write:
Victim Nine.
Not just now. Yet before long.
This one’s gotta sting.
Wants a chance to shine.
I glance a few pages backward.
Check out what I put down yesterday.
Eight down. Two left till she sees what’s real
I scratch it off.
Write:
Eight down… one left till it clicks.
Close the notebook.
Stand up.
Head over to the kitchen.
Pour yourself a glass of water.
Check what's outside the window.
Rain starting.
I'm thinking 'bout later. What’s on your mind?
What Aria plans once she reaches home.
Could she face me?
Does she keep silent?
Could she end up walking away?
I don't know.
Still, I’m set for everything ahead
My phone buzzes.
Text from Aria.
Staying late at work. Just head to bed without me.
I gaze at the display.
She's lying.
She's not working.
She's digging.
I reply: Alright. Stay safe. I love you.
Put my phone down.
Head back to my study.
Unlock the drawer that’s closed.
In there’s a container.
I take it out.
Open it.
Nine paper birds. Each one a unique shade.
One per person who suffered.
White for Sarah.
Blue for Rebecca.
Yellow for Lisa.
Red for Michael.
Green for Jane.
Pink on the sixth.
Orange for Emma.
And two more.
Purple and black.
Over the past couple.
I grab the purple one instead.
Look at it through the light.
Soon.
Very soon.
I slid it back into the container.
Close the drawer.
Lock it.
Aria gets back home around midnight.
I’m lying down. The room’s dark.
I hear her keys clicking in the lock - door creaks open, then footsteps follow.
She leaves the lights off.
Just heads into the room.
Lingers by the entrance.
I shut my eyes tight. But I stay calm, focusing on each breath.
She looks at me - quite awhile.
Then she leaves.
I hear her moving around in the living room - couch groaning under her weight, blanket shifting with every small motion.
She isn't lying beside me this evening.
Good.
She's finally afraid.