Chapter 17 SHADOWS
\[ARIA POV\]
I checked James Reynolds’s name in each database I could reach - using different ones, one after another.
Criminal history. Also traffic tickets. Plus court documents. Or online posts.
Nothing stands out.
Clean history. Zero run-ins with cops. Not even a warrant out there.
A writer focused on true stories from the streets - yet always chasing facts behind closed doors.
But something's off.
I sense it coming.
It’s midnight. Still stuck at my desk. Others left ages back.
Except for Sarah Chen - she’s stuck in the meeting room, flipping through paperwork, one page after another.
I check out James’s articles. Five years back, he put out twenty-three - quite a stack. One after another, they came, no break. Each piece shows his steady grind. Not many do that much work without slowing down.
All real crimes. But never solved.
I pick the first link. Because it’s about the Riverside Strangler - a case that never heated up again.
Yeah, it’s solid. Packed with info. Looks like they dug deep.
I swipe downward. A picture shows him at the spot - right outside the home where they discovered the body. He’s got a notebook ready, just standing there.
I tap a different story. The Portland Disappearances - what happened to them?
Just like before. A picture shows him there, jotting things down.
He’s never far. Right nearby.
I check another piece online - this one’s about the Oregon murderer. It’s supposed to break down his background.
Fell off the press half a year back.
A man who killed people but got away. Three women died. Each one discovered with arms crossed. Not once did police find him.
I stop scrolling.
Hands folded.
Just like that Origami Killer guy.
I read that piece. Pretty thorough, actually. Talks about how it’s done. Accuracy matters here. But there’s no proof backing it up.
Finally, one line hits me right in the gut.
The murderer probably still acts - but with a new twist. These behaviors never end - just shift shape.
I lean back.
James spent ages looking into folks who’ve done killings like this one.
More than just putting pen to paper on their story.
Studying them.
I check his profile once more. Then flick through the pictures.
Some involve jobs. Then there are crime spots - linked to investigations. Meetings pop up now and then. Also, designs for book jackets show up regularly.
Yet some are just about me.
A picture taken earlier this year. She’s inside a café. Near the glass. Screen flipped up.
I focus closer on what's behind.
Someone’s standing behind him. Fuzzy, though. Still, I see a form.
A guy, wearing a black coat. With a baseball hat on.
I screenshot it.
Swipe sideways to see a different picture.
Three months back. In the city center. There he is, waiting by the curb. Phone in hand.
That person is again behind him. Wearing a black coat. With a hat on.
I look closer. But the face stays blurry.
Yet the design feels kinda recognizable.
I open a different picture.
Four months ago. Bookstore.
That same shape. Never leaves the shadows. Just keeps staring.
My hands begin to tremble.
He’s noticed a person trailing behind.
Maybe he’s been tracking a person.
I keep every photo. Then I forward them to my device.
Next, I open the map.
Pick spots on the map showing where every picture was snapped.
Coffee shop. Downtown. Bookstore.
All just a couple of miles from where they found the bodies.
I look at the monitor.
This ain't happenin' by chance.
I take my jacket. Then I grab my keys.
Step away from the station.
Jump into my ride.
Pull up James's place - 1247 Ashford Street, that’s apartment 3 B.
I drive there.
Twenty minutes by car. The roads stay calm. Historic homes stand around.
I stop my car on the other side of the road. Then I glance upward.
Upstairs on the third level. Only one room’s got light.
He's awake.
I stay put. Power down. Just looking around - while time ticks by.
I oughta ring up Marcus - let him know about my discovery.
But I don't.
I’m still unsure about what came up.
Maybe hunches. Maybe trends.
Not proof.
I take my phone out. Then I check the pictures once more.
The person standing behind. Every time is identical. Never look away.
Who is that?
Is it James following someone?
Or someone following James?
I glance toward the window once more.
A shape slips through the glow.
James. Pacing.
Wondering what he’s doing up there?
I sit around for sixty minutes.
The light remains lit.
After that, it shuts down.
I keep waiting.
Nothing.
I glance at the clock. It's 1:30 in the morning.
I ought to head back.
But I don't.
I wonder what Ethan’s up to. Maybe he’s got that pen again. Could be folding more cranes.
About Emma.
About what James mentioned - the murderer’s probably near me. A person I actually rely on.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Ethan.
You heading back tonight or staying out?
I look at it.
Don't respond.
Lock my phone.
Check out the building again.
The window hasn't lit up yet.
I fire up the machine. Then roll forward.
Drive home.
Ethan’s already snoozing by the time I show up.
I'm standing in the door. Just looking at him.
He looks peaceful.
Normal.
I head to the bathroom. Then shut the door behind me.
Start the water running.
Sit down on the floor. While still wearing clothes.
Turn on the tap. Let it flow.
Think about everything.
The pen. Yet the cranes stand nearby. Also, some photos lie here.
James - but also Ethan - those hit by it.
It's all connected.
I just haven’t figured it out yet.
I don't sleep.
Just flop down on the couch. Gaze up at the ceiling.
When the clock hits six, I rise from bed.
Ethan's still asleep.
I brew coffee. Then I take a seat by the window.
Pull out my phone.
Check out the pictures once more.
The shape behind it.
Every time it's the same setup. Just like that outfit. Yet never changes.
Dark jacket. Cap.
Like Ethan wears.
I put my phone aside.
Stand up.
Head over to his office.
The door's closed.
I open it.
His desk is tidy. With notebooks piled up. While the laptop stays shut.
I take a seat. Then I pull open the top drawer.
Pens - paper, maybe a sticky note or two.
Nothing unusual.
I pull out the second drawer.
Manuscripts. Printed pages.
I browse through, pause at a page.
Chapter Seven: The Note.
I read it.
The cop spots the corpse - a familiar face, once close. Trusted them completely. Now it clicks. Not random victims anymore. Taking people from her life. Slowly tearing it down.
My fingers tingle a bit.
I turn to the following page.
She’ll need to talk - yet she won’t. The sole clue she’s got leads straight to the guy she cares for.
I let go of the pages.
Stand up.
Step back from the workstation.
He’s putting words on paper about my life.
About this case.
About Emma.
I turn around.
He stands there by the door.
I freeze.
"Morning," he says.
"Morning."
"You're up early."
"Couldn't sleep."
He glances toward the desk - then shifts his eyes to the paper lying on the floor.
"Reading my work?"
"I was just—"
"It's okay. You can read it."
He moves close. Then grabs it. After that, place it on the table again.
"It's almost done," he says. "Want to know how it ends?"
I stay quiet.
He smiles.
"The detective catches the killer. But it costs her everything."
He walks out.
I stand there.
Hands shaking.
He knows.
He’s aware that I’m watching.
He just isn’t bothered.
I head out at seven - skip the farewell.
Head over to the station.
Marcus sits by his desk - munching on a donut.
"You look terrible," he says.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. You need to go home. Sleep."
"I'm fine."
"Aria—"
"I said I'm fine."
I take a seat. Then I grab the case files.
Marcus walks over.
"What are you working on?"
"Background check on James Reynolds."
"The journalist?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because something's off."
"Off how?"
I showed him the pictures - someone is standing behind. That shape is tucked in the back.
"Someone's been following him. Or he's been following someone. I don't know which."
Marcus moves closer, eyes fixed on the pictures.
"Could be anyone."
"It's not anyone. Look at the build. The clothes. It's the same person every time."
"Okay. So who is it?"
"I don't know yet."
"You think it's connected to the case?"
"I don't know."
He stands tall. Then folds his arms across his chest.
"Aria. You're chasing shadows. You need to step back."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm close. I can feel it."
He looks right at me.
He just moves his head side to side.
"Alright. But when this blows up—"
"I know. You warned me."
He walks away.
I look again at my monitor.
Open James’s location once more.
I gotta make it into that place somehow.
I gotta figure out what he’s keeping secret.