Chapter 16 THE BOARD
\[JAMES POV\]
I’ve kept an eye on him for a month and a half.
Once in a while. That much is clear.
But not enough.
I know how he rolls - where he heads, when he shows up, who he chats with.
I can tell just before he strikes.
I’m parked in my car, facing his place. A black four-door sits there - looks just like his. Same type. Nearly identical paint.
It's three a.m.
Most folks are snoozing.
I'm not.
I barely get any sleep. Always been that way.
The lamps in his room glow bright. Through the glass, there he is. Perched by the table. Scribbling notes.
He’s always doing this. Jots things down after dark - almost like he’s keeping track of stuff. One thing leads to another, so it keeps going.
I grab my camera. Then I zoom in.
He leans back at this moment - raising an object toward the glow.
A sheet of paper. Pale. Creased.
Another crane.
I snap a picture.
Click.
He puts it there. Then gets on his feet. After that, he leaves the picture.
I take the camera down.
Check the time.
Three-fifteen.
He’s heading to sleep shortly. Usually by half past three, that’s his habit.
I fire up the motor. Then roll down two streets. After that, I pull over.
Grab my notebook from the bag.
Write:
March 14. Three fifteen AM. Ethan’s up. Putting words down. Folded another paper bird. Picking someone - maybe soon.
I shut the book.
Lean back.
Look up at the roof above you.
I oughta sense a reaction here somehow.
Guilt perhaps, Or fear Maybe disgust.
But I don't.
I get that I oughta. I’ve looked into it. Regular folks react when faced with cruelty - outrage, grief, shock.
I feel curious.
That's it.
Just curiosity.
I wanna know his method. The way he chooses them instead. Getting near without rushing. Staying cool later on that.
Michael also wanted to get it.
He’s gone - so that explains it.
Yet Michael acted nothing like I did.
He sensed stuff. Yet he craved fairness.
I just need things fixed.
I want answers.
I bumped into Ethan a few weeks back inside that little bookstore near the square.
Met him. Gave a handshake. Started asking stuff.
He acted nicely - quite friendly, actually. Smooth talker, if you ask me. His replies? Solid ones.
Yet I spotted it.
The look in his eyes.
The emptiness.
I spotted it - the same thing I face each day when I check the glass.
We're the same.
Except we're not.
He kills.
I don't.
I can't say why.
Perhaps it’s the smarts. The medics reckon that makes a difference - keeps things in check.
Perhaps it’s one out of four.
The bit of me that senses.
It’s not a lot. Still, it’s enough to see murder isn’t right - even when my gut doesn’t get it.
Yet Ethan’s missing out on it.
He's pure.
No feeling. Not stopping. No regret.
He’s like the version I might’ve turned into.
So that’s why I keep an eye on him.
I head back around four.
My place isn't big - just a single bedroom. The kitchen’s right next to it. Then there's the living area, kind of squeezed in.
I don't need a lot.
I head into the extra room - yeah, that space I work from.
The walls? Covered they are.
Pics. Location guides. Stories. Time tracks.
So far, eight people have been affected.
Sarah Jennings - but also Rebecca Holt. Then Lisa Tran - followed by Michael Cordero. Not forgetting Jane Doe - or little Emma.
One extra thing - I’m still checking on it.
I’ve got pictures of each one - back when they were still alive.
I grabbed those shots as I trailed behind Ethan.
He had no clue I was around.
I can disappear whenever I want - slipping into shadows feels natural.
I head over to the board - check out the map.
Red dots show where each killing happened.
Blue dots show where Ethan hangs out.
They overlap.
Three killings close to spots he visits often - just a short distance away from his usual hangouts.
That's not a coincidence.
I take a breath. Then I see it all.
There’s a kind of quiet charm to it.
The way it flows. Exactly how it fits. Yet still feels loose.
Michael noticed it as well - so he reached out a fortnight before his passing.
Said he was near. Then added that he recognized the person.
I warned him to watch out.
He wasn't.
I grab my phone. Then flick through the pictures from earlier.
Ethan sits by his desk. Then there's the crane outside. He glances up - the light hits his face sideways.
Calm. Focused.
As if he’s figuring out a riddle.
I take a closer look at the crane.
Flawless bends. Crisp edges.
He’s stuck with it for ages.
More than eight people were hurt.
It doesn't stop here. I’m sure of it.
Bodies still missing. Or cities left unsearched.
I plop into my chair - fire up the computer.
Pull up the database I’ve put together.
Unsolved killings - over the past decade. Each is done the same way. Leaves behind identical marks.
I’ve come across six options that might work.
Different places. Yet similar times.
Yet the way stays unchanged.
Slit throat. Fingers clasped together. Item found nearby.
Now and then it’s not a bird - could be something else instead.
Yet kept folding the sheet.
I put them into my spreadsheet.
Fourteen total now.
Maybe more.
I slump backward - wipe my face.
I should sleep.
But I won't.
I don't ever follow through after seeing him.
My head won't slow down. One thought after another.
I get on my feet. Then I head over to the wardrobe.
Pull out the black jacket - then grab the baseball cap.
I got these a month back. The very ones he usually puts on.
I put them on while looking at myself in the glass.
We kinda resemble each other. About the same height. Built alike.
Far away, we looked just the same.
That's the point.
If I’m gonna tail him, I’ve got to fit in somehow.
Have to blend in.
I slid the jacket back in place. Then shut the door behind it.
Head into the kitchen. Then grab a glass and fill it with water.
Drink it slow.
Think about tomorrow.
He’s meeting his agent around lunchtime. After that, maybe he’ll head to the café near the West End. Spend some time putting words down.
I'll be there.
Out there, not in here. Just looking on. From the outside.
Documenting.
Learning.
My phone buzzes.
Message from my sis.
Haven't seen a message from you all week - everything cool?
I look at it - just sitting there, quiet.
I ought to reply. Maybe say I’m doing okay. Then check in on her.
Yet I’m just not into it.
I’m okay. Got caught up in tasks.
Three dots appear.
You’re constantly on the go. So, when will you stop by?
Soon.
You mentioned that just a month ago.
I get it. Sorry about that.
James... Hope you're okay. Really been thinking 'bout you lately.
I don't respond.
She types again.
Feeling hungry? Or maybe just tired?
Yes.
You're lying.
I lock my phone - then flip it over.
She's right.
I’m barely eating. Or catching any sleep.
Yet stopping isn’t an option right now.
I'm too close.
I head back to work. Then I take a seat.
Check out the board.
Right where Ethan’s face sits front and center.
Among those hurt near him.
Along the red marks that link together.
This one idea feels right in my head.
The one thing that seems… worth a look.
Not like feelings are involved.
Yet it makes sense somehow.
Solving a problem - figuring out what’s missing. Spotting the unknown piece.
Ethan changes things.
I’ll get to know what he’s about.
If it takes my life.
I hear something from outside - maybe a car door shutting.
I head over to the window. Then I peek outside.
A person is stepping into a vehicle on the other side of the road.
It’s pitch black. I don’t catch a glimpse of their face.
The vehicle drives off.
I see it move.
After that, I look at the board again.
Pick up a red marker but don't start just yet.
Draw another line.
From Ethan onward - till number eight.
David Park.
The lawyer.
I can't figure out the reason for him just now.
But I will.
I always do.