Chapter 8 CHAPTER NINETEEN
\[ETHAN POV\]
She headed to sleep but didn’t say goodnight.
I’m sitting in my room. Door shut tight. She’s shuffling about inside, maybe. Water trickles from the tap. Something creaks - like a cabinet pulled open. After that, silence kicks in.
She’s faking sleep one more time.
I flip open my notebook.
Write:
She knew I had no way of knowing about number seven. Yet she stayed quiet. Never confronted me at all. That’s what sets doubt apart from proof. And right now, she’d rather stay in the dark.
I slump into my seat, then wonder what’s for dinner.
The moment I said victim seven, her expression shifted. She set the fork aside, slowly. Then stared - like I’d suddenly appeared right there in front of her.
Yet she stayed quiet, no further words coming her way.
She just let things be.
She quickly drew her hand away, then fell silent.
Love does that - it gets you to overlook stuff you really oughta notice.
I avoid hurting others even when I’m mad.
I'm not angry.
I ain't even upset.
I notice stuff in a way others don't. Where they spot routines, I catch tales unfolding. Moments feel like book sections to me, while they treat them as regular hours.
Each one I took out had a reason. Not just picked by chance. Had to be done.
Sarah Jennings. Chapter One. Start of it all. Not just because she seemed like a person on hold - more that fate picked her. I handed her a finale.
Rebecca Holt. Second part. She felt alone - clear from how she walked. That changed when I showed up.
Lisa Tran. Chapter Three. She wrote things down now and then. I’ve seen bits of it earlier. Her days needed purpose - turns out they found one.
Michael Cordero. Section four. Getting way too near. Putting words on paper like I’m some riddle begging to be cracked - so I pulled him right into the plot.
Jane Doe. Chapter Five. She didn't belong to anyone - no kin, no close ones. Her true name? Lost, maybe never shared. Then I stepped in. A name came from me. Also handed her a small bird. Suddenly, she stuck in people's minds.
The sixth person was taken. Name not released yet. This is part six. She was on the night shift at a fuel stop. People passed by without noticing. Never even glanced. Today, they can't look away.
Now we’ve got seven folks instead.
Chapter Seven.
I'm still not sure about that person.
I fire up my laptop.
A folder sits there. Locked with a code. I enter the digits. Using what I know.
Photos.
Not about those who suffer. About folks I keep an eye on.
I browse each one now.
A young lady from the café Aria visits - she’s around twenty-five. She grins every time she passes the drink across the counter. Her badge reads Emma.
A dude at the station - newer cop. Caught sight of him one day while grabbing Aria for lunch. Sitting at his post, chewing on a sandwich. Seemed worn out.
A young woman shows up at the bookstore now and then - she never skips asking whether I’ve started a fresh project lately. Even though she’s gone through every one of my novels already, she still keeps checking in like we share some quiet habit. Somehow ends up saying I’m her top writer each time, outta nowhere.
I halt right there.
She’d be a simple one. Because she believes me without question. If I called, she’d hop into my ride - no hesitation.
Still, that ain't what matters.
The thing is, it should matter - really hit home for Aria. Or at least fit the plot somehow.
It needs to sting - only a little.
I shut that picture. Then keep moving down.
Pause at a different spot.
Aria spotted this person earlier. Not a close friend or anything. Just someone she’s had chats with now and then. Part of the usual scene around here.
I look at the picture.
This might do the trick.
I keep it in another folder.
Call it: Chapter Seven.
I shut the lid, then get on my feet.
Head into the bedroom. Pause at the door.
Aria’s lying beside me, facing away. Her back is stiff. The tension in her shoulders tells me she’s not sleeping. Yet I know she’s conscious.
“Night, Aria,” I say softly.
She stays still. Then silence follows.
I smile.
Head back to the room where you keep your books.
I flip back to my notebook.
Open a fresh sheet.
Write:
Chapter Twenty: The Detective's Breaking Point
She’ll come across the corpse after seventy-two hours. Because of a face she’s noticed before. Maybe even exchanged words with. It’ll hit her - this was meant to send a signal.
She’ll need to decide - confide in a friend, maybe misjudge me, or push forward solo, possibly fade away.
One way or another, she’s got no chance now.
I looked at it again.
It's good.
I shut the book.
Pull out a piece of paper - plain, white. Empty space waits. Not used yet.
Start folding.
Right down the center. Fold it here. Across one corner. Press flat again.
My hands just move on their own. No need to focus now.
Once finished, I lift the crane high.
Perfect.
I head to the kitchen, drop it on the counter - right beside the coffee machine. That’s where she’ll spot it straight away when she wakes up.
She’ll grab it. Then she’ll flip it around a bit. Maybe she’ll start thinking - could this mean anything?
It does.
It means I haven't vanished yet - just stuck in my head about her, moving slow but not falling behind.
I grab a glass of water. Then I sip it slowly.
The flat’s peaceful. Only the fridge humming - then my breath joining in now and then.
I guess it’ll happen around three days ahead.
About how her face might change once she hears the news.
How she’ll piece it all together - then see it was me all along.
It could be that she doesn’t. Then again, she might just go on fooling herself - acting like I’m still that guy she once loved.
Anyway, it’s all the same.
The tale’s set in stone.
I’m simply allowing it to unfold.
I head back to the research again - this round feels different somehow.
Sit down - then flip open the notebook.
Put another sentence down at the end of the page.
Seven done. With three left to tackle.
I close it.
Switch off the light.
Go to bed.
Aria’s sticking by her. Acting like nothing’s wrong.
I slide in beside her. Not making contact. Staying back a bit.
Close my eyes.
Yet I stay awake.
I’m pondering Section Seven.
About which one it’ll turn out to be.
About doing it my way.
How the bird appears once I set it on their chest.
One more, then another, followed by a third.
After that, the tale wraps up.
Aria’ll get it now - maybe even believe.