Chapter 9 EMMA
\[ETHAN POV\]
I've kept an eye on Emma for about a month.
She works mornings at the café on Palmer Street. Arrives by six. Handles opening duties. Cleans the tables first. Then fires up the equipment.
Aria shows up at seven thirty, like always. She walks in when the clock’s just right. Her go-to? A cup of coffee - nothing fancy. Pours extra cream without asking. Never touches sugar, skips it completely.
Emma grins every time she shows up. Then wonders what’s new with her. Chatting casually as the espresso machine sputters nearby.
Last week she checked on Aria - wanted to know how she was doing because she seemed worn out.
Then I realized - she was the one.
I never choose targets by chance.
Each individual has a role. When someone dies, it matters.
Emma’s not simply a new part - she’s more like a sign. Instead of being one more section, she carries meaning.
Aria spots her each morning. Yet never questions why she feels safe around her. Although this person’s just a quiet piece of her daily rhythm.
Once Emma’s gone, Aria’ll realize - this ain’t chance.
She’ll realize I’m drawing near.
I began getting things ready a couple of weeks back.
First thing, I figured out when she works - mornings, Mon to Fri. Weekends? She’s free. Lives by herself, no roommates. Her place is a small studio, just six blocks away from the shop.
No boyfriend - just living solo. Roommate? Nah, got the place to myself. Parents are far away, out-of-state kind of distance.
She shares loads online - photos of fancy coffee swirls, thoughts on being thankful, pics taken at work with mates
Makes it easy.
I popped into the store now and then. Just never while Aria was around. Other moments instead. In the afternoon sometimes. Or later in the morning.
Got a black coffee. Then picked a seat near the window. Just stayed there watching.
Emma’s warm - she chats with folks daily. She keeps regulars in mind, yet stays casual. Her vibe? Open, always.
She wouldn’t recall me. I handled that part myself. Wore a ballcap instead. Kept my gaze low this time. Used cash, no trace left behind.
Just another face.
I got familiar with how the store was set up
Facing the street is an entryway. Behind it, a side exit opens onto a narrow lane. There's a shed-like space tucked away in the rear. Nothing watches that corner - no lens, no recording. Up front, only a single device faces the checkout counter.
The boss doesn’t spend much. Outdated tools around. Lighting’s pretty poor.
Perfect.
I figured it out when Emma shuts down - nine at night during weekdays. By herself that final stretch. Tidying things up while the place empties. Going through the cash drawer after everyone’s gone. Sliding the bolt on the entrance from within before leaving.
Takes out the garbage using the rear exit.
That's the window.
Last night I waited in the alley.
Parked the car a couple of blocks off. Then headed over on foot. Had the black jacket on. With gloves too. Cap tugged down low.
It was drizzling. Not heavy - just light. So folks stayed indoors instead.
I stood in the shadows by the dumpster - kept my eyes on the back door.
At nine-fifteen, the light flipped on inside the storage room.
I heard her shuffling about. Then - bottle chimes. A crinkle of plastic bags stirring.
The door opened.
Emma walked outside - trash bag gripped in one palm, phone clutched in the opposite hand
She tapped on her phone, grinning down at the glowing display. A quick laugh slipped out when a new message popped up.
Didn't see me.
I hung around till she put the bag next to the trash bin.
Then I moved ahead.
"Excuse me."
She glanced upward - surprised, yet calm.
"Oh. Hey. We're closed."
I grinned. Yet stayed back a bit. Not scary at all.
"I know. Sorry. I think I left my wallet inside earlier. Any chance I could grab it really quickly?"
She paused. Then glanced toward the exit.
"Uh. I mean. We're technically closed."
"I know. I'm sorry. It'll take two seconds. I just really need my license. I have to drive home."
She chewed on her lip - pausing, unsure. Maybe wondering what comes next.
Then she nodded.
"Okay. Yeah. Come on."
She spun around and then headed back in
I followed.
The storage space felt tight. Shelves packed with stuff, like paper towels and tape rolls. Cup boxes stacked sideways. Coffee bean sacks are smelling strong near the back wall. One wet mop leaning against a plastic pail.
She headed up front - checked what was beyond the counter.
"Where were you sitting?"
"By the window."
She moved close, took a look at the table - then glanced beneath the chairs.
"I don't see anything."
I stepped closer.
"Maybe it fell behind the counter."
She turned around.
Then she noticed my face.
Really saw it.
Her eyes widened suddenly.
"Wait. You're—"
I moved fast.
Yanked her arm. Brought her near - my palm slapped over her lips.
She had a hard time. Yet she attempted to shout. Still, the noise was unclear.
I moved closer. Then I said it softly near her ear
"Don't. It'll be over quick."
She quit fighting. Then just looked my way.
Tears streamed down, slipping off her cheek.
I held on harder.
It was over in under sixty seconds.
I didn't make her go through pain. Not what I meant at all.
The key thing? It's the tale. Or rather, what it says.
I put her down in the storage space, then crossed her arms over her torso.
Pulled out the knife. Then sliced - smooth, clean cut. Left-to-right motion.
Seen how the red crept out.
After that, I took out the crane.
The one from this morning. Plain white. Just right.
Laid it down right on her chest.
Stepped back.
Looked at her.
She seemed calm. Almost as if she were dozing off.
I took out a second crane - the little one. Not the big model, but the tiny thing I’d folded up inside the car while driving here.
Plop it down on the countertop up front
For Aria.
So she’d realize this one meant something.
I slipped out the rear exit.
Shut it tight after stepping out. Cleaned the knob using my shirt cuff instead.
The alley stood quiet. While rain kept coming down.
I walked a couple of blocks, then got in my car, and after that drove home.
Took the back streets - skipped the main roads since there were no traffic cameras around.
Reached home around ten thirty.
Aria had hit the bed. The lights were out. The door shut tight.
I headed into the kitchen. Then fixed a cup of tea for myself. After that, I took a seat at the table.
Pulled out a sheet - tore it open, then glanced at the words scribbled inside.
Started folding.
Once I was done, it was close to midnight
I placed the crane on the countertop - just beside the coffeepot.
That’s where Aria’d spot it right when she wakes up.
After that, I headed off to sleep.
This morning she stumbled upon it.
Picked it up. Then flipped it around in her palms.
I saw her from the bathroom. Not through the open part - through a narrow gap in the door.
She stayed quiet. Then put it down again
But then I spotted her face.
She’s beginning to get it.
I’m sitting in my room right now.
Door shut. Meanwhile, the notebook lay ready.
Writing.
Chapter Seven: The Message
The detective spots the body - someone familiar. Not a stranger, but a face from her past. A person she once relied on. Now it clicks. It’s not random. He’s tearing down everything tied to her. Slowly chipping away. Each death hits closer to home
She’ll need to share it with somebody. Yet she’s stuck. The sole clue she’s got leads straight to the guy she cares about.
Loving someone can cloud your judgment
I stop writing.
Read it back.
It's good.
I turn to the following page.
Write:
Victim Eight.
Pause.
Wonder who comes after.
Still not ready. Gotta wait till this sinks in. Give Aria time to chew on it. Maybe let her freak out a bit longer.
Then I'll move.
My phone buzzes.
Text from Aria.
I'm good. Thanks.
Short. Clipped.
She’s on site at this moment. Checking out Emma instead. Noticing the crane nearby.
Piecing it all i n.
I reply: Alright. Just say so if things shift. Miss you.
Put my phone down.
Sit back in my seat.
She’s likely gripping that pen this very moment. Maybe it’s the Montblanc - yeah, the exact one I dropped back at the start. Found my way there first thing
She hasn't handed it over yet.
So she’s looking out for me.
Even if she gets it.
Perhaps not. Or perhaps she’s just telling herself it’s all a fluke.
Either way, she belongs to me.
I fire up my laptop
Pull up the folder.
The one showing photos.
Scroll through them.
I've been keeping an eye on folks besides Emma.
I’ve kept an eye on everyone around Aria.
Marcus - her man. Super devoted, yeah? Way too watchful though. Gotta leave someday, one way or another.
Captain Ford - hard, sharp-minded. Still, she leans on Aria. Won’t catch the shift till it hits.
There are more folks - ones Aria hasn’t even noticed - who affect her without her knowing.
The man who brings her letters.
The lady works where clothes get cleaned.
The child who packs her food shopping.
All these choices work - each one fits depending on what you need or prefer.
All might come after - who knows what’s coming?
I shut the laptop.
Stand up.
Head over to the window.
Check out the town.
It’s beginning to pour once more.
People are hurrying back to their houses. Meanwhile, the umbrellas are popping open. At the same time, vehicles kick up water from wet spots on the road.
Normal life.
No one’s sure what’s going on.
Nobody notices the way things repeat.
Except Aria.
But she’s stuck - can’t speak up at all.
Becoming vocal means she can't deny knowing it.
It might mean fessing up that she wasn't telling the truth.
Means losing everything.
She’ll stay silent - no doubt about it.
She'll keep investigating.
I’ll just go on writing.
I headed into the kitchen.
Pouring a glass of water now.
The crane remains on the countertop
I grab it.
Unfold it.
Press out the wrinkles.
Fold it again.
Faster this time.
Once finished, I put it back.
Just like before.
She’ll see it’s not the same
The creases will look crisper - more precise. Or maybe even tighter, depending on how it's done.
She'll probably think about whether I folded it again.
Maybe she's just making it up.
That's the goal.
Get her questioning her own mind.
Challenge every part of her question.
Make her feel like she’s slipping - like thoughts don’t fit right anymore.
When she finally decides to move, the moment will already have passed.
I hear the door click shut up front
Aria's home.
I head into the living room.
She’s hanging by the door. Her jacket’s drenched - hair spilling water. Cold wind hits her back.
She looks exhausted.
"Hey," I say. "You're soaking wet."
She stays silent - just looks my way
You good? I say.
"Yeah."
"You sure? You look—"
"I said I'm fine."
She strolls by me. Then heads into the bedroom. After that, shut the door.
I stay put for sixty seconds.
Then I smile.
Head back to my study.
Open my notebook.
Write:
Eight done. Just two left till she sees what’s real.
Close it.
Switch off the lamp.