Chapter 57

Chapter 57
Gracie

Ben sighed on the other end of the line. "Yeah, Gracie. Deep. He's a machine. I know he hasn't left the apartment much. He's basically running the whole investigation from your living room. He’s... intense."

"He… He’s hasn’t been eating. Sleeping" I said, trying to keep my voice light, even though my stomach was doing flip-flops.

"I... I know and you know how he is," Ben said, a pause. "He looked pretty strung out when I saw him the other day. I tried to tell him to slow down, but he just snaps at me. Says I don't get it."

My heart sank. So, Ben saw it too. But he couldn't do anything either. No one could reach him.

David started talking to himself more, muttering about connections, about patterns, about how "they" were hiding things. His theories grew more wild, more tangled. It wasn't just about the dirty cops and politicians anymore. It was like everyone was involved. Everyone was a suspect. He even started looking at me sometimes with this strange, narrow gaze, like he was trying to figure something out, like I was part of a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

One night, I’d stayed up late, just watching him work. He was hunched over his desk, drawing lines on a huge map, his fingers covered in ink, his hair standing up at odd angles. The apartment was freezing, even though it was summer. He must have left the window open. I walked over, quietly, to close it.

"David, you'll catch a cold," I whispered, reaching for the window latch.

He moved so fast, I didn't even see it. His hand slammed down on the map, right where my hand was reaching for the window, blocking me. His arm was shaking, his muscles tight. He didn't touch me, but his hand was so close, his sudden movement so sharp, it made me gasp.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low, a growl. His eyes, in the dim light, were like black holes, piercing right through me. "Are you trying to see what I'm looking at? Are you trying to hide something?"

My breath hitched. "No! David, I was just trying to close the window. You left it open."

He just stared at me, his face blank, unreadable. Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away, but he didn't look away from me. The silence in the room stretched, thick and heavy. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears. He was seeing something in my face, something that wasn't there. He was looking at me like I was the enemy.

I finally managed to close the window, my hands trembling. He went back to his papers, his back to me, the moment hanging in the air like a storm cloud. I crept away, back to the couch, pulling a blanket around me, even though I wasn't cold. I was terrified.

The man I loved, the man who was so kind and honest, was slipping away. This intense case, that poison, all the pressure – it was breaking him, piece by agonizing piece. And I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to pull him back from the edge of whatever dark place he was falling into. Every day, he seemed to drift further, and the man I knew became harder and harder to find. It felt like I was losing him, even though he was right there, in the next room. And that feeling that slow, quiet dread, was starting to consume me.

Ben

I hadn't seen Dave in person since I visited to drop off the files a few days after he got out of the hospital. He was always on the phone, barking orders, asking for more files, sounding like a crazy person. Gracie had called a few times, too. She sounded… off. Quiet. Like she was walking on eggshells. My gut had been twisting for days, telling me something was really wrong. So, I decided I had to go over there myself. See him with my own eyes.

The walk up to their apartment felt heavier than usual. The sun was out, but everything felt cold. I knocked on the door, but nothing. I knocked again, harder. Finally, the door creaked open.

It was Gracie. Her face was pale, almost gray. Her eyes were puffy, like she hadn't slept in forever, or like she'd been crying. There were dark circles under them, just like Dave's. She looked… small. Like she was trying to disappear.

"Ben," she whispered, her voice barely there. She glanced over her shoulder into the apartment, a quick, nervous flick of her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Had to check on Dave," I said, trying to sound casual, but my voice felt thick. "He's been… intense. How's he doing?"

She didn't answer right away. She just hesitated, wringing her hands, her shoulders hunched. It was clear as day she was terrified. Not of me. But of something inside.

"He's... working," she finally managed, her voice cracking a little. She opened the door wider, and I stepped into the apartment.

The first thing that hit me was the mess. It wasn't just messy; it was a disaster zone. Papers everywhere. Piles of files, maps taped to the walls, notes scribbled on every surface. It looked like a tornado had gone through the Livingroom and Library from what I could see. The air was stale, heavy, like it hadn't been aired out in days. Empty coffee cups and old food containers were scattered around. It smelled like desperation.

Then I saw him. Dave. He was hunched over his big map on the living room wall, a pen in his hand, mumbling to himself. He hadn't shaved in days, his hair was a wild mess, sticking out at all angles. His clothes looked like he'd been sleeping in them for a week. And his eyes… that was the worst part. They were wide, bloodshot, jumping around constantly. They looked like they were on fire, but not with light. With something dark and burning.

"Dave?" I said, my voice a bit shaky.

He didn't turn around right away. He just kept mumbling, drawing a line on the map. It was like he didn't even hear me.

"Dave!" I said again, louder this time.

He finally snapped his head up, his eyes locking onto me. For a second, I didn't see my friend. I saw a stranger. Someone haunted. His eyes were cold, suspicious.

"Ben," he said, his voice flat, emotionless. "What do you want? I'm busy. We're close. They're trying to hide it, but I see it all."

"Just checking in, man," I tried to smile, but it felt fake. "You look… you look like you haven't slept."

He laughed, a short, sharp bark that sent shivers down my spine. "Sleep? Sleep is for the weak, Ben. They don't sleep. The Killer doesn't sleep. The ones pulling the strings, they don't sleep. They're always watching. Always moving." He turned back to his map, tapping it hard with his pen. "It's all here. The whole damn thing. Davies, Rhodes... it's bigger than we thought. Much bigger."