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It doesn’t take long before the words on the page become a blur, and my eyelids grow heavy. I shake my head and take more sips of my coffee in an effort to combat my exhaustion. I continue to push myself to get the words down on the paper.
My eyelids grow heavier with each passing moment. Before I register what is happening, my head droops forward, and I don’t even feel when it hits the table and the world goes black.
Chapter 8
Alex
Igraduallyregainconsciousness,feeling disoriented and groggy. I blinkmy eyes open, trying to make sense of my surroundings. The familiar sight of my sanctuary greets me, but something feels off. It takes far longer than it should to realize that I don’t remember leaving the office and returning to the house.
As I slowly sit up, a dull ache pulses through my head. Confusion mingles with the remnants of sleep as I try to piece together how I ended up in my rental house and why I passed out.
Breathing heavily, the movement of my body causes me to feel something unfamiliar tucked into the front of my bra. With my heart in my throat, I reach into the bra and pull out a small piece of torn paper.
My eyes widen in horror at the words typed across the page. The message is a chilling reminder of the killers’ presence in my life.
A shiver runs down my spine as I read the words. They have shown they could get to me anywhere and had absolutely no boundaries.
That's when my eyes are drawn to the wall directly in front of me. It is no longer the canvas of crime scene photos and case notes that it had once been. Instead, it is covered with a sprawling collage of pictures. Images of me, captured in various settings and moments, were arranged meticulously across the entire surface. They depict me at work, at the crime scene, out on interviews, and even at home in moments I thought I was alone.
Amidst the pictures, a single note stands out, placed right in the center of the collage. I don’t even need to remove it to read what it says. It isn’t even the first time they have said those words to me, but now it feels so much worse.
They enjoy fucking with me. But I am not going to let them get to me. I could play those games too. Instead of succumbing to the feelings that threaten to consume me, I make a conscious decision to channel my anger and transform it into fuel. They wanted to play, to revel in their power over me? Well, I refuse to be a pawn.
Taking a deep breath, I tear my gaze away from the wall and focus on regaining control of the situation. Picking my phone up from where they placed it on the desk in front of me, I unlock it and pull up the messenger app, opening the text messages I received from them previously. I can see it is still very early, but somehow I know they will be awake.
I let out a growl and clenchmy hand around my phone in frustration.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, fighting against my body's automatic reaction, recalling the photo and messages they sent me that showed they watched me pleasuring myself. Twice.
A mix of anger, fear, and something strange stir within me. I couldn't deny that there is a part of me that feels a twisted excitement, a dark curiosity sparked by their words. It is a sick game they are playing, invading my privacy and toying with my emotions, but I refuse to let them see just how much they affect me.
Suppressing the uneasiness that tingles beneath my skin, I focus on the task at hand. They wanted to play, and I am determined to turn the tables on them. It is time to show them that I wouldn't be intimidated or controlled.
I take a moment to compose myself, my fingers hovering over the phone's keyboard as I prepare to respond. The truth is, their words shook me to my core. The invasion of my privacy, the violation of my personal moments—it should disgust me, but it doesn’t. Deep down, a small part of me acknowledges the twisted allure, the dark excitement that accompanied their acts.
Summoning my inner strength, I type my reply, refusing to give them the satisfaction of knowing how their words truly affected me.
My fingers tremble slightly as I send the message. I hope this response deter them from their attempt to draw me into their disturbing fantasies.
For a few moments, there is no response, but then a new message appears.
My heart races as their words taunt me. They have an uncanny ability to dig beneath my exterior and expose the thoughts I try to keep hidden. It is a chilling reminder of just how much power they hold over me.
But I refuse to let their game consume me. I take a deep breath, grounding myself in my resolve to resist their manipulation.
I type my response, refusing to give in to their attempts to rattle me further.
As I hit the send button, defiance surges through me. I would not allow them to dictate my identity or control my actions.
The minutes tick by, but there is no immediate response. The silence fills the room, amplifying the tension that lingers in the air. I know this is far from over.
Finally, a new message appears on the screen.
The message sends a chill down my spine, but I refuse to let it deter me. I am intent on finding the truth and bringing an end to this. I would not let them kill another innocent woman.
Locking the phone, I stand and make my way to my bedroom. I am not going to admit that the rest helped when they had a hand in it, I would just use it against them by doubling my efforts to find them.
As I enter my bedroom, a sense of unease lingers in the air. The violation of my privacy has reached new heights, and I can’t help but feel a constant watchful presence lurking in the shadows.
