Chapter 40
Him
I approach the building under the cover of night, moving carefully so no one notices my presence. Every step is planned, quiet and controlled, because even the smallest mistake could ruin everything I have prepared for Iris. My focus is sharp and steady, my mind fixed only on the task ahead.
When I reach the outer wall, I throw a small hook attached to a rope up toward the ledge above. It catches securely, and I pull myself up the wall with steady strength, climbing carefully until I reach the roof. I pause for a moment, listening, making sure no one is nearby.
On the roof, I quickly disable the alarm system that protects the building, using a small device that temporarily shuts down the signal so the system won’t notice anything unusual.
Once I’m sure the alarm is inactive, I open a narrow access panel that I had already identified during an earlier visit to the area.
I lower myself quietly through the opening and land inside the building, careful not to make a sound. The corridors are dark and empty. Wearing gloves so I leave no traces behind, I move through the hallway slowly, paying attention to every detail around me.
When I reach the security room, I interrupt the camera signals for a brief moment and replace the live footage with a short recording of an empty hallway.
To anyone watching the monitors, nothing will seem out of place.
With the cameras temporarily fooled, I continue deeper into the building, unseen.
I make my way to the storage cabinet in the archive room, opening it quietly after picking the lock with tools that leave no scratches or marks behind.
I place the document inside a specific section where I know Iris is likely to search, ensuring it blends in naturally among the other files without drawing immediate attention.
The action feels precise and satisfying because it advances my plan without unnecessary complications, and I close the cabinet door with the same care I used to open it, leaving no trace that anything has been disturbed.
As I exit the building the same way I entered, retracing my steps to avoid any new risks, I feel a sense of completion knowing that the document is now in place at The Daily Chronicles, specifically in the newspaper office's archive Shoproom where she handles files regularly.
This calculated move is designed to guide her toward the information I want her to discover, and I bet on her curiosity to lead her directly to it without her realizing the manipulation behind it.
I have been quietly digging into the man who has been stalking Iris. The messages he sends may be anonymous, but nothing sent through a phone is ever completely invisible. Small traces always remain if you know where to look.
I spend hours studying the patterns in those messages. When they were sent, how they were routed, and the tiny digital clues left behind each time they reached Iris’s phone. Bit by bit, those fragments begin to form a picture.
The trail eventually leads me to older records buried deep in criminal databases and archived court files. It takes time to sort through them, but the name finally appears. Martin Doyle.
The man had been accused of stalking before.
Years ago, another woman reported the same kind of behavior.
Messages, surveillance, psychological intimidation.
The case collapsed in court because there was not enough proof, and he walked free without facing any real punishment. The pattern is unmistakable.
Once I understand who he is, I make a careful decision. I print a copy of the old case file and place it among the documents at Iris’s workplace, slipping it between similar unsolved cases so it won’t stand out too much.
I want her to find it, but it has to feel like a natural discovery rather than something planted for her.
I cannot be completely certain she will notice it, because people are unpredictable, but I have watched Iris long enough to understand how her mind works.
She is curious. When something resembles her own experience, she will investigate it.
The next day I watch her routine unfold exactly the way I expected. From my laptop, I quietly monitor the activity on her phone, and eventually I see what I was waiting for.
A call placed to the woman mentioned in the file. The moment confirms my assumption. She found the document, and her curiosity led her exactly where I hoped it would. A small sense of satisfaction settles in as the final piece of the setup falls into place.
With that step complete, I move forward with the next phase of my plan. If I want Martin to reveal himself, I need to push him carefully without letting him realize who is behind it.
I place a call to him using a number that cannot be traced back to me, routing it through several layers that hide my location and identity. To him, it will appear as if the call is coming from somewhere else entirely.
Everything is ready. Now all that remains is to see how he reacts when someone finally reaches out to him first.
The call connects after several rings. When he answers, his voice is sharp and guarded. "Who’s this?"
I let a brief silence settle before responding. "Someone who’s been observing your work."
A pause follows.
"My work?" He asks, suspicion creeping into his tone.
"Yes." I reply calmly. "Your little project with Iris."
His voice hardens immediately. "You shouldn’t be saying her name."
"Why?" I ask lightly. "Afraid someone else noticed her?"
Another pause stretches across the line.
"You’re wasting my time." He says finally. "Say what you called for."
"I wanted to see if you’re as careful as you think you are."
A quiet scoff escapes him. "You tracked down this number just to judge me?"
"Not judge." I correct. "Understand."
"And what exactly do you think you understand?"
"Your habits." I say. "You watch first. You study routines. Then you tighten the pressure little by little."
There is a shift in the silence on the other end. "You’re making assumptions."
"Am I?" I reply. "Because the last time you followed this exact pattern, the girl’s name was Mily, was it?"
The silence becomes immediate and heavy. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. "That case is sealed."
"Cases don’t disappear just because the court closed them." I say calmly. "Patterns remain."
"You’ve been digging." He says.
"I’ve been paying attention."
His tone turns colder. "You’re playing a dangerous game."
"I’m identifying repetition."
"You think you understand me."
I let the silence stretch before answering. "I think you’ve grown comfortable."
"You’re trying to provoke me." He says slowly.
"Maybe I’m trying to see if you still act." I reply. "Or if you’ve settled into just watching."
His breathing changes slightly, irritation slipping through the control.
"You don’t know what I’m capable of."
"Maybe." I say. "But I know your habits. Isolation. Psychological pressure. You follow the same steps every time."
"You’re talking too much for someone hiding behind a phone and a mask. Why did you call me at all?"
I let the silence stretch before answering.
"Because I already know where she’ll be this weekend."
Before he can respond, I end the call abruptly, cutting off any chance for him to retort or probe further. The silence that follows feels satisfying because I know the seed of doubt and curiosity has been planted, and he will take the bait without realizing the trap it leads him into.
~
It is the weekend, exactly as I predicted. From my laptop, I watch Iris’s location move slowly across the map through the GPS signal I have been monitoring. The small dot confirms what I expected.
She is heading toward the countryside, toward Mily’s house. The file I planted did its job. Curiosity led her exactly where it was meant to.
I do not leave right away. Moving too soon would risk interfering before the situation unfolds the way I need it to. Martin thrives on control and dominance.
The call I placed earlier was designed to provoke that instinct. If my understanding of him is correct, he will not ignore the challenge. So I wait.
Nearly an hour passes before I finally start the engine.
By then he should already be moving. I drive toward the countryside with quiet focus and park far from the house, hiding my car behind a line of trees where it cannot be easily seen from the road.
From there I have a clear view of the property without exposing myself.
Evening slowly begins to settle, the light fading into a dull twilight. I remain in the car, watching patiently.
After some time, a figure appears near the road. Martin. He stands too still, too deliberate. Even from a distance, his posture feels wrong. People who belong somewhere move naturally within their surroundings. He does not. He watches the house.
I stay where I am, observing him carefully. When Iris finally steps outside, his body shifts almost immediately. The change is subtle but obvious once you see it. He begins following her at a distance as she walks toward the bus stop.
I still do not move. The situation needs to develop further. The deeper he commits, the less likely he is to retreat.
Soon, exactly as expected, Iris notices him. Her pace quickens. Then she runs toward the wooded trail nearby.
That is when I move. I step out of the car and open the trunk, retrieving the hammer I placed there earlier. The wooden handle fits firmly in my hand, the weight familiar. I close the trunk quietly and walk toward the trees.
There is no need to hurry. Inside the woods, their path is easy to follow. Broken branches mark where someone pushed through in a rush. Footprints press clearly into the damp soil. The trail leads me forward without effort.
After a short distance, I begin to hear them. Labored breathing. The sound of movement against leaves and dirt.
When I reach the clearing, I see him. His hand is wrapped around Iris’s wrist, pulling her toward him while she struggles to pull away. Something cold settles inside me.
I step forward and lift the hammer, bringing it down with controlled force toward his lower back. The impact drops him immediately, sending him collapsing onto the ground.
As he hits the dirt, I stand over him, the hammer still in my hand.
"She was mine to hunt. Now she’s mine to protect."