Six
Ara
There is something my cowardly self hates me for what I’ve decided to do today. My courage lies in smithereens on many occasions. And, when it involves confronting a mobster who hung dozens of men with missing anatomies on the ceiling, it evaporates into nothing. But I have to do it.
“I still don’t think this is a brilliant idea,” Ivy shakes her head as we exit my car.
She thinks it is brag-worthy to have a stalker. Especially if the said stalker is Mr Devlin. I didn’t help my case by putting extra effort into picking out a pretty dress, dolling myself, and even spending time curling my hair.
All for what? To teach my classes while I wonder if the man hiding in the shadows finds me pretty? Dolling myself for my part-time stalker.
So this is the level of pathetic mess I’ve stooped to. My attention-deprived self has started licking it off from the wrong corners.
I wouldn’t even have paid attention to my pitiful excuses to dredge attention from that man if not for a news headline glaring back at me from my phone screen this morning.
Tragic End: Young Woman Fatally Attacked by Stalker Despite Repeated Warnings and Fears
That man was a salesperson who developed an interest in that woman. He was a common man who grew violent when the woman he had been stalking went on a date. If a seemingly harmless man can be capable of such violence, what would a man like Mr Devlin be capable of?
I don’t have to think far. The dreadful image from the abandoned warehouse still dances behind my eyelids whenever I close my eyes. He was the perpetrator of that nightmarish scenario, who started following me in all my classes. I’m thankful that I don’t feel him following me outside the campus, but still, it is harrowing to think that I’ve revelled in such misplaced attention. It is high time that I get my head straight.
Not that I think he would snap if I dated someone—he couldn’t see me that way, and I’m not fool enough to think I’m some object of his desire. I don’t even know why he is here, every day, at least in one of my classes. I can’t predict what might set him off. He’s a stranger. A dangerous one.
Stalking isn’t normal, and neither is... liking it. Even with the wires in my head already fried, I at least need to pretend to be normal.
I need to tell him to stop following me around in the gentlest way possible. I’ve already decided to enter the lion’s den; there’s no need to poke it. That’s basically saucing me up to be its next delicious meal.
"What’s the harm, anyway? He’s keeping to himself, not bothering you, not even showing his face. Why do you feel the need to confront him?"
“Because it is not okay, you idiot! And have you not seen the news?”
Ivy rolls her eyes, flicking her hair off her shoulder as she struts into the campus with a confidence I can never muster.
“Oh, please. If that man wanted to kill you, it would’ve been done already.”
“Thanks for that.” I shiver slightly.
Ivy chuckles lightly and bumps my shoulder with hers.
“I’m just saying, as long as you pretend he isn’t there, he isn’t. But when you talk to him, the conversation might lead to something that won’t bode well for you.”
She does have a point. But I still feel like I need to do something about it. I cannot just stand still and let him distract me. I’m afraid that if this continues, I won’t be able to teach properly. That cannot happen!
And also, I need to know why he is here. I’m desperate to understand why a man like him is lounging in my classes, doing or saying nothing. He is an anomaly, alright. The biggest one I’ve encountered.
I wish Ivy luck and bid her bye before I walk to my first class. I take in a much-needed deep breath. I am going to talk about neoplasms today. And also confront the man I would rather run away from. Talking to him appealed to me as much as a stinky sock does, but I need to do it.
I cannot lose my cool in front of my students. Some of them only enrolled in my class and passed the tough test because I’m an expert in this field.
I don’t have to turn or look to know that he is here. The air is always thicker with him, and there is a sense of looming danger that sets me on edge. I can feel a sizzling current of darkness. I greet my students with a warm smile while Ray arranges the smart board with my presentation.
I place my bag on the desk and sip my water before I go to stand in front of the table. I lean forward, catching the focus of the room.
“So, let’s talk about neoplasms,” I begin, glancing at the screen displaying a cellular diagram.
“Abnormal tissue growth, where cells are dividing when they shouldn’t. These can be benign, like a wart, or malignant, as in cancer. The difference lies in behaviour: benign tumours grow slowly and don’t spread, while malignant ones invade healthy tissue and can metastasise.”
I click on the next slide, showing a comparison. “Malignant cells ignore signals to stop dividing, sending out roots into healthy tissue. This uncontrolled division often stems from mutations in tumour suppressor genes, proto-oncogenes, or DNA repair genes—a recipe for chaos.”
The room is silent, and students are focused. Tina, one of my advisory students working on epigenetics in cancer, raises her hand.
“How deeply are they linked to cancer research?”
“Great question, Tina. Neoplasms are central to understanding cancer. They arise when cellular checks and balances fail, often due to genetic mutations. This cellular rebellion fuels most of what we study in cancer biology.”
I continue, pacing away from the podium and feeling Mr. Devlin’s gaze. Sometimes, his stare is unsettling, but today it’s like a warm breeze brushing my skin. I shake off the thought and refocus.
Teaching feels liberating—this is where I can embrace my curiosity without judgment. Papa always called me a curious mind. Growing up, I overwhelmed my sister with random trivia until she cried for me to stop. Ivy and Iyra tolerate it, but even they admit I can be too much. After my ex called it annoying, I stopped sharing.
Now, the classroom is my haven for science, and Hope Springs Home, where I volunteer, is where I discuss quantum physics with Cas, a genius kid who shares my fascination with space. It’s a relief to let the knowledge buzzing in my brain flow freely.
I glance at the clock and dive into one last point. “These genetic changes result from external factors, like carcinogens, and internal ones, like replication errors. Benign neoplasms can disrupt tissues, but malignant ones dismantle cellular order, leading to systemic failure.”
Jess raises her hand. “How does clonal evolution contribute to cancer resistance? Do resistant clones emerge early or later?”
“Great question, Jess. Clonal evolution shows how tumours evolve, accumulating mutations. Resistant clones typically appear after therapy begins due to selective pressure, which is why treatments often fail—they adapt.”
I close the presentation. “For your assignment, I want a proposal for a novel intervention targeting these pathways, supported by evidence from at least three peer-reviewed studies. Outline the mechanism and anticipate side effects based on existing treatments.”
I lean back on my desk, wiping sweaty palms down my dress, nerves prickling at what I have to face next.
Some of them groan, some of them look bored, and the least amount of them look excited. I know it is a tough one, but they signed up for it.
“You have until the end of the semester to turn them in. This will carry a significant grade, so I’d invest a considerable amount of attention and care into this.” I caution before they all leave.
Ray leaves the last, handing me some papers I need to sign before she submits them to the accounts department. I think she says something about cancer cell samples being delivered today, but I don’t pay her much attention. I work on not fidgeting in my place after she leaves.
With the classroom void of people, it seems to grow in its size. I’ve never observed how ridiculously large these classrooms are. I agree this was once a castle, but what was ever the requirement of such a gigantic room?
“Mr Devlin?” I call out and be done with it.
There is no answer; not that I expected there to be one. But there is a shift in the shadows that has my heart racing and sweat gathering under my armpits. Please, god, let there not be a sweat stain by the time I’m done with this.
By the time this conversation is done, sweat stains will be the least of your worries!
I suppose so, yes.
I call out again and wait.
I see long legs stretch out from the darkness, and I jump slightly. Perhaps a part of me was hoping to be proven wrong about him being here. I haven’t seen him since that first day. Part of me kept hoping that I would make a fool out of myself by talking to empty air when there wasn’t anyone. But looking at the sturdy legs clad in black trousers and shiny, expensive leather shoes, that part dies a quick death.
I clutch the desk behind me tightly when those legs go to stand. They climb down from the step, bringing the man into focus. A sound gets stuck in my throat whenever I see this man. He seems like a dark, tragic poem coming to life, the kind that breaks your heart and pushes you into the abyss.
A beautifully chaotic disaster.
I have only seen him twice, so it still shocks me to see a man of this stature. So tall, majestically dark, godly and plain powerful.
The muscles ripple under his black shirt that stretches over his body. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, showcasing the art of tattoos that are both beautiful and mysterious. There is something about men with veiny forearms and tattoos that appeal to every girl who has a pulse. It suddenly gets the pulse down south racing, even if the said arms can crush me to a pulp.
Mr Devlin stands on the last step, a single brow raised slightly at me in question while I unabashedly check him out. I don’t need a mirror to know that my cheeks are pink in embarrassment.
I clear my throat, trying to push some strength into it. There is something about those eyes, those hunter-grey eyes that track every movement of mine with dark precision that makes my mind go blank.
“Can I ask what you’re doing in my classes?”
There is a moment of tense silence where I start imagining all the ways I would die. Perhaps he would hang me to the ceiling as well. Or he might chuck me to the sharks or find other grotesque ways to end me.
“No.”
I blink once.
Twice.
Thrice and then a frown makes an appearance on my face. I open my mouth once and close it again, not knowing what to say. He essentially shut me up, but I’m not going to back down.
Dealing with this gently is going to be tricky. I just know it.
“I’m sorry, but as the professor, I need to ask. Are you perhaps interested in Molecular Genetics?”
A beat passes by, and he looks at me without a change in his expression.
“No.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Listening,”
“Listening to what?”
“Classes.”
“So you are interested in Genetics?” I ask, always the eager rabbit when it comes to my subject
“No.”
I have to resist an inane urge to slap my forehead at his answers.
“I’m afraid I need to ask you to stop this. Even if you are an enrolled student, you need to pass a test to sit in this class.” I say it in my most gentlest tone.
I think it does nothing. I see a flicker of something pass in those beautiful yet dead eyes before he pushes his hands into his pockets. His expensive watch catches the light.
“No.” He declares before he turns towards the door, clearly dismissing me and this conversation
“I wouldn’t ever speak of what I saw, Mr Devlin,” I say to his back.
He halts but doesn’t turn.
“I’m just saying because if you are here, trying to see if I’d be foolish enough to talk about what happened in the warehouse, I want to save you time.”
I don’t see any other reason than that for him to lurk around. It only confuses me further when he doesn’t even turn around as a response. Just slowly walks towards the door. My eyes snap to the hand that’s inside his pocket, the same hand that I shot at. Against my better judgment, I open my stupid mouth.
“How’s your hand?”
I don’t expect any reply. But he shocks me when he stills, his head turns a little to the side
“Better than the sandwich.”
* * *
“So, it is you.”
A startled scream escapes my mouth as I jump back from the sudden voice to my right, cutting off into a squeak when I spot another grim reaper from that fateful night, chuckling at my reaction.
If I recall right, Eero is his name. He stands in the parking lot, his eyes covered in sunglasses as he tilts his head and gauges me.
“Excuse me?”
He is wearing a fashionably loose dark blue shirt with the top three buttons undone and tucked into his grey pants. He melts into the students with his easygoing smile and young looks, but I know him. Enough that he is nothing like the harmless hand-surrendering gesture he gives me.
Those same hands killed all those men, and he spoke about fun while doing so. Why is he here? Oh god, did I somehow offend his boss, and now he has ordered my kill?
Maybe he could see the fear on my face. Instead of consoling, the man laughs, the sound reverberating from his chest.
“Relax, love. I won’t harm you.”
I try to believe him, but my mind struggles to process why he’s here. When I say nothing and take a step back, he sighs and removes his sunglasses in a fluid, cinematic motion. A few girls passing by nearly swoon. He basks in their attention, even winking at one, prompting a squeal.
If not for the fear, I’d find him handsome too. He’s got the kind of deadly good looks designed to lure victims—a killer’s charm in full force.
He scans the area, searching for someone. When he finds no one, his gaze lands back on me.
“Where’s the boss?”
I frown, surprised by the sudden irritation I feel at the mention of him .
“How would I know?”
The bite in my tone makes him pause, then a Cheshire grin spreads across his face, his malicious green eyes glinting.
“He’s been coming here, hasn’t he?”
Before I can lie, he steps closer, tilting his head in a way that’s both casual and terrifying.
“I’d think twice before lying,” he warns.
I swallow the lie and nod reluctantly.
“What does he do?”
The question catches me off guard. Shouldn’t he already know?
“He sits in my classes,” I reply, confused. “Says he listens, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
I grumble the last part under my breath.
I’d even offered him my sandwich— my beloved sandwich —out of concern, guilt, and maybe even pity. And how did he repay me? By brushing it off without so much as a thank-you.
Curses to him. And curses to me for searching for him in every class, even when I knew he wouldn’t be in the practicals. He prefers lurking in the shadows of the lecture halls. There was only one of those today, and now I’m certain he’s gone for the day.
Eero chuckles, snapping my attention back to him. His thumb rubs his jaw, as if he’s deep in thought. Whatever’s on his mind can’t be good, judging by the wicked glint in his eyes.
“I have to go,” I say.
He steps away from my car, giving me a clear view of the tree line bordering the forest. A sudden chill prickles my skin, and my gaze snaps to the still bushes. Call it paranoia, but the feeling is unmistakable: run .
“What is it?”
I stare at the forest a second longer, waiting for movement. There’s none.
“Nothing,” I mutter, shaking my head.
Still, I shiver as I unlock my car, pulling my coat tighter. Eero follows my gaze, his smile fading as his expression hardens. He begins walking toward the trees just as I open my door.
Against better judgment, I pinch the fabric of his shirt between my fingers to stop him.
“That place isn’t safe, Eero.”
The forest has its stories—myths, warnings, horrors. I know better than to tempt it. The management even installed a wire fence to keep students out, though the thrill-seekers always find a way over.
It’s not the darkness under the canopy that scares me. It’s the stillness, as if every living thing inside is too terrified to make a sound. The kind of silence that suggests something monstrous is listening.
Eero glances at me, something warm and human flashing in his eyes. It softens him, making him seem less like a psycho and more like a person. He smiles, and for a moment, he looks almost boyish.
“Safe is boring, love.” He ruffles my hair.
I glare at him, mild but annoyed, which only broadens his grin. It’s whiplash—the sudden shift—but oddly welcome.
“Why don’t you get in your car and start driving?”
I glance at the forest, its branches swaying gently in the fading light. The fiery hues of dusk—orange and pink—fail to pierce the shadows, swallowed whole by the impenetrable darkness.
“Be careful,” I murmur.
Sliding into my car, I catch a glimpse in the rearview mirror. Eero leaps over the fence, vanishing into the thicket.
Let him be safe. The whispered prayer lingers as I drive away, haunted by the stories of those who never returned.