33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzTDyR06BJzA week later, Ivory was discharged from the hospital and returned home with Ethan.
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"Thank you for dropping me home," she said softly.
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"Don't mention it. I wouldn't leave you alone in this condition," Ethan replied.
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"I know, but you're too busy these days. I really don't want to trouble you," she murmured.
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"It's no trouble," he said, his voice steady. "Don't think about it."
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Ivory smiled faintly, her gaze drifting for a moment. "Did you find anything about that bouquet? The one we found in my kitchen?"
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Ethan sighed. "Yes. The forensic report came yesterday. As I expected-no fingerprints, nothing useful."
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"Ohh..." She looked away, disappointed.
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"Don't worry. He's getting bolder now, and that's dangerous for him too. One mistake and he's done," Ethan said calmly.
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"You're right."
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"You should rest. Overthinking won't help, and you need to recover," he added, lightly touching her shoulder.
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"Ethan?" she asked suddenly, her tone fragile.
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"Yes? What is it?"
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"I'm just... really scared," she whispered. "After that hospital incident, it's like he's everywhere. I feel him watching, listening. Every sound makes me jump."
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Ethan looked into her eyes and saw the fear of uncertainty mixed with exhaustion. Tears had become her constant companion, and that broke his heart into a million pieces.
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Back in college, Ivory had never shown weakness. Even during her check-ups, her smile never faded. She handled the worst situations with that same charm on her face. Despite being a professional who'd seen many terrible cases, something about Ivory now made Ethan uneasy.
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Maybe seeing his bright, confident friend reduced to a shell of herself was what made it unbearable.
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"Do you want me to stay?" he asked quietly.
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Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded.
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He moved closer and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry. I'll stay."
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"Thank you," she whispered.
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He nodded.
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They sat in silence for a while. Then Ethan said, "The note he sent you at the hospital, I gave it to forensics too. The handwriting was altered."
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Ivory frowned. "Altered? How do they know?"
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"Well, they have several methods-checking rhythm, pressure, spacing, baseline alignment..." Ethan paused when he noticed her scrunching her nose in confusion. He couldn't help but chuckle.
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"Don't look so adorable. Just understand they have their ways."
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She smiled, just a little, and for a moment the tension between them eased. "Why would he change his handwriting?"
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Ethan hummed thoughtfully, faint lines appearing on his forehead. "Maybe because his real handwriting could be traced back to him. Given how cautious and calculated his moves have been, it's obvious he wouldn't leave behind something as simple as that. But..." He hesitated.
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"But what?"
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"I can't ignore the chance that it's someone you know. Someone whose handwriting you'd recognise."
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"What? But the police checked everyone-my colleagues, my friends-"
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"Not everyone," Ethan said. "We covered the obvious names, but that's far from a full list."
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Ivory fell quiet, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And the bouquet at the hospital? Do the police know about the note?"
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"Yeah. I told them right away. We checked all the entrance cameras again, but he didn't appear anywhere. Not even in the background. We're still trying to locate the boy who delivered the flowers."
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"I see..." Ivory said softly. "If finding a little boy is this hard, how will we ever find a man who doesn't want to be found?"
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Ethan thought for a moment before replying, "That's what I've been thinking too. It's actually more complicated than it looks."
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He noticed her watching him. Her lips were slightly parted, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
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"You want to know?" he asked, though he already knew her answer.
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"Yes. Your mind works differently. It's fascinating," she said.
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"Is that so?" he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
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She smiled back, nodding.
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Ethan leaned back slightly, thinking aloud. "There are a few questions that bother me. First, did the stalker know that boy personally? If he did, he took a big risk because the boy must have seen his face and could have exposed him later. But if he didn't know the boy, then he probably just approached a random child outside the hospital, asked for a favour while keeping his mask on the whole time, and the kid agreed without realising anything."
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He paused, letting her process that.
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Ivory nodded slowly.
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"But then," he continued, "why was that boy even there? Maybe visiting someone. Maybe playing nearby. But he was too young to be alone, which means he had to be with someone-family, relative, neighbour. And that's where it stops making sense."
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"What do you mean?" she asked.
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"We asked everyone inside the hospital. Patients, doctors, nurses, staff. No one recognised him. We even checked with locals nearby. Nobody had seen him before. Not a single person."
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Ivory's eyes widened slightly. "If he lived nearby, someone should have seen him. Maybe a shopkeeper?"
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"Exactly. That's what's strange." Ethan leaned forward, his tone quieter. "There's one more theory. The boy might have been held captive by the stalker. But I doubt that. He didn't look afraid or neglected. He looked healthy, almost cheerful, like he'd been sent on an adventure."
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Ivory exhaled shakily. "This is getting more complex every day."
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Ethan nodded. "I know. I'm trying to piece it together, but something still feels off. I feel like you're holding something back."
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Ivory froze. "What?"
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"Are you hiding something from me?"
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Her breath hitched. "You're saying that because of the note?"
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"Maybe," Ethan said after a pause. "Maybe not. But you didn't reach out to me all these years. Why?"
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The question hung in the air like a storm cloud.
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Ivory looked at him, startled. Silence stretched between them, too long, too heavy.
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Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Ethan. We'll talk about it later."
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Ethan's eyes softened, but the disappointment was there, quiet and unspoken.
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"I should change out of these hospital clothes," she said, avoiding his gaze.
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"Yes," Ethan said simply. "Sure."
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Ivory went upstairs to change her clothes while Ethan remained on the couch, elbows digging into his knees, head buried in his hands.
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Barely a few minutes later, Ivory came running downstairs, frantic and breathless. She was still in her hospital gown.
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Ethan shot up and caught her before she could collapse. "What happened?"
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"Up-upstairs..." Her voice was barely a whisper, the words trembling on her lips as she struggled to breathe.
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"What happened upstairs? Ivory, tell me." Ethan shook her gently.
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"Another message," she said in a low, terrified voice.
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Ethan froze, then bolted upstairs. On the wall, scrawled in ink, was another message:
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'TELL HIM THE TRUTH'
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The ink had bled slightly. Ethan leaned closer and brushed his fingers against the words-then paled. The ink was still wet.
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His gaze snapped to the open window. Carefully, he stepped closer and peered outside. No one. No footprints. No sign of movement. Nothing. Just like the day they had first seen him.
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Ivory appeared at the door, panting. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with fear. Ethan understood now why she hadn't been able to speak. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steadying her trembling frame.
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After a long, tense silence, he whispered, "The ink is still wet."
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Ivory gasped. "He was here. He was listening," she said, her voice breaking into a frantic whisper.
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"Shh... it's okay. I'm here," said Ethan, rubbing small circles on her back to soothe her. But even his heartbeat had quickened.
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"He might've come through the window," Ethan said after a moment. "He was probably here a few minutes ago and vanished again. And somehow, he knows things-confidential things."
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"H-How? Was he listening?" Ivory asked, still trembling.
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"Probably. He's like a ghost. Every time, he gets so close yet disappears without leaving a clue. This feels impossible," Ethan muttered.
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He looked at her, his expression tightening. "What is it you're not telling me, Ivory? What's this new message about?"
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Ivory shook her head quickly. "I swear I didn't lie about anything. I told you everything that happened since the day of the murder."
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"I'm not talking about what you saw or did," Ethan said quietly. "This feels personal. His first message was, 'Why did you lie to your detective?' and now it's 'Tell him the truth.' Is there anything-anything at all-you might've lied to me about?"
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Ivory's eyes filled with tears before she broke down completely.
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Ethan held her close. "Please, Ivory. I'm your friend. Tell me the truth."
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Her sobs softened after a while. She clutched his shirt tightly. "I don't know if this has anything to do with the messages, but..." She took a shaky breath before continuing. "Mark and I had several arguments that month before he died. But I swear, I loved him. I had nothing to do with his death. I never wanted this to happen."
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She paused, voice cracking. "I didn't tell you earlier because I thought it wasn't important, and I was afraid the police would come after me instead of finding the real killer. I'm sorry," she whispered.
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"Mark didn't like my late-night shifts. He was always worried about my safety. If I'd just listened to him and stayed home, this wouldn't have happened," said Ivory, her voice heavy with pain and guilt.
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Ethan held her hands, trying to calm her. "It's not your fault. Your shifts had nothing to do with it. He was killed in the afternoon."
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Ivory nodded slowly, barely holding back her tears. "I loved him more than anything, Ethan. I'd do anything to get him back."
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Ethan nodded in response.
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He believed her. He had seen Ivory's love for Mark himself. Even back in college, she'd always prioritised Mark over everything-even her own health. She had always stood by him, no matter what. She'd even stopped wearing daisies just because Mark hated their scent. She definitely loved him.
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But Ethan couldn't ignore the small detail that kept bothering him. Ivory's explanation about Mark's complaints didn't match what their neighbour had said. Ivory claimed Mark disliked her late-night shifts because he worried about her safety. The neighbour, however, insisted Mark had been angry because her schedule disturbed his sleep.
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Maybe both were true. Or maybe it was just Ivory's version-what she chose to believe.
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The room fell silent for a moment. Only the faint ticking of the clock filled the space between them. Ethan's mind was still turning over the details, trying to piece together what didn't quite fit. Beside him, Ivory's breathing had grown uneven again, her fingers gripping the edge of her chair.
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Ethan's thoughts were cut off by the sound of her chattering teeth. He gently rubbed her back. "I'm here, and I trust you. You're safe with me."
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"Could you please check the house once? What if he's still here? The way he just disappears every time... I'm always on edge," said Ivory.
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Ethan understood her paranoia and nodded. "Don't worry. I'll check the whole house and make sure he's not hiding anywhere."
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He started with Ivory's bedroom. Mark's clothes were still neatly folded in the closet. Ethan looked under the bed, behind the curtains, everywhere. Nothing much had changed since Mark's death; his clothes, his pictures, even the posters he'd put up on the wall were still there. Ivory hadn't moved a thing. He checked the attached bathroom next. Empty, with nowhere to hide.
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He then moved on to the guest bedroom. Again, he checked the closet, under the bed, behind the curtains. No one. He searched the living room, kitchen, and bathroom too. A large photo of Mark and Ivory hung on the living room wall, their wedding picture. They looked happy, so completely in love. Ethan sighed softly.
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At Ivory's request, he went on to check the basement and the woods behind the house. After confirming the rest of the house was clear, he carefully descended the basement stairs. It was dark and cold, cluttered with Mark's belongings-props, fabric, unfinished costumes, even a dress form half covered I'm fabric. There wasn't anywhere big enough for someone to hide. No closets, no cupboards. The space felt small, almost claustrophobic.
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Finally, Ethan stepped outside into the woods. A wave of cold air hit him, sharp and dry, reminding him that winter had fully settled in. He scanned the area carefully, behind trees and through the tall grass, looking for any sign of movement, a footprint, anything.
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The stalker had left nothing behind.
Nothing... except one thing.
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Near the garden, he noticed a small pit in the ground. It wasn't very deep, but long enough-maybe enough to fit a child. Or someone lying flat.
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and then Add to home screen.