Fort (Working Title)

Chapter 4

"Right, as if I care," he replied. "I don't care. I don't care if a young, starving, and struggling-to-make-ends-meet immigrant loses his job as a delivery man only because a clueless novelist scared everyone about the likes of him and a serial killer gave the whole delivery service such a bad name. And I don't care about you either. Why do you sound like you're either drowning or drunk? I'm not asking because I care about your wellbeing. I'm only asking because I'd like to know if you've accidentally hit something in the dark and are dizzy right now, and if it will be easier for me to get you."

"How did you know about my work-in-progress? I'm the only one who can read my manuscript. Even my agent isn't allowed to lay her eyes on it."

He mockingly mimicked the way Elizabeth spoke, slurring his speech as he said, "Avoiding my question, I see. My theory about your altered speech patterns is probably spot on."

"You're the one who's avoiding my question," Elizabeth said.

"Why would I avoid the question? Do you think I'm afraid?" He said, finally speaking in a normal voice. "I've been watching everything you do. Everything. I've been inside your computers and your phones way before I reached your house ... er, in a way, I've been in your house also. I've been monitoring you through your smartphone sensor and your Iot devices. I've hacked you a very long time ago, and I never left. I know everything about you."

Elizabeth didn't reply, but she wrapped her arms over her chest.

He continued speaking. "By the way, some things about you have been puzzling me. I've always wished I could ask you about them in person. Now's my chance. Question number one. You keep talking in your sleep about Monet. You don't have a single Monet in your possession, not even a fake. And you never do anything connected to Monet, both online and offline. The only time you visited an art site was when you were doing research for "You Know What We Do". You viewed all information about the Sistine Chapel and MichaelAngelo. Why do you talk about Monet in your sleep?"

He waited for her answer, but she lay frozen under the table in total silence. As her eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings, she started to glimpse some parts of the kitchen. "Question number two," he continued. "You keep writing in your private online diary that you're not scared of anything. But you also keep writing that you get scared of your own novels. Which is which?"

Elizabeth still didn't reply, but he no longer waited for her. "Also, why do keep replying to all the losers that send you love messages on social media?"

"Leave now," she said.

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll scream."

"Go on, scream," he replied, sounding like something exciting was about to happen.

"HELP!" Elizabeth screamed in the loudest voice she could manage. She kept screaming for help again and again. Her voice rang across the place, reaching beyond the walls of her property. It sounded in the silence of the trees in the forests, and some of it reached nearby mountain summits. A woman's frightened voice, seeking urgent help. But it was lost in the forested crevices of the slopes of the highest mountains, in the dark caves, and on the black roots of the trees. No human heard it. She kept screaming until she felt that she had no more voice left.

"Are you done?" The delivery man asked calmly. "But it's okay if you're not done. You can scream all you like, it doesn't matter. Nobody's gonna help you. The police is foothills below this giant mountain. Your friends and your family are down in the city, where you had left them."

Realizing her hopeless fate, Elizabeth began to cry in silence. Tears began streaming down the sides of her face, wetting her hair. She shook in agony, and she covered her mouth with her hands to stay quiet.