Whisper to me

Secrets of the Shadows

Nothing has been the same since I received that email. I couldn't bring myself to check my inbox since then. The thought of seeing another message from him makes my skin crawl. For the past two weeks, I've been holed up in my apartment, making up excuses to avoid my friends. Every time Sophie or Martin called, I'd say I was busy with work. But the truth is, I was too scared to face the world outside.

There's one thing that has kept me going—writing. I'd fallen into a creative frenzy, the kind that hits you like a bolt of lightning. Maybe it was the isolation, or maybe it was the fear, but words started pouring out of me. I buried myself in my work, writing and researching like a woman possessed. It was the only way I knew how to cope.

Sophie and Martin were thrilled because I was finally meeting deadlines, but Beth—Beth knew something was wrong. She's always been perceptive like that. I hadn't told her about the email, but she thought I was still shaken up over the fire. She didn't know the real reason I was hiding—the reason that made my stomach churn with dread every time I thought about it. My stalker wasn't just some creep lurking in the shadows. He was a murderer.

Three days ago, Beth showed up at my door, her face etched with worry. She had always been brave, the kind of person who faces fear head-on with a determined grin. I admired that about her. But this—this situation was beyond anything we could have imagined. It felt like I was living in a twisted murder mystery, where the killer was right in front of me, and I was the only one who knew the truth. I didn't even tell Beth about the photograph he sent. Dragging her into this nightmare was out of the question.

My phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. It was Beth, checking up on me like she'd done every day for the past two weeks.

"I'm too worried for you, Miles. You can't shut yourself in forever."

"I can't, not until they solve that case. Trust me when I tell you, there is a murderer on the loose and don't ask me for the hundredth time how I know. I just know, and you need to listen."

"That's stupidity. Either you tell me what's going on, or you're coming out with me."

"You know I can't. Besides, I've been writing so much every day, I don't want to lose the streak."

"That's exactly the problem. You've been writing so much, cooped up in that tiny room, I'm afraid you might be going a little crazy. You haven't even opened Instagram for a long time. I don't care if you don't tell me, but I want you to drop this crazy act and come home and stay the weekend with me."

"But—"

"Nuh-uh. Just be ready in an hour, and I'm picking you up. I don't want to hear any more excuses, alright?"

"Okay, fine," I sighed, hanging up the phone.

The fear had been eating me alive, making me feel like I'd done something wrong. But Beth was right—how long could I keep hiding, thinking the world was out to get me? I was scared of being stalked, of being hurt, but maybe if Beth was by my side in broad daylight, I wouldn't have so much to fear. Why was I letting this deranged man control my life? He should be the one in prison, not me.

I forced myself to take a shower, scrubbing away the layers of anxiety that had built up over the past two weeks. I put on something nice for a change, grabbed some muffins on my way out, and headed downstairs when I heard Beth's car outside.

"Thanks for coming!" she said as she started the engine and drove away.

"Like I had another choice?" I grinned at her sheepishly, acting like I was hating it, but in truth, stepping out of the house after two weeks felt like a massive weight lifting off my shoulders. It was like I could breathe fresh air for the first time in ages.