I can see you

chapter 16

(KILLAN'S POV)

The house was holding steady. There was no new movement since 18:04. Subject R had returned to her house; Subject E remained in the chair. Restraints intact. Maybe the heart rate was elevated but the breathing looked steady.

I made a note.

Observation Log - Entry 01
Subject R: requested full access to visible surveillance feeds. Request granted.
Subject E: signs of restraint testing. Cognitive awareness intact.

On the chandelier feed, Edward sat stone-still. Sweat glistened on his brow. His fingers moved just enough to test the ropes at his wrist. He thought he was being subtle.

I watched from my study three miles away. A repurposed hunting lodge, now a control hub. Eight monitors. Three live cameras-ones Rosy didn't know about-and one primary feed: the chandelier cam. It was the best angle in the house because it looked straight down onto Edward like a god's eye.

I leaned back in my chair. Sipped my tea. Logged the moment his eyes flicked up, just shy of where the lens was hidden. Still didn't see it. Still playing checkers on a chessboard.

You always did underestimate me, Edward.

---

When the hospital called my mother after the accident, I thought it was a mistake.

"Edward's been in a crash," the nurse said. "His parents didn't survive."

It wasn't a mistake. It was the moment everything broke open. I remember the silence in our living room after that call. The way my parents looked at me like I'd already made up my mind.

We'd been best friends since we were seven. I was the quiet one with top grades and asthma; he was the charming boy with shadows under his eyes and a talent for drawing monsters. We spent every summer together. Every Christmas. His father called me his second son.

After the funeral, I tried to visit. His aunt said he wasn't seeing anyone. I wrote but there was no response. I tried again six months later but still got nothing.

Edward and I used to build little mazes in my basement and call them "experiments." We broke frogs apart just to learn how they worked. We were children with sharp edges. We liked to test limits.

So of course, when Edward called me a year later, breathless, panicked, whispering something about blood on his hands and "I didn't mean to-she wouldn't stop screaming"-I didn't ask questions.

I grabbed gloves and bleach and I helped him clean.

It was a motel room. Late autumn. The girl's body was still warm. Her mouth was open like she'd died mid-sentence. Edward sat on the floor next to her, rocking slightly, hands clenched into fists. He didn't cry. He never cried.

Afterward, I told him it was a psychotic break. Guilt trauma. Triggered by his mother's death. It was a lie. He wasn't broken. He'd simply... crossed over. And I helped him build the bridge.

I've always wondered if he loved me for that. Not romantically but in the way animals remember the first hand that fed them after they tasted blood. We didn't talk for a while after that. But I never stopped watching.

Until one day, I saw a familiar sketch posted anonymously online-something from our childhood. A girl with starlit eyes and a mouth like a scream. He used to draw her in the margins of his notebooks.

He was still chasing her. That's when I knew the story hadn't ended. Neither for him nor for me.

After that Edward and I became close again. I offered him comfort and he provided me with purpose.

---

I only approached Rosy a month ago. I had done my research and I knew exactly where she vanished after the fire 5 years ago. I knew what she was looking for so I introduced myself. Told her we'd grown up in the same orphanage. That I'd known Riya and her.

She didn't ask questions. She was lonely. She wanted someone to believe in her, even if it was a lie. Especially if it was a lie.

I fed her one. A good one. That there was another version of her. A missing twin. A forgotten name. She never said Riya's name aloud. But she clung to the story like it was gospel.

A week later, she was pacing my study, asking how to get Edward to remember her. Two weeks after that, she was talking about the house. Three days ago, I gave her the location.

Today, she drugged him. And brought him here. She believes this is a reunion. She believes this is love.

What it really is-
A variable. In my study.

Earlier tonight, she knocked on the door of my house. Her white dress was wrinkled, her fingers curled tightly around the hem. She looked both triumphant and terrified.

"I want the surveillance system," she said. "The full panel."

"All of it?" I asked.

She nodded. "I need privacy. He needs to feel safe."

She didn't say what she was really thinking: He's mine now.

I gave her access, of course. Four of the cameras were meant to be found. But I kept the hidden feeds-mirror, chandelier, vent shaft. Embedded long before the house was staged.

Let her think she's in control. Let him believe she's the captor. They still haven't realized they're both being played.

Onscreen, the chandelier feed flickered gently in candlelight. Rosy brought Edward a plate of lasagna-her version of comfort food. He looked up, dazed. She smiled like they were on a date.

I zoomed in slightly.

She leaned forward to brush something from his cheek. He didn't flinch. That was new. A sign he was adjusting, maybe even preparing to turn the tables. Edward always played the long game.

She touched his wrist, held it a second too long. He let her. I noted the shift.

Subject E: passive response to physical contact.
Subject R: increasing emotional projection. Evidence of conflated memory.

She whispered something inaudible and kissed his cheek and that's when I noticed something amusing in his eyes. I had noticed it earlier today too when he had kissed her back. Then she turned away. Door shut. Scene complete.

Edward stayed still for a full minute. Then turned to the mirror. Looked straight at it. Not at the chandelier. Still not high enough. His voice was soft. Almost inaudible through the feed.

"You hear me?" he whispered.
"You fed her the wrong script." "Next time, I'm writing it."

There it was-the moment the mask cracked. Not weakness. Not fear. Calculation. The version of Edward that remembers how to carve people up word by word.

Finally.

Observation Log - Update
Subject E: active resistance detected.
Subject R: identity distortion stable.
Timeline accelerated. Emotional stakes rising.

Recommendation: Introduce new stimuli. Visual memory trigger. Roy's voice. Riya's drawing. Something that bleeds.

When the curtain falls, that when the truth hits harder than we ever imagined.

They were still thinking this was about love. They hadn't realized it was all about control. And I had never lost control. Not once.