Page 8 of The Arbiter
Lucy nods, her expression turning serious.
“Yes. But tonight something changed. The body was left somewhere crowded. Like he wanted it to be found. They even caught his shadow in a window reflection across the street. The police think it was intentional.” —it was.
“Whatever he’s planning… he’s escalating. You should be careful, Mali.”
Mali. That’s what she calls her. The nickname rolls in my head. Soft. Intimate.Mine now.
“I’ll be careful,” Madeline replies, but her tone shifts.
“I feel like I’m getting closer.”
Her gaze avoids Lucy’s.
Interesting. She’s keeping something to herself. Something only the two of us know about. She knows I was here before. She knows it wasn’t imagination. And still, she hasn’t told anyone. Not even her best friend.
A slow warmth spreads through my chest. Right where I carved open another man’s chest. Right where I placed the note. She’s protecting me. Even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
Lucy pulls her into a quick hug before leaving.
“Text me when you’re done, okay?”
Lucy says with a warm smile.
“I will.”
Then the door closes. And it’s just her. And the body. And me. Silence settles like dust. Madeline slips into full professionalism. Gloves on. Mask adjusted. Hair tied tighter. She begins with the exterior examination. Her movements are precise, almost reverent.
She notices the long incision immediately. Her brow furrows. Curiosity. Confusion. Good. She runs her gloved fingers lightlyalong the stitching I left behind. Testing the craftsmanship. Assessing the intention.
You’re wondering why, aren’t you? Why would I open him like that if strangulation was enough? Why risk exposure? Why break the pattern? Because you needed something to open.
She reaches for the scalpel. There’s always a half-second pause before her first cut. I’ve timed it, measured it, memorized it. There it is, the brief stillness. Like she’s asking permission from something unseen.
Then she begins. The blade glides down. Methodical. Focused. Her breathing shifts slightly as she reaches the cavity. She wasn’t expecting resistance. Her fingers move deeper. Exploring. Searching. She’s close now. So close.
My pulse remains steady. But something else tightens. Anticipation. Not for violence. For recognition. Her hand pauses. She feels it. The plastic. Foreign. Wrong. Her movements sharpen instantly. Alert.
She withdraws the folded sleeve, holding it between her fingers like something fragile. Her heart rate spikes; I can see it in the way her shoulders stiffen. She glances toward the door. Toward the glass. Toward the darkness behind it. She feels my presence again.
Carefully, she opens the plastic. Her eyes scan the paper. And then, they change. Not fear. Not yet. Something deeper. Something electric. You understand me, Madeline.
A strange sensation coils in my chest. Power. But not the kind I’m used to. This is quieter. More terrifying. She’s inside my head now. Reading something meant only for her. And she knows it.
For a moment, I consider stepping forward. Letting my presence register fully. But I don’t. Not now.
Because this… this is better. Watching her process it. Watching her breathe through it. Watching her decide what to do next.Call security? Call Lucy back? Or stay. Because she wants to understand. Because she wants to know why. Wants me.
She folds the note carefully. Too carefully. Not like evidence. Like something personal. And slips it aside. Not into an evidence bag. A slow smile curves across my mouth. You chose curiosity over fear. My brilliant girl.
She thinks she’s the one haunting me. That she’s getting closer. But she doesn’t understand yet; I’m letting her. Every body that she studies is a breadcrumb. Every pattern she uncovers is one I allowed.
I could disappear. Change cities, methods, skin. But I will stay. Because proximity isn’t a weakness. It’s gravity. And she’s already caught in mine. I remain in the dark, a god watching his creation. And as she stands there, clutching my secret to her skin, I know I’ve already won.
I remove threats. I eliminate distractions. I calculate outcomes. And if something stands too close to her, it won’t stand for long. Bryan. The ex. They think she’s available. She isn’t. She’s inevitable. And inevitability belongs to me.
A flicker of something unfamiliar passes through me. Doubt. Not about her. About myself. My mother’s voice rises from memory once again.
“Worship only those who show you the light.”
