Page 46 of Manic

Manic remained silent, but his smile slowly faded.

I had listed everything my stalker had done in my phone, but never my theories. Those stayed buried in my head for sleepless nights. I was too afraid to write them down, fearing he’d find that list. If he could break into security cameras unnoticed, surely he could do the same to my phone.

“And even though he claims it’s not the reason, he texts me on my birthday without fail,” I continued. “His texts are spelled out—no abbreviations—which means he’s educated. He enjoys classic rock, and his favorite coffee is an americano because he hates the taste of lattes.”

I chuckled softly, shaking my head before sipping my coffee again. The glass hit the counter with a dull thud when I set it down. My admirer had a full-blown argument with me about how americanos tasted better than any of the lattes I enjoyed because milk drowned out the true flavor. Truthfully, I had baited him into talking and he’d fallen for it.

Manic cleared his throat. “Anything else?”

A small ache rose in the center of my chest, my lungs constricting from the memories. I missed my admirer more than I’d like to admit outloud, positive Manic would judge me if I voiced it. Two weeks was nothing compared to five years of consistent messaging, so why did it feel like a life-time since I’d spoken to him?

Though my brows furrowed as the chess piece brushed my thoughts again—the last gift he’d given me before I’d been taken. A distant pang thudded beneath my ribs.

“He’s a gift giver,” I said finally, “but they’re always cryptic which tells me that he likes puzzles, and he wants me to figure it out on my own. He thinks no one is good enough for me, not even himself, meaning he thinks he’s not a good person. Or he thinks too highly of me. It’s both, probably.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You like this person.”

My entire body stiffened at the assumption, but thinking about it now…

Yes, I believed after years of communication, I’d begun to have feelings for the stranger. He’d given me something no one else had before; a connection. He saw me when others didn’t, because most of the time, I’d felt entirely invisible, even to my parents. He’d never pushed or even invaded the privacy of my bedroom.

That, I knew, was true.

Not once had he been inappropriate toward me, just aware of my location and what I was doing. He’d even told me to close my curtains in a hotel room once, and it was like every survival instinct of mine flew out those windows. Instead of running in fear, I had grinned at the message, strolled over to the enormous floor to ceiling glass, and flung the curtains closed.

I ignored Manic’s assumption—the anxious dip of my stomach—and rubbed my forehead. “I know everything except his name. It’s the only thing I want. Can you give me that?”

Rain pelted the balcony windows in hard splatters, then a loud crack of thunder and a burst of lighting had me almost jumping out of my skin. The weather had taken a turn in the last week, bringing us closer and closer to fall. Pretty soon, Vancouver would be covered in snow.

I glanced at Manic, but he was staring at the floor as if thinking about my request. Another minute went by before he pushed off the counter, closing the gap between us in two long strides. My stomach flipped at the thought of overstepping—of being punished for demanding a name.

What would I do with it if he were to give it to me? I couldn’t leave here. All it would do was remind me that I couldn’t reach out, regardless of how much I wanted to.

Manic’s expression remained unreadable, save for the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. I averted my eyes, unable to look directly at him, but he hooked his finger beneath my chin.

“Make an effort tonight,” he said, his breaths warm along my face like a soft breeze, “and I’ll give you a name.”

Before I could reply, he left me standing in the kitchen with parted lips and a sliver of shock. He was going to give it to me?

Manic quickly disappeared around the corner and into his own room with a soft click of his door. Though a smile curved my lips. I guess he wasn’t leaving me alone after all.

Make an effort tonight, Manic had said earlier. Trust me, I planned on doing just that. Actually, I planned on being on my best behavior and doing whatever twisted thing he wanted.

But right now, I stifled an annoyed growl and thoroughly scanned the art hanging on the wall of my bedroom for the tenth time. My fingers slowly brushed over the frames, feeling for raised edges. Manic didn’t make me hunch over paperwork or look at numbers today, so I’d been holed up in my room until it was time to leave. Which was soon.

Truthfully, I was grateful for the reprieve because doing the same illegal work as my father made me slightly uncomfortable.

The air hummed in metronome to the minutes dragging since there was nothing to do other than focus on what I was searching for. That damn hidden camera. I’d seen it on his computer screen when he’d given me a tour of his penthouse, but I still hadn’t found it. I wasn’t even sure whether Manic knew I'd discovered it or not.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember what direction it was facing, so there was no way for me to know where it was hidden. If I could find it, maybe I could casually drape a piece of clothing over it—hide the fact that I wanted to try and pry open a window. Though all I had was a fork and a butter knife, slipped into my sweats from this morning's breakfast.

And what exactly would you do if it opened, Sutton?

Jump off the ledge?

I huffed and pushed my hair aside, glancing at the digital clock on the dresser. Great. I had exactly one hour before we left for the club.

Loose paper rustled beneath the ceiling fan, drawing my eyes to the books beside the clock. The ones Manic had given me. Even though I was positive they would help me pass the time, I refused to read them.