In the dim glow of a single overhead bulb, an unknown man sat in a decrepit room, the air thick with the musty scent of neglect. A faint hum crackled through the old speaker in front of him, followed by a distorted, anonymous voice that reverberated through the small space.
"How is your friend James Kamau faring?" the voice asked, dripping with bitter amusement.
The man leaned forward, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the rickety table. "Exactly as we planned. He's unraveling. The note, the shadows, the handprint… all of it. He's terrified, looking over his shoulder at every turn. It's only a matter of time before he breaks."
A chuckle came through the speaker, sharp and cold. "Good. Let him squirm. Let him feel every ounce of fear he's ever caused. He deserves this."
The man nodded, though no one could see him. "He's gone to the police, but they can't do much. He's already losing trust in them. And the isolation? It's working beautifully. He's cut off from everyone who might help him."
The voice paused, then spoke with venom. "James Kamau needs to understand that actions have consequences. What he did… it can't be forgiven. He took everything from me. My future, my peace. Now, I'll take his."
"You've seen how divided they are, haven't you?" the man added. "Alison, Kyro, Amber… they're so wrapped up in their own agendas and suspicions that they barely notice his cries for help. Splitting them apart worked better than we hoped. James doesn't even have his so-called friends to lean on anymore.""Exactly," the voice hissed. "Let them chase shadows while I break him. This is personal. James will suffer the most. He'll feel the weight of every choice he's ever made. And when he's at his lowest, I'll remind him of exactly who he's dealing with."
The man hesitated briefly. "The bloody glove… it worked, right? It was clean?"
"No prints," the voice confirmed. "It was perfect. A chilling little detail to feed his paranoia. He'll think someone's been toying with him in his own space, but he won't have a shred of proof."
"You really want him to suffer that badly?" the man asked, his tone devoid of judgment, simply curious.
"You've seen the cracks forming, haven't you?" the voice snapped. "He's already questioning his sanity. By the time I'm done, he won't know what's real and what isn't. And then, when he's at his lowest, I'll finish it."
The man leaned back, letting the chair creak beneath his weight. "What's next?"
There was a long pause before the voice responded, deliberate and calculating. "A phone call. Something personal. I want him to hear my voice. Just a hint. Enough to make him question everything. After that, we escalate. He thinks someone's in his home? Let's make sure of it. I want him jumping at shadows until he's too scared to sleep."
"You're sure about this?" the man asked, his voice low.
The distortion in the speaker crackled, the tone colder than before. "I've never been more certain of anything. James Kamau will pay for what he did. Every. Single. Thing."
The man nodded, standing and stretching his stiff muscles. "Then I'll make the arrangements. He won't see any of it coming."
The voice on the other end fell silent for a moment, then spoke with finality. "Good. And remember, this isn't just about fear. This is justice. My justice."
The line went dead, leaving the man alone in the suffocating quiet of the room. He glanced at the scattered papers on the table—photographs of James, Alison, Zade, Micha, Kyro and Amber, maps, and a detailed timeline of all their movements, and one particular photo of a woman whom he couldn't seem to take his mind off from. With a small, humorless smile, he gathered them up and disappeared into the darkness, leaving no trace behind.
James Kamau, you're next. You will pay for every single thing you did...
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James paced nervously in his dimly lit apartment, the crumpled note still clutched in his trembling hand. His heart raced as he dialed the first number on his phone. Amber's name appeared on the screen, and he tapped the call button with a mixture of hope and dread."Hello?" Amber's voice came through, tense and distracted.
"Amber, it's James," he began, his voice shaky. "I need to talk to you. Something's… something's happening. I got this note. It said I'm next. And I think someone's following me. Can we meet? Together with Kyro and Alison? Please..."
Amber let out a heavy sigh. "James, do you hear yourself? Everyone's on edge right now. Micha's murder has everyone paranoid. Are you sure you're not imagining things?"
"I'm not!" he insisted, his frustration mounting. "This is real. I can feel it. Someone's watching me, Amber. I need you to believe me."
"I don't know, James," she said, her voice wavering. "There are too many lies going around. Everyone's hiding something. I don't know who to trust anymore."
Before he could respond, Amber hung up, leaving James staring at his phone in disbelief. He swallowed hard and dialed Alison next. The phone rang twice before she answered.
"James?" Alison's voice was soft but cautious.
"Alison, thank God. Listen, I… I need to talk to you about something serious. I think someone's targeting me. I got this note, and there's been… weird stuff happening. I'm scared."
There was a pause on the other end before Alison spoke again, her tone more urgent. "You're not imagining this, James. I've… I've noticed things too. Strange things. I believe you."
Her words were a small comfort, but they came with an undercurrent of unease. Alison's unwavering support felt too intense, too personal. James couldn't shake the memory of her lingering glances and the way she still seemed to orbit around him. Her loyalty bordered on an almost obsession.
"Thank you, Alison. That means a lot," James said cautiously. "But… why do you believe me? No one else does."
"Because I know how people can be," she replied, her voice tight. "I know what it feels like to be doubted. And I know you, James. You'd never lie about something like this."
James hesitated, her words sinking in. "You think… you think Micha's murder and this note are connected?"
Alison's pause was telling. "Maybe. Or maybe someone's trying to scare you for a reason. I… I'll help you figure this out. Whatever it takes."
"Thank you," James said, though a chill ran down his spine. He ended the call, his mind racing.
Finally, he tried Kyro, his last hope. The phone rang endlessly until Kyro's voicemail picked up. James hung up without leaving a message. The group was crumbling under the weight of their secrets, and James felt more alone than ever.
Alison, however, was a puzzle he couldn't piece together. Her fierce devotion to him felt misplaced, almost dangerous. She had always loved him, but Micha's death had amplified something in her—a quiet desperation that seemed to grow with every passing day.
Could Alison's loyalty be more than just support? Was she capable of something darker? Micha's murder hung over them like a shadow, and James couldn't ignore the possibility that Alison's love for him might have driven her to do the unthinkable.
How far would Alison go for him? The question gnawed at him, even as he found himself relying on her more and more. And in the back of his mind, another question loomed larger: Could Alison's love for him also destroy him?