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SF: Much better. So, what do you want, exactly? Be clear, because I have things to do.

I read those words and scroll over to his message on his assignment.

Much better… Just like he left on my paper.

He’s leaving me so many clues.

I can’t fathom the person texting me is the well spoken and kind TA I met. But all the evidence is pointing toward it.

Without thinking, I press the call button.

He answers immediately.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” I close my eyes, appreciating his voice. So deep, sexy, and familiar. It kills me hearing it again. I find it even more concerning that I miss him so much, especially considering the fact that he is, or at least was, stalking me.

I shut my computer down and move to my bed, positioning myself over the covers. “That’s the thing,” I tell him. “I am trying. I just can’t understand it.” I spent all week trying to comprehend the material.

A silent pause. “What part are you struggling with?”

I bite my lip as tears threaten to burn the backs of my eyes.

“Be honest with me, Summer. What aren’t you connecting with?”

Cognitive vs. Operant Conditioning—Dr. Kevin Landry. Every theory, every thought grounded in research.

How scared were those girls before my father cut their eyes out? Lincoln knows who wrote the words I am expected to internalize. Is this why he’s targeting me? It would make sense if my father killed his mother.

“I just…I need to talk it through with someone.”

“And why should I do that? What’s in it for me?” His voice has shifted. Bored. Indifferent.

I pull my knees up. “Because you told me you would?”

Another pause.

“I have to go, Summer.”

No. No. No.

“Wait!” I cry out before he hangs up.

Silence. He’s waiting for me to say something.

“How do I know you’re real?”

A dark pause. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Prove to me you’re a real killer.”

Why the fuck would I ask him that? I am losing my grip on reality.

I stare at the wall, listening to his breathing on the other line as my heart beats blistering fast. A few agonizing seconds pass before a message comes through, and I swipe on it.

My heart nearly stops at the sight in front of me as I stare at a photo of the missing girl, Cali. Intense jealousy burns in my blood staring at her bound hands, her clothes half ripped off. Her eyes are open, staring into the camera. Fear bleeding out of her eyes…open eyes.

She’s alive.

I blink at it twice, and I don’t even recognize my voice as I speak to him. “I should go to the police.”