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colormepurplex2 · 1 year

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Chasing Shadows | Cat & Mouse

↳ Jungkook x f.Reader ⤜ Best Friends Brother/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,989 ⚠️ death threats, breaking and entering, stalker behavior, references to crime and violence

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“Another one?” you mumble to yourself as you twist your key and lock your door, heading out for work. Attached to the front of your door with a small sliver of clear tape is a dirty, brown napkin. There’s a grease stain on one corner and small spatters across the bottom edge. A red logo is distorted by the smear, but you can just make out that it says Rosey’s Place.

You grab a tissue from your bag and snatch the napkin down. Turning it over, you suck in a stilted breath. A crude drawing is etched in red and black ink across it. Though it’s a poorly executed image, you can clearly see it’s a cat eating a mouse. Very juvenile, but no less macabre. It’s offensive enough on its own, but add it with the other two scraps of trash with similar drawings on them that you’ve received over the last few days, and it has the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end.

It could just be some punk-ass kids playing a joke. But, in your line of work, you’re a bit more paranoid even when it comes to seemingly innocuous coincidences or harmless pranks. Criminal journalism is in your blood, but it also comes with an ingrained sense of overbearing self-preservation. Better to be cautious than be a victim. You write dark, yet wholly real, pieces on some of the largest crime heads in the world. Your articles aren’t exactly glamorous and flattering; you have plenty of potential enemies.

Sighing, you shake your head and wrap the tissue around the napkin and tuck it away into your bag for now. You’re heading into the office and the few extra minutes it would take to get back into your apartment and do something with the napkin are precious minutes you desperately need to grab a coffee.

Despite your own sense of self-awareness, you still aren’t always able to brush off that little bit of disbelief. Which is why you find yourself pulling out your phone and dialing your best friend.

“A call before eight in the morning, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

You smile and hit the button for the lobby in the elevator. “Hey, E. I wanted to run something by you. If you have a moment?” Being on the third floor, your ride down doesn’t take long.

She hums thoughtfully. “Always got time for you, babe. Lay it on me.”

“First, promise you won’t freak out?” you lower your voice as you make your way across the lobby and pass Henry at the front desk. He throws a hand up in greeting and you nod, giving him a small smile.

There is silence on the line for a moment. You know she’s having her own internal struggle not to instantly react to that preface. “You realize saying that only makes me want to freak out before I even know what you’re going to ask of me, right?” she finally says.

“Yeah, but, it’s not really all that big of a deal. At least, I don’t think so. That’s what I’m getting your opinion on, actually, determining if it is something that I should be freaking out about,” you explain with a shrug even though she can’t see you.

There’s a hint of suspicion in her voice as she responds, “I can’t promise that I won’t freak out. But, I’ll try to keep my head about it.”

“This morning as I was leaving, I found a crude drawing on a diner napkin taped to my door. This is the third drawing like this that I’ve gotten. It could just be some kids in the building being assholes, but I don’t know. What do you think? Nothing or…” you trail off, hoping you don’t sound completely paranoid.

“I see,” she sighs. “Well, what kind of drawings are we talking about here?”

You hesitate to reveal the truth, knowing it could potentially set her off. Maybe that’s the answer you need anyway, if you’re too hesitant to even tell her because you’re worried how she’ll react then it’s probably something you should be worried about. You called her because you value her opinion, both professionally and as your best friend.

“The first was from a ripped-up fast food bag, it had a hawk eating a rabbit on it. The second was a matchbook with a spider catching a fly. This last is on a greasy diner napkin and has a cat eating a mouse. All black and red ink, very crude and elementary, bordering on stick figures but still plain enough to determine what they are.”

A colorful swear comes down the line. “You expect me not to freak out? Babe, that’s straight out of weirdo stalker 101. My protective momma bear instincts are kicking in. I swear, if this somehow leads back to your damn job, I’m going to force you to quit. That fucking website gets you into way more trouble than my job ever has me.”

“Enola, you’re an FBI profiler. I’m just a journalist. That’s like comparing apples and oranges. You definitely take the cake in the trouble department. Don’t jump the gun here, it’s probably just nothing.” You hate to admit she has a point, though. You’ve found yourself in some rather unnerving situations over the years due to the nature of your job. But, she’s the one who actively seeks out the crazies with guns and intent to harm; surely, that means her job has more trouble. Though at least she also has a gun to point back at the crazies…you’re just armed with a laptop and the can of mace at the bottom of your bag.

Enola gives a soft, humorless laugh. “Let’s not start this conversation again. My opinion is that it’s something you need to be cautious about. I insist on you getting a door cam or something like I told you to months ago. Have you told Detective Jung about this?”

“My building has security. Henry would have mentioned if there was something weird going on, someone suspicious or out of place in the building. Which is all the more reason why I think it’s just kids being punks. It’s probably Ms. Abernathy’s kids, Cody and Riley. You know how much shit they get into around here. Just last week they flooded the basement trying to film some TikTok video. And, I did tell Hoseok,”—you emphasize his name—,” about it after the second one and he said that unfortunately there isn’t much that can be done over a few pieces of trash being taped to my door.”

She laughs again and you can practically hear her eye roll. “On a first-name basis with that asshole now? That’s a conversation we’ll have another time, I promise you that. Shit. Hey, look, I gotta go. I’m being summoned for a meeting with Director Connor. More than likely I’m going to be heading out on assignment soon, otherwise, I’d come over myself and we’d look into this together. What I am going to do, though, is text my brother your number. He’ll give you a hand and if it so happens to not be some kids in the building, he has the resources to take it seriously and get you the help the police refuse to provide.”

You consider refusing her brother’s help. You haven’t seen nor talked to him since you were teenagers and don’t want to impose on his life. But, you know it’ll be easier to just accept and placate Enola for the time being. “Thanks, E, you’re the best.” Your office building comes into view as you round the corner. The coffee shop you want to stop in is just across the street. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Hey, wait,” she stops you before you can hang up. “Listen, please be careful, okay? I know you don’t think it’s anything serious; but just, please, for me?”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down your walls a little. “Yeah, of course, always. I promise.”

Enola says goodbye and assures her brother will be reaching out to you sometime later today. The cafe isn’t very busy so you manage to get a coffee and make it into the office before most of your coworkers arrive.

Working for a major news outlet, specifically doing the criminal and justice spread, is everything you ever wanted in a career. Growing up, you devoured mystery and thriller novels which quickly developed into a love for true crime and murder mystery as an adult. You love watching true crime documentaries and listening to various crime podcasts.

Some of your closest friends work in adjacent fields. Like Enola being an FBI profiler and Hoseok being a detective with the local PD. They have a history together, which is why Enola is hard-pressed to show as little respect to Hoseok as possible right now. You can’t really blame her, he was a total ass. But, he’s really good at his job and you know he’d help you in any capacity that he could, if he could. The police department is just limited in what they really can do and the resources they can expend for a situation like yours.

Setting your coffee down on your desk, you settle into your chair and pull out your laptop from your bag. You tuck your bag into the bottom drawer of your desk and lock it before sliding the small key ring into your pant pocket.

“Morning, boss!” Taehyung, one of your coworkers, calls as he enters the office. You’re still getting used to that title— boss. It’s only something you recently acquired. Your last big exposé earned you a promotion to team lead editor. You’re now in charge of the entire crime and justice branch of The Scarlet Informant, totaling just under a dozen people.

You waggle your fingers around your cup at him as you take a sip from your coffee. “Morning, Tae, how was your evening?” Building rapport and a bond with your team was priority number one for you. Despite working with these same people for years already, you feel like you could be making more of an effort, especially now as their boss.

He slides into his chair and hides a yawn behind a fist. “Mmm, it was good. I had a meeting with a new lead for my Marshal story. I think I really might have something special.” Taehyung crosses his fingers and does a little shoulder shimmy in his chair. His black polo and navy slacks complement his slim frame. You catch the glint of a silver watch on his wrist. Taehyung, you’ve come to learn, has an extensive collection of watches, wearing a different one every day. “Is this what it felt like for you when you landed that key info on Nauvez? I still can’t believe your article ultimately led to his arrest. That’s like, the epitome of badassery.”

The tight smile that pulls at your lips feels weird. When you first published the shadow piece on Nauvez you had no idea it would actually help the LAPD track him down and make the arrest. You lucked out on putting together some breadcrumbs, talking to the right people, and somehow connected dots the police hadn’t. That’s how you ended up with your promotion; just pure luck, though everyone swears you deserve it regardless and you’re being far too humble.

You honestly don’t mind the promotion and intend to do your best no matter what. Your only fear is that you’ll grow to resent it. The last thing you want to be is stuck in a job you hate. Writing is your passion, your main hope is that you’re able to continue writing even when delegating to others. So far, it’s worked out fine.

“That’s wonderful. Just be sure to vet your sources thoroughly. We don’t do maybe’s or possibly’s, nothing but definitive reporting. Taking on a new source is its own balancing act. If it wasn’t for my resources, that Nauvez piece wouldn’t have been nearly as impactful.” You’re a firm believer in doing things the right way. No cutting corners or taking the easy way around a story. It’s important for people to get the facts, false information and the grey areas of crime reporting are extremely dangerous.

Taehyung laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you like that. We have that meeting with Rigby later, right?”

“That’s right. It’s after the editor meeting. He wants to discuss the projections for next quarter. There’s also the new newsletter format he wants to roll out that needs some tweaking. I imagine Paris will have something to say about that,” you mutter, more to yourself than Taehyung. Paris is the office mean girl. She’s the team lead editor for the fashion and pop-culture columns. If she wasn’t so good at her job, you’re certain Rigby would have canned her by now.

“Good morning, fellow Scarleters!” The nasally pitch of Paris’ voice echoes down the hall as she prances through the office commons. “I grabbed bagels on my way in this morning, from that cute vegan spot on Seventh.” Her fiery red curls appear in the doorway to your team's office before her face does. “Hi, sweeties!”

You internally cringe at the saccharinity dripping from her words. “Morning, Paris,” you try to suppress the sigh in your tone.

“Hey,” Taehyung offers with a half-hearted wave toward the door. His desk is on the far side of the room, facing the large windows overlooking the cityscape.

Paris drops a white paper bag onto the corner of your desk. “Enjoy!” You nod in thanks, turning back to your laptop to make sure you’re prepared for the morning meeting. Long, red-lacquered nails tap against the top of your laptop screen. Paris leans in when you look up at her with a raised eyebrow. “I made sure to get the low-fat bagel option for you.” She says it with an overly sweet smile on her face. “Us girls gotta look out for each other, right?” Her eyes flick over what she can see of your body above your desk before sweeping out of your office space.

You’re still trying to reign in your desire to shove the low-fat bagel down her throat when Taehyung makes a disgruntled sound from behind you. “One day she’s going to get punched in her fake lips and I sincerely hope you’re the one that does it.”

That makes you laugh. The sudden mirth instantly puts you at ease. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

The rest of your office files in over the next few minutes and the space quickly fills with soft chatter and clacking keystrokes as everyone adds last-minute touches to their reports.

You quickly forget about Paris and her disgusting attitude. At least, until you’re heading toward the conference room and she falls into step beside you.

“You must be so concerned for Kat, huh?” she feigns a sad pout. But her words throw you off.

“Kat?”

As if the exaggeratedly appalled look on her face wasn’t enough, she flourishes a hand and presses it to her chest dramatically. “You know, Kat that works in your department. It’s terrible what’s going on with her brother. I can’t imagine having to put a loved one in a full-time care facility.”

Right. You had noticed she hadn’t made it into the office yet and had intended to check in but time got away from you. She asked a week ago to have the morning off for personal reasons today, which you granted. But, this is news to you. You didn’t know she was having to put her brother in a care facility, or that she even had a brother, to begin with. That is if Paris is even telling the truth; it wouldn’t be the first rumor she’s started in the office. Kat’s one of the few people in your department that has been a bit more reserved when it comes to opening up and bonding with you in your new position. So, for all you know it could be true, even coming from Paris.

“Right,” you mutter hoping she drops the need to spout gossip, especially considering it concerns one of yours and a situation you know nothing about.

She doesn’t stop, though, tacking on a very distasteful comment. “Paralyzed from the waist down, apparently. Poor guy probably can’t even get— Oh!” Paris staggers hard to the right, her shoulder smacking into the wall as you continue down the hall. “What the hell!?” she calls after you.

“Sorry, you were walking a little too close I guess. Hope I didn’t scuff your shoe,” you toss back, not giving her the satisfaction of looking at her while she huffs behind you.

You suppress a smile as you enter the conference room, Paris hot on your heels. “These are five hundred dollar shoes,” she hisses as she passes you to take her seat on the other side of the long table. Her pea-soup-colored eyes bore into you once she settles into her chair. You mouth ‘sorry’ and shrug a shoulder then turn and give Rigby, who’s seated at the far end of the table, your full attention.

“Good morning, everyone, let’s begin with our plans for next quarter.” Rigby pulls his wire-framed glasses down off the top of his head and onto the bridge of his nose. His close-shorn black hair is peppered with silver and his grey suit is fashionable but not flashy. He’s a great boss and you easily get lost in the conversation and ease of making plans for the next quarter.

By the time your editor meeting is over, it’s time for your team meeting. Rigby sticks around for it, listening in and giving his input as he sees fit. You welcome his direction, knowing he’s been working in the journalism and publishing field for at least as long as you’ve been alive. He’s the main reason The Scarlet Informant is as successful as it is.

As the meeting comes to a close, you impart a few words of advice for your team and dismiss everyone back to their respective desks. As Taehyung passes you, heading to the door, you pat his shoulder. “Hey, just a moment, if you will.”

He turns his brilliant smile on you. “What’s up, boss?”

“You’re pretty close with Kat, aren’t you?”

Taehyung bobs his head from side to side in a so-so fashion. “I guess. As much as two coworkers can be close. We don’t hang out outside of work, though. She’s quite shy and reserved. Total sweetheart, though. Why?”

“Paris mentioned something to me earlier on the way to our editor meeting. Do you think Kat would mind if I asked her about it?”

His smile slips. “Paris can’t keep her mouth shut can she? Kat’s a private person, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you asked her. She’s only told me a little bit about what’s going on. That red-headed she-devil probably was eavesdropping again.”

That would be classic Paris, putting her too-perfect-thanks-to-dr-whoever’s nose where it doesn’t belong. You make a mental note to approach Kat about it when she makes it into the office later; in hopes of getting ahead of gossip that might make Kat, being the private person she is, uncomfortable.

It’s a few hours later when you notice Kat slipping into the office. She keeps her head down, her mousy brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head and her horn-rim glasses barely staying on her nose. The muted orange cardigan she has on over a pale yellow floral dress looks vintage, especially paired with her toffee-colored loafers and white socks with lace trim. Kat has always reminded you of a librarian or maybe someone who runs an antique shop, quirky and soft in a cute way.

“Hey, Kat,” you chirp, trying to come off as light-hearted as possible as you approach her desk. “Did everything go okay this morning?”

Her large brown eyes drift up from the folder open on her desk. There is a moment where you’re certain you see a sliver of something resembling fear there but it’s gone before you can be certain. “It was fine.” She swallows hard, averting her eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” You’re not sure how to broach the subject, so you just go for it. “I heard something earlier, someone mentioned a potential reason you were needing the time off.” You pause, seeing if she’ll react to you mentioning gossip about her, but she just glances up at you from beneath her lashes. “I just want you to know that if you need additional time, I can work with your schedule. Family is important and I want to make sure you have everything you need in any way that I can.”

Her thin lips form into a soft smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” you’re quick to assure. Taking care of your team is your number one priority. Plus, you’re big on a good work-life balance. So, if Kat needs time away to take care of her family, you’ll make sure Rigby has no reason to complain. “If you need anything, just let me know. Okay?”

Kat hums, rolling her lips between her teeth before nodding. She directs her attention back to the folder in her hand. “The Handler files, I’m just going over them again,” she says in a way that feels like she’s dismissing you. You can only imagine the morning she’s had, so you don’t push or question further.

“Right. Good luck with that, I’m sure you’ll find anything that may have been missed.” You rap your knuckles lightly on her desk before heading back to your own.

Getting lost in the demand of work helps with your own morning troubles. The greasy napkin in your bag is long forgotten. It’s not until you’re pulling your laptop out at home that you catch sight of it at the bottom of your bag. The text you got earlier from Enola’s brother still sits on your phone, unread.

You pull the wadded-up tissue and napkin out of your bag and set it on your dining table. The other two items you stashed away in your office. At first, you had tossed the fast food bag scrap in the trash. It wasn’t until you found the matchbook that you dug it back out and put them both away to think over at a later time.

Now seems like as good a time as any. Pocketing your phone, you head down the hallway to your office. It doubles as a guest room with a fold-out sofa bed. The space is cozy with your large L-shaped oak desk tucked into a corner so the window of the room sits just above the far edge of the desk.

You’ve been in here so many times you could navigate it in the dark, but you slap a hand on the light switch out of habit. The overhead light floods the room, the scene it reveals stopping you in your tracks.

“What the fuck?!”

One hand clutches the front of your shirt, and the other braces you against the wall as you stagger back. Your eyes flick over the far wall above the sofa, that’s now ripped to shreds; bits of fluff and fabric are scattered over the floor. There are black and white photos taped to the wall, some small and some as large as a movie poster. There are several words spray painted on the wall. Most prominent of all, though, is the ‘NO COPS’ in bright red right in the center.

As you take tentative steps closer, you make out some of the smaller photos. They’re all mostly candid shots, taken from a distance, of you, your family, and your friends. You recognize Enola, your parents, Detective Jung, and even some of your co-workers. The largest photo, centered on the wall, is a blown-up print from your promotion. Rigby has your hand clasped in his, you’re both smiling at the camera. Surrounding you both is your team, all frozen mid-clap as they cheer for you. Everyone, except for you, has large black Xs over their faces.

The pounding of your heart seems to vibrate through your entire body. You can hear the rushing thump in your ears and feel it tingling in your toes. A cold sweat prickles along the back of your neck.

There’s a stack of papers sitting on the remnants of the couch. From where you’re standing, you can see the top page has a format like one of your pieces for the Informant. Your fingers tremble as you scoop up the stack of papers and bring it closer to see.

There is a yellow sticky note tacked to the top. In a blocky scrawl, you read: ‘You have until the end of business on Friday to publish this. If you change anything about it, I’ll kill them all. If you don’t publish it, I’ll kill them all. If you go to the cops, I’ll kill them all. You ruined my life, it’s time for me to ruin yours.’

Under the sticky note, in large, bold print across the top of the paper is your full legal name. Below that, in the place of a subhead is ’The Monster Behind The Mask’. The first few lines have nausea rolling through your stomach.

‘This may come as a surprise to my readers; I have a confession to make. I’m a fraud. Everything I represent is a lie. I’m no better than the people I feature in my writing. I take other people’s lives and break them apart. I turn people into monsters. But, what you don’t realize is that I’m the real monster.

I ruin lives.

Let me enlighten you…’

You trail off reading, shaking your head at the absurdity. Who wrote this? Your fingers flick through the pages, taking in block after block, ridiculous claim after ridiculous claim until you catch sight of a large image formatted between the columns. You flip back and spread the papers out, taking in the black-and-white scanner-copy image.

It’s a police report. Your own police report. A police report that’s been redacted, sealed, and eventually expunged. Only, here it is, plain and utterly whole. The blurb under the photo indicates that it’s evidence of how much of a monster you are and how you’ve been ruining lives since you were seventeen.

“No. No, no, no,” you mutter, the pages slipping from your fingers and fluttering to the floor in front of the sofa. Your movements are stiff and jerky as you pull your phone out. Your finger hovers over Hoseok’s contact. Blinking away the sudden tears blurring your vision, your gaze snaps to the giant spray-painted warning on the wall. You can’t risk it. So, you click a different contact instead; one you know is still a risk, but a more calculated one.

“Two calls in one day? You’re not drinking tequila again, are you? It’s only Thursday, babe, that’s more of a Friday venture,” Enola’s voice chirps brightly through the phone.

You swallow hard, tearing your gaze away from the wall of horrors in your office. “E,” you begin but have to stop to suck in a calming breath. It’s not that effective. Your voice quivers as you try again, “Enola, I think I’m in trouble.”

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on?” The change in her demeanor is instant.

“Someone was in my apartment. There’s all this…stuff. Threats, uh…pictures. I don’t— I don’t know what to do,” you babble, describing everything but the image in the printed manuscript that’s mocking you from the floor.

You can hear Enola shuffling around, paper crumpling, and drawers slamming shut. “Send me photos of everything. I’m texting Jungkook right now, I’ll have him come get you.”

“I can’t leave, E. What if they come back? I need to catch them. There’s too much at stake here.” You pause, hearing Enola muttering to herself and the soft tapping of her fingers on her phone screen, probably texting her brother. “There’s something else.” Enola doesn’t respond, too busy texting. “Enola. Are you listening? I said there’s something else.” Still, she’s quiet. “Enola!” you snap.

“What? Fuck, what? Sorry, JK’s being a bit of a shithead right now.”

“There’s something else. And…it involves you in a way.” Your heart beats so hard you feel lightheaded, so you slip down until you’re kneeling on the floor, slumped against the edge of the sofa. “Somehow, whoever this is, they uncovered the accident report…the one from graduation night,” you whisper.

A pregnant pause stretches after your words. Finally, Enola sighs and clears her throat. “Mine?” she asks quietly.

“It’s just mine,” you confirm.

“Okay,” determination enters her voice as she shifts into professional FBI-profiler mode. “Jungkook will be there soon. Go lock your door, and make sure your windows are all shut. You still have the mace I gifted you for Christmas, right? Get it. Don’t open the door for anyone except my brother. I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, so you need to ask him for the passphrase. You know which one I’m talking about. I never thought we’d have to use it, but this seems like a good time that we should. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah,” you manage to get out between sharp breaths.

Enola spits another colorful curse. “I’m supposed to leave in an hour heading to Singapore. I’m going to ask Connor if I can drop off this case—“

“No, E! Don’t. No. You can’t do that. I’ll send over photos, show you everything, but you can’t do that. Your job is entirely too important and you know as well as I do that Connor won’t grant it anyway. It’s fine. Your brother will help. He’s good right?” She grunts an acknowledgement. “It’ll be fine. I’m just a little spooked right now, that’s all. You said it yourself, my job gets me into trouble sometimes. I’m sure this is just someone trying to get revenge because I exposed them in the Informant. No big deal, I’ve dealt with worse.” What you won’t admit, though, is how utterly terrifying and just how much of a big deal it is that someone has somehow uncovered your juvenile record. Which is just one step away from Enola’s, and that scares you even more. If this actually gets out, you and she both can kiss your reputations, as you know them, goodbye. “I just got to get ahead of whoever this is, put a stop to it before it gets out of hand.”

“Keep me posted. Swear it!”

“I swear,” you promise before saying goodbye and disconnecting the call.

You give one last look at the intimidating display on the wall before yanking open your desk drawer and grabbing the other two drawings. You toss them onto the dining table and make quick work of checking all the windows and the doors to your apartment. Everything’s locked; as it always is. How someone got in without breaking something is lost on you.

While you wait for Enola’s brother, you check the text message he sent you earlier. It’s simple, just letting you know that he has some equipment for you and wondering when’s a good time to come over. You don’t bother to respond, knowing Enola already spoke with him and he’s coming over tonight regardless.

Thinking about what you can do in the meantime, you dial the extension for the front desk downstairs. Henry answers on the second ring.

“North Highland Park Tower, this is Henry. How may I help you?”

“Hey Hen, it’s me.”

“Ah, my favorite writer in 3C. What can I do for you tonight?”

You clear your throat. “Well, firstly, I just wanted to let you know I am expecting a visitor. It’s Enola’s brother, Jungkook. He should be by soon. I was also wondering if there was anything you’d noticed in the last few days. Maybe an odd name on the guest list, unusual people hanging out in the hallways, faces that aren’t familiar to you?”

Henry hums. “Is everything okay? Should there be something weird like that?”

It’s tempting to lie to him, but you feel bad enough as it is if your work is bringing potentially dangerous people into your building. So, you deign to give him as much of the truth as you can. “I’m not sure, really. It could just be kids in the building playing pranks, but I’ve gotten some weird presents left at my door the last few days.”

“Do I need to make a call to the locals?” Henry immediately questions. You can hear the seriousness in his voice. All it would take is one word and he’d have the PD here in a matter of minutes. “Damn kids can’t get away with scaring the community. I won’t allow it.”

“No, no, Henry. It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to see if there was anything you’d noticed is all. The things on my door have been harmless—,“ they, in truth, are, “—but if it is one of the kids in the building, I’d like to just have a chat with their parents. That’s all.”

You can practically hear the wheels turning in Henry’s head. “Yeah, okay. Nothing sticks out for me off the top of my head, but I’ll take a look back through our feeds and logs just to be sure.”

“Thanks, Henry, I appreciate it. If you find anything, just give me a ring. I swear if it’s something more, I’ve got Detective Jung on speed dial,” you put as much sincerity into your words as possible. You hope he accepts it and only does what you’ve asked. If he gets the cops involved, you’re not sure if your latest fan will care much whether it was you that called them or not.

There isn’t much more to do other than send things to Enola. You take a deep breath before heading back into your office. It’s hard to try and ignore the severity of the situation as you snap photos and send them off to her via the secure network she has set up for you. Her working for the FBI has its perks.

You get your laptop set up and begin compiling a spreadsheet of possible suspects. The number of criminals you’ve written about over the years is fairly large, but you’re able to reduce the pool based on a few factors. It’s safe to assume any of the individuals that have graced your column and are incarcerated, can be ticked off the list. That eliminates a good portion of the list. Though, you know it’s possible for criminals to coordinate from the inside. So, you backtrack and just divide that group into its own lists. All of this might be for nothing, but you feel better doing something other than just waiting.

It’s less likely that it’s someone in your building. The threat still waiting in your office is proof enough for that. That’s far too complex for a couple of jerkwad kids to pull off. Not only would they have to have the skills to dig up your juvie record, but they’d also have to be able to unseal it, purge the redactions, and then compile the manuscript. You don’t have nearly enough confidence in the abilities of teens to be able to pull that off. Plus, the biggest, glaring factor of all— motive, they have no motive.

For all the work you’re putting in right now, you’re not even sure how much will be worth the effort. You put a pot of coffee on and change into a pair of leggings and a comfortable t-shirt. It’s only about an hour after you discover the message in your office when there’s an abrupt knock on your door.

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