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Chapter 3 — A Voice in the Dark
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2025-08-07 04:10:09Adrian stared at the flash drive like it might explode.
It sat on the floor beside his nightstand, a simple black rectangle with no markings, no branding—nothing to suggest where it came from or who it belonged to. But he knew. Somehow, he just knew. He hadn’t heard anyone enter. His apartment had been locked. The chain was still on the door. The windows were sealed. And yet… the flash drive was there. He crouched down slowly, picked it up with trembling fingers, and stared at the sticky note taped to it. "Now do you believe me when I say I see everything?" His mouth was dry. His pulse thundered behind his eyes. He thought about calling the police. About packing a bag and leaving. About smashing the flash drive into pieces and pretending none of this ever happened. But instead, Adrian moved to his desk, powered on his laptop, and slid the flash drive into the port. The screen blinked. A single file appeared. “For You.mp3” His hand hovered over the mouse. He hesitated for a long time. Then double-clicked. At first, there was nothing. Just static. Then came a voice. Low. Smooth. Male. Calm. “Adrian.” He jumped. “Don’t be afraid. Not of me.” There was a pause, like the speaker was waiting for him to catch his breath. “I know you’re scared. That’s okay. I would be too. But I need you to understand something, Adrian… You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Not just on the outside. I’ve watched you for weeks—no, months. The way you draw when you think no one’s looking. The way your eyes water when you stare at your bedroom ceiling for too long. The way you curl into yourself, like you’re trying to disappear. You’re so... real.” Adrian’s hands clenched into fists in his lap. The voice was smooth, like honey poured over broken glass. There was no anger in it. No cruelty. Just quiet reverence. That made it worse. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to protect you. From the people who lie to you. Who use you. From the ones who pretend to care. I see them. I see what they say when your back is turned. But I would never lie to you.” Adrian’s chest ached. His breathing grew shallow. “You don’t know me yet, but you will. And when you do… you’ll understand why I had to get close to you this way. Why I had to see you before you saw me. You needed to be ready.” The file ended with soft static, like the whisper of wind against skin. And then silence. Adrian yanked the flash drive out of the laptop and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a soft clatter, bounced once, and disappeared under the bed. His breath came in short, broken gasps. His eyes burned. He stood, pacing, gripping his hair with both hands. What the hell was this? Who was this? And why did the voice—strange and terrifying as it was—sound… familiar? Not in the literal sense. He didn’t recognize it. But there was a tone in it. A warmth beneath the obsession that made something inside him twist. He hated that part of him—the part that wasn’t just afraid, but fascinated. He’d spent most of his life feeling invisible. Forgotten in crowds. Passed over, looked through. But this man, this voice… he saw him. And that was what scared Adrian the most. Because part of him liked it. No. He refused to fall into that trap. This wasn’t romance. It was control. A twisted game. Someone watching his most vulnerable moments and dressing it up as affection. He had to get help. He picked up his phone to text Jace, but paused. Would Jace believe him? Would he show up, only to get hurt by whoever this was? He thought about going to the police. But they’d ask for evidence. And then what? A flower and an audio file? They’d write it off as a creepy admirer, tell him to change his locks, and send him home. Adrian rubbed his face, trying to will his thoughts into order. He had to act. Had to do something. Anything. And yet… he didn’t leave his apartment that day. He couldn’t. Something kept him anchored there. A tension in the air, like the whole building was holding its breath. That night, he locked every window. Wedged a chair under the doorknob. Slept with a kitchen knife beside the bed. And still—when the clock blinked 3:17 a.m.—he woke to the unmistakable sound of footsteps in his hallway. Not in the stairwell. Not outside his door. Inside. Close. Too close.
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