Threads Of Doubt.

Chapter Nine: Threads Of Doubt

“Ahhh!” Ian winced, his head throbbing like a drum. He blinked, confused, in his own bed.

The last thing he remembered was walking to his room to get dressed… to go to the Thread Man crime scene. How did he end up here?

He stumbled out of bed, his legs feeling like jelly, and made his way to the living room.

Zhedya was there, looking perfectly calm with his glasses on, sipping coffee like it was any normal morning.

“Hey, easy there,” Zhedya said, his voice soft as he rushed over and guided Ian to the couch. “Are you okay? You passed out last night.”

“I… I did?” Ian mumbled, his mind still fuzzy.

“You’ve been overworking lately, hardly eating,” Zhedya continued, his tone full of concern.

He reached out, touching Ian’s forehead and neck gently. “I warned you, Ian. You’re going to make yourself sick. You can’t catch a killer when you’re already killing yourself first.”

“A couple of days of work wouldn’t make me pass out like that,”

Ian argued, a uneasy feeling twisting in his stomach. Did he just faint, or… did something else happen?

“It doesn’t matter what happened,” Zhedya said smoothly, brushing off his question.

“I guess I’ll have to stay around more to make sure you eat properly and don’t work yourself to death.”

“Hell no,” Ian shot back, though his voice lacked its usual fire.

“Seeing you around too much is making me sick. Don’t you have a multi-million dollar company to run?”

“I’m the CEO. My work is flexible,” Zhedya replied with a faint smile, patting Ian’s head before heading to the kitchen to plate up the breakfast he’d made.

Passing out like that was weird, Ian thought, his mind racing. Or was I drugged? But… Zhedya wouldn’t do that. Why would he? The doubt was a tiny, sharp thorn in his mind.

“Breakfast is served,” Zhedya whispered close to his ear, making Ian jump. He hadn’t even heard him come back.

Sitting at the table, the smell of food made Ian’s mouth water. He felt a sudden rush of gratitude.

“Thank you, by the way,” he said shyly. “I’ve never had someone… care about me like this before.”

Zhedya’s smile was warm. “Well, I’m in your life now. I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Ian’s forehead.

“You look different with the glasses,” Ian noted, trying to lighten the mood. “You should wear them around me instead of those grey lenses.”

Zhedya smirked. “Why? Do you find nerds safe and harmless? Or do my grey lenses remind you of the Swift Strangler’s eyes?”

“You’re annoying,” Ian scolded, but he couldn’t help a small smile. “Why do you always have killers on your mind?”

His smile faded as he thought of Alisa. Her bright, laughing face flashed in his memory…how she’d been, full of life, talking with friends at a diner near campus.

“She had her whole life ahead of her,” he sighed, his chest aching. “And it was just… taken.”

“Don’t worry, Ian,” Zhedya said, his voice a low, comforting hum. He reached out, holding the back of Ian’s neck gently, his thumb stroking his jaw.

“Killers always expose themselves eventually. The Thread Man will trip over his own strings soon enough. I just don’t want you getting too involved.”

Ian felt a little comforted, but a part of him wondered…why did Zhedya sound so sure? Stop it, he told himself. You’re overthinking. Zhedya is always confident.

*****

Flashback

The city was asleep. Zhedya moved through the darkness like a shadow, leaving Ian’s apartment to visit the two latest Thread Man crime scenes. He needed to see for himself.

He studied every detail, his mind slipping into the killer’s, tracing the patterns, fitting the pieces together.

There had to be a clue. Something everyone else had missed.

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, got you,” he whispered to the empty night.

A red thread. In the crime scene photos of both victims, this same detail stood out. He carefully collected a loose strand into a small glass vial.

This killer had a thing for red thread.

And for fashion. Both victims were connected to the fashion world, both were talented newcomers who stood out.

Why? It wasn’t jealousy. This was something else. Something colder.

It was past 1 a.m. when Zhedya slipped into his office through the back door, avoiding any night staff. He needed to analyze the thread.

Minutes turned into an hour under the bright lab lights. Then, he had it. The thread was exclusive. Used by only one elite clothing brand.

Studying the Thread Man was like looking into a twisted mirror.

The patterns, the precision… it reminded Zhedya far too much of his own way of thinking.

*****

Zhedya walked into the biggest Marcom Pierce store in the city the next day, the air smelling of expensive perfume and new fabric. He was there to buy a suit for Ian.

A saleswoman glided over. “What can I help you with, sir?” she asked with a polished smile.

“Show me your most expensive suit,” Zhedya replied, his voice cool.

She led him to a private section. Zhedya inspected the offerings, his expression unimpressed.

“We have a special limited edition launching in a few days,” the woman offered, sensing his dissatisfaction. “It will be unveiled at our fashion show. It’s not on the floor yet, but you can pre-order it before it sells out, and we’ll deliver.”

“The fashion show,” Zhedya repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Send me the details. I’d like to see more.”

He knew, with a hunter’s certainty, that this special edition and the Thread Man’s victims were connected.

*****

Back at the apartment, the doorbell rang.

“I’m coming!” Ian yelled, hurrying to the door. A delivery man stood there holding a sleek garment bag.

“Mr. Ian Parker?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Ian said, confused. He hadn’t ordered anything.

The man handed him the bag and left. Ian carried it inside, unzipping it carefully.

Inside was a stunning red designer suit from Marcom Pierce. It was beautiful, but something was off.

The suit’s detailing included what looked like artistic, dark red stains on the glass motifs.

“Fashion designers are getting crazy these days,”

- [ ] Ian muttered, shaking his head. There was only one person who would send him something like this. Zhedya.

*****

“One hundred and fifty thousand dollars? For a suit?!” Ian yelled, his eyes wide with disbelief after Zhedya confirmed the price.

“It’s not too expensive for you,” Zhedya said calmly, a smirk playing on his lips.

“It’s a special edition, not even launched yet. That’s why it costs that much. I plan on attending the fashion show where it’s being unveiled. There’s a piece I want to see there.”

“A piece, my ass!” Ian exclaimed. “Why buy this? I hardly go out, let alone to some fancy function where I’d have to wear this!”

“So go on a date with me, then,” Zhedya requested, his voice dropping, his eyes sincere.

Ian blinked. “Don’t be dumb.”

“Why won’t you just date me? Or give me a chance?” Zhedya’s voice was soft, almost vulnerable.

“After everything I’ve done for you… Please, Ian? Go on a date with me? I don’t care what I have to pay.”

Ian looked at him, at the rare openness on his face, and felt his resolve crumble. He let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes to hide the flutter in his chest.

“Okay, fine! For goodness sake, stop begging,” he grumbled, trying to sound annoyed but failing. “One date.”