Chapter 2: Watched
I didn't move for five seconds. Ten. My phone screen went dark in my hand and I just stood there in Rebecca's jacket staring at my closed blinds.
Someone was out there.
Someone had taken my picture.
Someone knew my name.
The voices in my head went quiet for once, like even the dead were holding their breath.
I crossed to the window in three steps and yanked the blinds open.
The street below was empty. Streetlights casting yellow pools on wet pavement. A few parked cars. No people. No movement except for Mrs. Yang's cat crossing from one shadow to another.
My apartment was on the second floor. You'd need a ladder to get a photo through this window. Or a telephoto lens from across the street.
I scanned the buildings opposite mine. Dark windows. No faces. No cameras that I could see.
But they'd been there. Recently enough to catch me wearing the jacket. Recently enough to know exactly what I was doing.
My phone buzzed again and I nearly threw it across the room.
Luca's name this time. Not the unknown number.
I'm sorry. Can we talk?
I typed back with shaking fingers.
Someone's watching me.
The response came immediately.
What?
They sent me a photo. Of me. In my apartment. Just now.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
I'm coming over.
No. They might still be out there.
Then call the cops.
And say what? Someone sent me a creepy text?
Sage that's not just creepy. That's stalking. That's a threat.
He was right. I knew he was right. But calling the cops meant explaining why someone was threatening me and that meant explaining Rebecca and the jacket and the voices and I already knew how that conversation would go.
I'll call them tomorrow. Just stay home tonight.
Are you safe right now?
I looked around my apartment. The door had two locks. The windows were closed. I was alone except for thirty-eight dead voices and whoever was standing outside with a camera.
Yeah. I'm safe.
Another lie. I was getting good at those.
Text me every hour so I know you're okay.
That's excessive
I don't care. Every hour or I'm driving over there.
I didn't have the energy to argue.
Fine.
I closed the blinds again and checked the locks on my door twice. Then a third time because the second check didn't feel like enough.
Rebecca's voice started up again, quieter now but still there.
I didn't kill myself.
"I know," I said. "But someone really doesn't want me proving that."
I sat on my bed and opened my laptop again. The photo of Rebecca with the swim team was still on my screen. I zoomed in on her face. She looked happy. Normal. Nothing about that smile said this girl was planning to jump off a bridge two months later.
I saved the photo and opened a new search tab.
Dylan Rivers Redwood Community Pool.
His official bio came up first. Eight years coaching. Competitive swimming background. Degree in exercise science from Oregon State. Volunteer coach for youth programs. Multiple awards for outstanding service to the community.
I clicked through to the pool's website and found the staff directory. Dylan's photo smiled out at me. Same toothpaste commercial grin. Same too-perfect hair.
The bio listed his coaching schedule. Monday through Friday, 3pm to 8pm. Saturday mornings 9am to noon.
I checked my phone. It was almost 10pm now. He'd be home.
I pulled up a map and searched his name in the white pages. Three Dylan Rivers in Redwood Heights. I clicked the first one.
The address was on Maple Street, ten minutes from here. Street view showed a small house with a neat lawn and a silver car in the driveway.
I took a screenshot.
Then I did something stupid.
I grabbed my keys and my phone and walked out of my apartment.
The air outside was cold enough to hurt my lungs. I'd forgotten a real jacket and Rebecca's denim wasn't thick enough for February nights but I didn't go back for one.
My car was parked on the street. An old Honda with a broken passenger mirror and a dent in the back bumper from when I'd backed into a pole three months ago because I was listening to voices instead of paying attention.
I got in and locked the doors immediately.
My hands were still shaking. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles went white and forced myself to breathe.
This was stupid. This was dangerous. This was exactly the kind of thing Luca would tell me not to do.
I started the car anyway.
The drive to Maple Street took eight minutes. I parked three houses down from the address I'd found and killed the engine.
Dylan's house was dark except for one window on the first floor. Bluish light flickered behind the curtains. TV probably.
I sat there watching for five minutes. Ten. Nothing happened. No one came in or out. No movement except that flickering light.
What was I even doing here?
I didn't have a plan. Didn't have evidence. Didn't have anything except a dead girl's voice in my head and a text message from someone who knew I was digging into things they wanted buried.
My phone buzzed. Luca's hourly check-in.
You good?
Yeah.
Where are you?
I hesitated. Then typed the truth.
Sitting outside Dylan Rivers' house.
The response was immediate and in all caps.
WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU
I'm just looking.
GET OUT OF THERE NOW
I'm fine. I'm in my car. He doesn't know I'm here.
Sage I swear to god if you get yourself killed I will never forgive you.
That almost made me smile. Almost.
I'm leaving. Give me five minutes.
I put the phone down and looked at the house one more time.
The front door opened.
I stopped breathing.
Dylan Rivers stepped out onto his porch. Same guy from the photos. Blonde hair. Athletic build. He was wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and holding his phone to his ear.
I sank lower in my seat even though there was no way he could see me from here. No way he'd know my car.
He was talking to someone. Animated. Gesturing with one hand while the other held the phone.
Then he stopped moving.
Went completely still.
And looked directly at my car.
My mouth went dry.
He couldn't see me. It was dark. I was three houses away. He couldn't possibly know.
But he was staring right at me.
He said something into the phone. Dropped his hand. Started walking down his driveway toward the street.
Toward me.
I fumbled for my keys and dropped them on the floor. Cursed. Grabbed them. Shoved the key in the ignition and turned.
The engine made a clicking sound.
Didn't start.
"No no no no no."
I turned the key again. Another click. Nothing.
Dylan was halfway down the street now. Still walking toward me. I could see his face under the streetlight and he wasn't smiling anymore.
Third try. The engine coughed and caught.
I threw the car into drive and pulled away from the curb without checking my mirror. Someone's horn blared. I'd cut them off. Didn't care.
I took the first right turn too fast and my tires squealed on the wet pavement. Second left. Third right. I didn't know where I was going. Just away.
Five minutes later I pulled into a 24-hour grocery store parking lot and put the car in park.
My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my phone.
I'm out. I'm okay. He saw me but I'm okay.
Luca called instead of texting. I answered.
"What happened?"
"He came outside. Started walking toward my car. My engine wouldn't start at first but then it did and I left."
"Did he follow you?"
I checked my rearview mirror. The parking lot was mostly empty. A few cars scattered around. No silver vehicle. No Dylan.
"I don't think so."
"Where are you now?"
"Grocery store on Fifth."
"Stay there. I'm coming to get you."
"My car is fine."
"Your car almost got you killed. I'm coming to get you and we're leaving it there overnight."
"Luca"
"I'm already in my car. Be there in ten. Don't move."
He hung up.
I sat there surrounded by voices that wouldn't shut up and tried to figure out what the hell I was doing with my life.
Rebecca spoke up over all the others.
I didn't kill myself.
"I know," I said. "But I think I know who killed you."
Luca showed up in nine minutes. I saw his beat-up Toyota pull into the lot and park next to my Honda. He got out and knocked on my window.
I unlocked the door.
"Move over."
"What?"
"Move over. I'm driving your car to your place. Then you're coming back with me."
"I'm not staying at your apartment."
"Yeah you are. Someone's threatening you and watching you and you just got caught stalking a potential murder suspect. You're not staying alone tonight."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I was fine. That I could handle this.
But my hands were still shaking and I could taste metal in my mouth and every voice in my head was screaming at different volumes.
I moved over to the passenger seat.
Luca got in and adjusted the mirrors. Started the car without any trouble because of course it started fine for him.
"Your engine's not the problem," he said.
"I know."
"It's your starter. You need to replace it."
"Can't afford it."
"I'll do it this weekend. Parts are cheap."
"You don't have to"
"I'm doing it. Not asking permission."
We drove in silence for three blocks. Then Luca spoke again.
"Tell me about Dylan Rivers."
"He's a swim coach. Rebecca had his team photo saved on her Instagram even though she didn't swim. And someone sent me a threatening text right after I started looking into him."
"That's not proof he killed anyone."
"It's suspicious."
"Suspicious isn't enough."
"It's a start."
Luca pulled up outside my building and parked. "You need to go to the police."
"With what? A voice in my head?"
"With a text threatening you. With evidence that you're being stalked. That's real. That's something they can investigate."
"And when they ask why I'm being threatened? When they ask what I was doing at Dylan's house?"
"You tell them the truth."
"That I hear dead people?"
"That you're investigating Rebecca Holt's death because you don't think it was suicide."
I looked at him. His face was serious in the dashboard light. He really thought it was that simple.
"They'll think I'm crazy."
"Some of them will. But some of them might listen."
"You don't even believe me."
"That's not true."
"You said you don't know if the voices are real."
"I said I don't know. That's different from not believing you. I believe something happened to you when you drowned. I believe you hear things. I just don't know what those things are or if they're what you think they are."
"That's the same as not believing me."
"No it's not. It's me being honest instead of telling you what you want to hear."
I hated that he was right. Hated that even my best friend couldn't just take my side without questioning everything.
"Come on," he said. "Let's get your stuff. You're staying at my place tonight and tomorrow we're figuring out our next move."
"Our next move?"
"You think I'm letting you do this alone? After tonight?" He shook his head. "Not happening. If you're investigating a murder then so am I."
Something in my chest loosened a little. Not much. But enough.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm probably going to regret this."
We got out of the car and walked toward my building. I was halfway to the entrance when I saw it.
A piece of paper tucked under my windshield wiper.
I stopped walking.
"What?" Luca asked.
I pointed.
He saw it too. Walked back to the car and grabbed the paper before I could stop him.
His face went white as he read it.
"What does it say?"
He handed it to me without speaking.
The note was printed in plain black text on regular printer paper.
Rebecca Holt killed herself. Stop saying she didn't. Stop asking questions. Stop digging into things that don't concern you. This is your final warning. Next time I won't be nice.
Underneath the text was another photo.
Of me and Luca. Standing next to my car. Right now.
Taken from somewhere in this parking lot.
Whoever was threatening me hadn't left after I drove away from Dylan's house.
They'd followed me here.
And they were still watching.