Page 27 of Girl, Sought

‘What do you think?’ he asked Margaret. The words sounded strange in his apartment. When was the last time he'd spoken out loud in here?

The doll just stared. Fair enough. He wouldn't talk to himself either.

A door slammed upstairs, followed by muffled screaming. The methhead couple's nightly routine was right on schedule. He used to lie awake listening to their fights, imagining all the ways their lives could end. Now, their drama felt like background noise from someone else's movie.

He stepped back from the cabinet. The spider still looked wrong, but maybe that was the point. Beauty and beast. Porcelain perfection next to a giant, hairy predator. Eleanor would hate seeing her precious Margaret sharing space with Alfred's preserved arachnid, and that made him smile.

The insect mask sat on his kitchen counter next to a half-eaten microwave dinner. He should clean up, but the energy that had carried him through Alfred's house had drained away and left him hollow. Besides, what was one more TV dinner tray in a kitchen full of them?

But looking at that mask, he felt the change. The moment he'd slipped that wire around Eleanor Calloway's neck and squeezed, something inside him had shifted. And with Alfred – Christ. The old man had barely put up a fight. Too startled by the sudden appearance of a six-foot bug in his living room. Probably thought he was hallucinating.

The look in Alfred's eyes as the light faded - it was almost gratitude. Like he finally understood what it meant to be part of the collection.

Tomorrow was Tuesday, he realized. Usually, he'd have reports due spreadsheets to update, and conference calls to pretend to pay attention to while he doodled in his notepad. The mundane horror of office life somehow felt more surreal now than wearing a giant cockroach head while collecting souvenirs from a dead man's house.

His phone buzzed. He’d set up alerts for any mention of Eleanor Calloway’s name in the news. Looks like the press had finally got their dirty hands on the victim’s name.

He swiped the notification away. He already had all the details. Much more than the press or police had.

Another email caught his attention. His self-assessment tax return was due in four months, and as always, they liked to remind him unnecessarily early.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere in his gut. Self-assessment. How exactly do you assess yourself when you're becoming someone new? When the old self is sloughing away like dead skin?

He picked up the mask and felt its weight. This wasn't like the doll mask he'd worn for Eleanor. That one had been smooth, serene, emotionless. This one had been designed to terrify.

In the cabinet's glass, his reflection looked small. Hunched shoulders, dark circles under his eyes, suit hanging loose where he'd lost weight from forgetting to eat. But when he held the mask up, aligned it with his face in the reflection - that changed everything.

The transformation wasn't just physical. Wearing it made him stand straighter. Made his voice deeper, more controlled. Made him someone who could walk into a stranger's house and do the things he did.

No. Not a stranger. He'd known Alfred Finch, at least from a distance. Known Eleanor Calloway too. Spent weeks learning their habits, their passions, their pride. You had to understand people to truly become part of their world. Had to appreciate what they'd built before you could add them to your own collection.

His stomach growled. When was the last time he'd actually eaten a full meal? The microwave dinner sat half-finished, congealing into something that looked like industrial waste. He should eat. Should sleep. Should do a lot of things that normal people did.

But normal was a costume he couldn't wear anymore.

The methheads upstairs had moved on to breaking things. The sound of shattering glass filtered through his ceiling like distant wind chimes. Time was, he'd bang on the ceiling with a broom handle, maybe call the super. Now their chaos felt appropriate.

His phone buzzed again. Something worked related, but that world felt like a play he'd been watching from the back row, and now he'd finally walked out of the theater.

He was becoming something new. Something that mattered. And if he cycled through enough incarnations, maybe he'd finally shed his old skin completely. Emerge is someone people couldn't ignore.

Eleanor’s doll and Alfred’s giant spider. Two perfect specimens in his growing collection. But not enough. Never enough. There were other collectors in Chesapeake. Other worlds to infiltrate. Other faces to wear.

His neighbors' argument reached its nightly crescendo. The husband storming out, car engine gunning, tires squealing away into the dark.

Such dreary rhythms. Such small lives.

But not his. Not anymore.

He smiled at his reflection in the glass, seeing double - his bland features overlaid with the memory of that insect mask. Soon, he wouldn't recognize the old him at all.

And wasn't that the whole point?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘What do you mean, he's lonely?’ Luca asked.

Ella sat at her desk and stared at the whiteboard. Her marker hovered over the surface, ready to spill her thoughts onto the pristine canvas. The FBI might have upgraded to SMART boards and digital displays, but there was something about the physical act of writing that helped her think. Old habits died hard.

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