Chapter 4: A Friend in Need

The weight of isolation was crushing Jake's chest like a physical presence. Two weeks had passed since his discovery about Miller Security Solutions, and the knowledge that every moment of his life was being monitored had transformed even the most mundane activities into exercises in paranoid theater.

He'd started taking different routes to work, varying his lunch spots, changing his routine in small, desperate ways that he knew were probably meaningless. If Ella could monitor his office building's security cameras, if she could orchestrate surveillance on that scale, then his pathetic attempts at unpredictability were probably just providing her with entertainment.

But Jake couldn't stop trying. The illusion of resistance was all he had left.

It was during one of these aimless drives—a circuitous route through neighborhoods he'd never visited, desperately seeking someplace Ella's eyes couldn't follow—that Jake found himself parked outside Mark Chen's apartment complex.

Mark. His college roommate, his best man, the one friend who had stayed in touch even after Jake's social circle had gradually shrunk to accommodate Ella's preferences. They'd been grabbing beers every few months for years, though Jake realized with a chill that those meetings had become less frequent since his marriage. Ella had never explicitly discouraged the friendship, but somehow Jake had found himself making excuses, canceling plans, choosing quiet evenings at home over nights out with his oldest friend.

Now, staring up at Mark's third-floor window, Jake felt a desperate surge of hope. Mark was the one person in his life who pre-dated Ella's complete control. Mark had known Jake before the surveillance, before the cameras, before Miller Security Solutions had woven its web around every aspect of his existence.

Maybe Mark could help. Maybe Mark could be the lifeline Jake needed to pull himself out of this nightmare.

Jake's hands shook as he climbed the stairs to Mark's apartment. He'd driven here on impulse, without calling ahead, without planning what he would say. How did you tell your best friend that your wife was a murderer? How did you explain that you'd been living in a cage disguised as a marriage?

Mark answered the door in pajama pants and a faded college t-shirt, his hair disheveled from what looked like an afternoon nap. "Jake? Dude, what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," Jake said, his voice cracking. "Please. It's important."

Mark stepped aside immediately, concern creasing his features. "Of course, man. Come in. You look like hell. What's going on?"

The familiar warmth of Mark's apartment—cluttered with books and takeout containers, walls covered with movie posters and photos from their college days—made Jake's throat tighten with emotion. This felt real in a way his own home no longer did. Messy and authentic and completely free of Ella's controlled perfection.

"Beer?" Mark offered, already heading toward the kitchen.

Jake nodded, settling onto the couch where they'd spent countless hours playing video games and complaining about their jobs. Normal things. Things that belonged to the life he'd had before Ella had claimed him completely.

"So," Mark said, returning with two bottles. "What's got you looking like you've seen a ghost?"

The question was so perfectly on target that Jake nearly laughed. He had seen ghosts—Greg's desperate handwriting, Sarah's lifeless face, Leo's teenage smile frozen in time.

"It's Ella," Jake began, then stopped. Where did you start a story like this? How did you make someone believe the unbelievable?

Mark waited patiently, sipping his beer. He'd always been a good listener, even in college when Jake's problems had been limited to failed tests and unrequited crushes.

"I think she's..." Jake struggled with the words. "Mark, I think my wife is dangerous."

"Dangerous how?" Mark's voice was careful, nonjudgmental. "Is she hurting you? Because if she is—"

"Not me. Other people." Jake took a shaky breath. "I think she killed her first husband. And there was a woman from my office, Sarah, who disappeared a few weeks ago. I found her in our freezer, Mark. I found her body in our basement freezer."

Mark's beer bottle stopped halfway to his lips. "Jesus Christ, Jake. Are you—are you sure about this?"

"I found journals," Jake continued, the words tumbling out now. "Greg's journals. Her first husband. He wrote about being followed, being watched, being trapped. And then he died on a hiking trip, supposedly an accident, but he knew, Mark. He knew she was going to kill him."

Mark set down his beer and leaned forward. "Okay, this is—this is serious. If what you're saying is true, we need to call the police right now."

"With what evidence?" Jake's laugh was bitter. "Sarah's body is gone. Disposed of. Greg died years ago, and the police ruled it an accident. And Ella—she's smart, Mark. She's been planning this for years. She has surveillance on me everywhere. She monitors my office building. She probably knows I'm here right now."

"Surveillance?" Mark's eyebrows rose. "What kind of surveillance?"

Jake explained about Miller Security Solutions, about the cameras and the watching and the suffocating sense of being observed every moment of every day. As he talked, Mark's expression grew increasingly troubled.

"That's not normal, Jake. Even for a controlling spouse, that's—that's stalking on a professional level."

"I know." Jake's voice was barely a whisper. "But I don't know how to get out. Every time someone gets close to me, every time there's a threat to our 'perfect marriage,' they disappear. She calls them problems that need to be solved."

Mark was quiet for a long moment, processing everything Jake had told him. Finally, he spoke. "You can't go home tonight. You need to stay here, and tomorrow we're going to figure this out. Maybe there's no physical evidence of Sarah, but there might be other things. Financial records, security footage from places Ella doesn't control, something."

The offer of sanctuary, of help, of someone finally believing him, made Jake's eyes fill with tears. "You really think we can find something?"

"I think we have to try. And I think you need to be somewhere safe while we do it."

Jake nodded gratefully, feeling the first spark of hope he'd experienced in weeks. Maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe there was a way out of the beautiful prison Ella had constructed around him.

They spent the evening planning. Mark was methodical, practical—everything Jake needed. They would start by researching Miller Security Solutions, looking for business records and client lists. They would try to trace Sarah's disappearance, see if there were any witnesses to her last movements. They would build a case piece by piece, carefully and quietly, until they had enough evidence to take to the authorities.

For the first time in months, Jake slept deeply, feeling safe on Mark's couch in a way he hadn't felt safe in his own bed.

He woke to his phone buzzing with text messages.

Good morning, darling. I see you didn't come home last night. I hope everything is alright. - E

I made your favorite breakfast, but it's getting cold. When should I expect you? - E

Jake, please respond. I'm starting to worry. - E

Jake showed the messages to Mark, who frowned as he read them. "How does she know you didn't come home? Does she have tracking on your phone?"

"Probably," Jake said, his brief sense of safety already evaporating. "She seems to know everything else."

"Then we turn it off. Right now." Mark was already reaching for Jake's phone. "If she's tracking your location, we need to—"

The phone rang in Mark's hand. Ella's name appeared on the screen, along with a photo Jake had taken of her smiling in their garden. The image that had once filled him with warmth now made his stomach turn.

"Don't answer it," Mark said firmly.

But the ringing continued. Again and again, Ella's name and face filling the screen with mechanical persistence.

"She'll just keep calling," Jake said miserably.

"Then we'll turn the phone off entirely."

Mark powered down the device, and the apartment fell silent. But instead of relief, Jake felt a growing sense of dread. Ella wouldn't just give up. She never gave up.

"I should go home," Jake said suddenly. "If I don't show up, if I disappear completely—"

"Jake, no. That's exactly what she wants. She's using fear to control you."

But Jake was already standing, his hands shaking. "You don't understand. When she feels threatened, when someone tries to take me away from her—bad things happen to those people."

Mark stood too, placing a steady hand on Jake's shoulder. "I can handle myself. And I'm not going to let you go back to that house alone. We're going to figure this out together."

Jake wanted to believe him. Mark was strong, confident, completely normal in all the ways Jake had forgotten how to be. But as they prepared to leave the apartment—Mark insisting on accompanying Jake home to gather some belongings—Jake couldn't shake the image of Sarah's lifeless eyes staring up from their basement floor.

Ella didn't just eliminate threats. She collected them, preserved them, turned them into trophies of her devotion.

And now Mark, wonderful loyal Mark who had believed Jake's impossible story and offered to help, was walking directly into her web.

Jake should have warned him more forcefully. Should have explained that Ella's reach extended far beyond what seemed possible for one person. Should have made Mark understand that sometimes the only way to survive a predator was to make yourself invisible, worthless, too small to bother hunting.

But Jake was desperate enough to hope that maybe, just maybe, Mark would be different. Maybe Mark would be smart enough, quick enough, lucky enough to help Jake escape his beautiful prison without becoming another carefully wrapped package in Ella's freezer.

As they drove toward Jake's house, Mark chattering optimistically about evidence and escape plans, Jake fingered the photograph of Leo still hidden in his wallet and prayed that his oldest friend wouldn't join the growing collection of people who had tried to save him from his soulmate.