Chapter 5: The First Soulmate

Mark's keychain lay on the kitchen counter like an accusation.

Jake stared at the familiar brass compass—a gift from Mark's grandfather, something his friend had carried for over a decade. It sat next to Ella's coffee cup, casual as a piece of morning mail, gleaming in the soft light filtering through their pristine white curtains.

"You're up early, darling," Ella said from behind him, her voice carrying that musical quality that had once made his heart race and now made his blood freeze.

Jake didn't turn around. Couldn't turn around. His eyes remained fixed on the keychain, on this small piece of evidence that his oldest friend was gone. Just like Sarah. Just like Greg. Just like everyone who had tried to help him or take him away from his perfect marriage.

"Mark stopped by yesterday evening," Ella continued conversationally, moving around the kitchen with her usual graceful efficiency. "After you didn't come home. He was so worried about you."

The casual way she said it—as if discussing the weather—made Jake's hands clench into fists. "Where is he?"

"Oh, he had to leave town suddenly. Family emergency, he said. Something about his mother in Seattle." Ella's tone was perfectly sympathetic. "Poor thing seemed quite distressed. I made him some tea to calm his nerves before he left."

Jake finally turned, meeting his wife's radiant smile with eyes that felt hollow as caves. "You're lying."

"Darling." Ella's expression shifted to one of gentle concern. "You're upset. I understand—it's hard when friends have to leave unexpectedly. But Mark seemed to think it was important to give you some space to work through whatever's been troubling you lately."

She moved closer, and Jake caught the subtle scent of her perfume mixed with something else—something chemical and sharp that made his stomach turn. "He left his keys," Jake said, nodding toward the counter.

Ella glanced at the keychain with apparent surprise. "Oh, how careless of him. I'll have to mail them to Seattle. Do you have his mother's address?"

The performance was flawless, as always. If Jake hadn't known better, he might have believed that Mark really had left town, really had forgotten his precious compass in his rush to help family. But Jake did know better. He knew that Mark's mother lived in Portland, not Seattle. He knew that Mark would never leave his grandfather's compass behind, not for any reason.

And he knew that the last time he'd seen Mark, his friend had been determined to help him escape this house, this marriage, this life that had revealed itself to be an elaborate cage.

"I need some air," Jake said, moving toward the back door.

"Of course," Ella agreed sweetly. "I'll start breakfast. You look like you haven't been eating properly."

The garden was Ella's pride and joy—perfectly manicured flower beds, precisely trimmed hedges, a small greenhouse where she grew exotic orchids that required constant, obsessive care. Everything arranged with the same meticulous attention to detail that characterized every aspect of their life together.

Jake found himself walking toward the greenhouse, drawn by a morbid curiosity he couldn't name. The morning air was crisp, but sweat beaded on his forehead as he pushed open the glass door.

The orchids were magnificent, as always. Dozens of varieties in shades of purple and white and deep burgundy, their exotic faces turned toward the morning light like worshippers at an altar. Ella spent hours here every week, tending to their complex needs with the devotion of a high priestess.

But it wasn't the flowers that made Jake's breath catch in his throat.

It was the smell—rich, organic, somehow familiar in a way that made his skin crawl. The same chemical sharpness he'd detected on Ella, mixed with something earthier. Something that reminded him of the basement, of wrapped packages and Sarah's lifeless eyes.

Jake's hands trembled as he knelt beside one of the larger orchid containers, his mind racing with horrible possibilities. The plants were so lush, so unnaturally vibrant. Ella always joked that she had a magic touch with flowers, that she could make anything grow.

He dug his fingers into the soil, not caring about the dirt under his nails or the possibility that Ella might see him from the kitchen window. The earth was dark and rich, almost black, with an unusual texture that felt wrong beneath his hands.

Something hard brushed against his fingers—too smooth to be a stone, too curved to be a root. Jake's breathing stopped as he carefully excavated around the object, revealing what looked like a piece of bone. Human bone.

"The fertilizer works wonderfully, doesn't it?"

Jake spun around to find Ella standing in the greenhouse doorway, backlit by the morning sun like an angel of death. Her smile was serene, unbothered by the dirt on Jake's hands or the horror in his eyes.

"The orchids have never been more beautiful," she continued, stepping into the greenhouse with her usual fluid grace. "Mark was so interested in my gardening techniques. We had quite a long conversation about organic fertilizer before he... left."

Jake scrambled backward, his shoulder hitting one of the hanging planters. "You're insane."

"I'm devoted," Ella corrected gently. "I'm a woman who understands that love requires sacrifice. That sometimes we have to eliminate the things that threaten our happiness."

She moved closer, and Jake realized he was trapped in the small greenhouse with nowhere to run. "Mark was going to take you away from me. Just like Sarah was going to seduce you away from our marriage. Just like Greg tried to leave me for his precious freedom."

"And Leo?" Jake's voice was barely a whisper. "What about Leo?"

Ella's smile widened, and for the first time, Jake saw genuine pleasure in her eyes. Not the calculated warmth she usually displayed, but real, twisted joy.

"Oh, darling. You found the photograph."

She reached into the pocket of her gardening apron and withdrew a small wooden box, old and worn with age. "I was wondering when you'd discover Leo. I've been saving this story for the right moment."

With reverent care, Ella opened the box to reveal a collection of items that made Jake's blood run cold. More photographs of the sandy-haired boy from his wallet, ticket stubs from movies, a class ring, and what looked like a lock of hair tied with a faded ribbon.

"Leo Martinez," Ella said, her voice taking on the dreamy quality of someone lost in cherished memories. "We were sixteen when I knew he was my soulmate. My first real soulmate."

Jake pressed himself against the greenhouse wall, his hands still dirty from digging in soil that he now realized was mixed with human remains. "What happened to him?"

"He tried to break up with me," Ella said simply. "Right before senior prom. Can you imagine? He said he wanted to 'date other people,' to 'experience life' before college. As if there could be anything more important than what we had together."

She lifted one of the photographs—Leo in a baseball uniform, grinning at the camera with the careless confidence of youth. "I tried to explain that soulmates don't break up. That true love doesn't just end because one person gets confused about their priorities. But Leo wouldn't listen."

Jake could see where this story was going, could feel the terrible inevitability of it settling over him like a shroud.

"So I helped him understand," Ella continued. "I showed him how much I loved him. How far I was willing to go to keep us together forever."

"The missing boy from the newspaper," Jake whispered, remembering the clipping he'd found in Greg's box. "The one who disappeared senior year."

"Leo didn't disappear," Ella said with a gentle smile. "He just learned to stay where he belonged. With me. Always with me."

She closed the box with careful reverence, treating it like a sacred relic. "Of course, Leo's body wasn't as... durable... as I'd hoped. Sixteen-year-old me didn't have access to the preservation techniques I've perfected over the years. But his spirit, his essence—that's what really mattered. And that stayed with me."

Jake felt vomit rising in his throat. "You killed him. You were just a child, and you killed him."

"I loved him," Ella corrected firmly. "I loved him so much that I couldn't let him make the mistake of leaving me. Just like I loved Greg enough to save him from his growing paranoia and fear. Just like I loved you enough to eliminate Sarah when she threatened our happiness."

The greenhouse felt impossibly small, the air thick and suffocating. Jake realized he was hyperventilating, his vision starting to blur at the edges.

"The beautiful thing about experience," Ella continued conversationally, "is how it teaches you to improve your methods. Leo was messy—emotional, unpredictable. I was young and inexperienced. But by the time I met Greg, I'd learned to be more... strategic."

She gestured toward the lush orchids surrounding them. "And by the time I chose you, darling, I'd perfected my techniques entirely. Greg helped me understand the importance of long-term planning, comprehensive surveillance, controlling every variable."

"Chose me?" Jake's voice cracked. "You didn't choose me. We met at the reunion—"

"Oh, sweetheart." Ella's laugh was musical, delighted. "I chose you junior year of high school. Sweet, quiet Jake Miller who sat behind me in chemistry class. Who never talked to girls, never caused trouble, never had the confidence to leave a woman like me."

The world tilted sideways. Jake gripped the workbench behind him, his knuckles white with strain.

"I spent two years studying you," Ella continued. "Learning your routines, your interests, your weaknesses. Planning exactly how I would approach you at the reunion, exactly what to say to make you fall in love with me instantly."

She moved closer, and Jake could see his own reflection in her eyes—pale, terrified, trapped. "You were perfect, Jake. Socially awkward enough to be grateful for my attention. Isolated enough to not have friends who might interfere. Passive enough to accept my guidance in shaping our life together."

"But Greg—"

"Greg was practice," Ella said dismissively. "A way to test my surveillance techniques, to see how long I could maintain control over someone who had more... spirit... than you. But Greg was always temporary. You, darling, you were always the real prize."

Jake stared at his wife—this woman he'd worshipped for over five years, this perfect dream that had turned into a waking nightmare—and realized that every moment of their relationship had been a lie. Every kiss, every conversation, every tender gesture had been calculated manipulation designed to keep him exactly where she wanted him.

"The others," he whispered. "Sarah, Mark—they're all here, aren't they? In the garden."

Ella's smile was radiant with pride. "My orchids have never been more beautiful. And you, my perfect soulmate, will never have to worry about anyone trying to take you away from me again."

She reached out to touch his face with hands that had killed at least four people, and Jake realized with crystal clarity that he was looking at his own future. Not death—Ella would never kill her chosen soulmate—but something far worse.

A lifetime of watching other people die for the crime of caring about him. A lifetime of being the prize in a museum of murder, surrounded by the remains of everyone who had tried to save him from his perfect marriage.

"Come inside, darling," Ella said gently. "I'll make us some breakfast. And then we can plan our next chapter together."

As she took his hand and led him back toward the house, Jake caught sight of his reflection in the greenhouse glass. He looked like Greg in those final journal entries—haunted, desperate, already more ghost than man.

But unlike Greg, Jake now knew he would never be allowed to die.

He would just keep living in this beautiful prison, watching Ella's garden grow more lush with each person who tried to love him, until he forgot there had ever been a world outside the walls of their perfect home.

The first soulmate had been just the beginning. Jake was the culmination—the perfect victim for a perfect predator who had spent over a decade perfecting her craft.

And unlike Leo, unlike Greg, unlike all the others, Jake would never be allowed to rest.