Chapter 2: The Whispers in the Code

Chapter 2: The Whispers in the Code

Sunlight, sharp and unforgiving, sliced through the blinds, striping the bedroom wall. Shai groaned, rolling over with the dull, syrupy headache of too little sleep and too much cheap beer. For a blissful, groggy second, the world was normal. Then the memory of the night before flooded back in a cold rush: the club, the predatory focus, the silent, soundless departure.

And the eyes. Those brilliant, horrifying emerald eyes that didn't belong in that man’s face.

He sat up, rubbing his temples. It was just a creepy encounter. A bullet dodged. He’d brought a weirdo home from a club, the guy had gotten pushy, and he’d kicked him out. That was the story. The rational, sane version of events that he needed to believe. The unsettling details—Trixie’s bizarre submission, the car that vanished into thin air—were just tricks of the alcohol and the late hour. He had to believe that.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He glanced at it, expecting a morning news alert or a junk email. It was a text from an unknown number.

[Unknown]: Woke up thinking about you.

A knot of ice formed in Shai’s stomach. It had to be him. Rodney. He stabbed at the screen, his thumb hovering over the block button. This is what you do with creeps. You block and delete.

Before he could, another message came through.

[Unknown]: I can still feel your skin. You shouldn’t have pushed me away.

Shai’s breath hitched. This was more than a standard morning-after text. The intimacy was chilling, unearned. It felt less like a memory and more like a claim of ownership. He typed a curt reply, his fingers shaking slightly.

[Shai]: Who is this? You have the wrong number.

The response was instantaneous, as if the person on the other end was just waiting, watching the screen.

[Unknown]: Don't play games, Shai. I know it’s you. I know everything about you.

His name. Seeing his own name on the screen from this stranger sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through him. He hadn’t told Rodney his last name, hadn’t mentioned where he worked, hadn’t offered any detail of his life beyond the fact that he owned a dog.

Another buzz.

[Unknown]: We’re meant to be. I knew it the moment I saw you. You belong to me now.

You belong to me.

The words echoed in his head, a perfect, sickening replica of Tom’s voice from that final, explosive argument. It was the same possessive, unhinged poison that had suffocated him for three years. He felt the walls of his house, his sanctuary, begin to press in. How could this stranger know the exact phrase to unearth his deepest fears?

He scrambled for a rational explanation. It was a common enough line for a jealous psycho. A coincidence. It had to be.

With trembling hands, he called the only person he could. Collen.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Collen’s voice was a welcome slice of normalcy, a lifeline back to the real world.

“Col, something weird happened last night,” Shai began, the words tumbling out in a rush. He explained it all—the guy at the club, the intense stare, the unnerving drive home. He left out the part about the eyes; it sounded too crazy, even to him. He focused on the texts. “He’s messaging me now. He knows my name. He’s saying this… this really possessive stuff. It sounds just like Tom.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a weary sigh. “Shai, dude. You brought a rando home from the club. Of course he’s a creep. It’s like a law of nature or something.”

“No, this is different,” Shai insisted, pacing his living room. “It’s the way he’s saying it. It’s… uncanny.”

“So he’s a garden-variety psycho. You gave him your number, right?”

“No! I never did.”

“He probably saw it when you were looking at your phone. Or he’s just good at finding people online. Look, man, don’t spiral. Just block the number and forget about him. Problem solved.”

The dismissive tone was like a slap. Shai knew Collen was trying to be helpful, trying to ground him in logic, but it only made him feel more isolated. He wasn’t just being paranoid. This feeling, this cold dread coiling in his gut, was real. The man last night was not a ‘garden-variety psycho.’ He was something else.

“Yeah. Okay. You’re probably right,” Shai lied, the taste of ashes in his mouth.

“Good. Now, I gotta run. We still on for movie night Friday?”

“Sure.”

He hung up, the silence in the house roaring back to life. He was alone in this. He looked at his phone, at the string of messages from the unknown number. With a final, decisive tap, he blocked the contact.

For a few hours, the world felt normal again. The silence was just silence. He worked on a freelance design project, losing himself in the clean lines and color palettes. He played with Trixie, tossing her squeaky toy across the floor. The pug, his furry little shadow, seemed perfectly happy, her earlier, strange behavior forgotten. The afternoon sun warmed the floorboards, and Shai allowed himself to believe Collen was right. It was over.

But as dusk bled across the sky, painting the windows in shades of orange and bruised purple, the feeling returned. A prickle on the back of his neck. The distinct, unshakable sensation of being watched.

He drew the blinds, locking the windows one by one. The familiar clicks of the locks did nothing to soothe him. His sanctuary had become a cage, but he wasn’t sure if he was locking something out, or locking himself in with it.

He ate dinner without tasting it, his eyes darting towards the dark rectangle of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. Beyond it was only an impenetrable wall of blackness.

It was Trixie who broke the spell.

She was asleep in her bed, her usual symphony of soft snorts filling the quiet room. Suddenly, she went rigid. Her head snapped up, ears perked. A low, guttural growl rumbled in her chest, a sound Shai had only ever heard her make when a much larger dog got too close.

“What is it, girl?” he whispered.

Trixie ignored him. She slid out of her bed, her nails clicking softly on the hardwood floor. She crept towards the sliding glass door, her body low to the ground, the fur along her spine standing on end. She stared intently into the inky blackness of the yard.

And then she erupted.

It wasn't a bark. It was a frantic, terrified, furious volley of noise. She threw herself against the glass, snarling and snapping at something only she could see. This was not the timid, submissive creature who had licked Rodney’s hand with reverence. This was a tiny, terrified soldier defending her home from an unseen invader.

Shai’s blood ran cold. He flicked on the back porch light. The powerful floodlight illuminated the manicured square of his lawn, the empty patio chairs, the wooden fence.

There was nothing there.

He knelt, trying to soothe the hysterical pug, but she wouldn’t be calmed. She clawed at the door, her barks growing more desperate, more shrill. Her eyes were wide with a terror Shai was beginning to share.

He stood up, his gaze drawn back to the impenetrable darkness beyond the reach of the light. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t hear anything but the frantic sound of his dog and the frantic beating of his own heart. But he could feel it. A cold, deliberate, possessive presence, standing just out of sight, its attention focused solely on him.

The thing from the club hadn’t left. It had just been waiting. And Trixie, who had welcomed the mask, was terrified of the monster hiding behind it.