When I get into the office, Elima looks at me with a surprised look.

  “Already done?”

  “Yes...the place was almost empty. Nobody goes shopping during a Monday morning,” I scoff, putting my coat on the hanger and approaching her desk, “I found some useful stuff, though. I need to see through it. Did Errilk call?”

  “Oh, yes. He mailed us some documentation you asked for, it’s on your desk, sealed.”

  Good. The classified cases of this serial killer, I hope.

  I get into the office and close the door behind me. I see it...it’s there, within my grasp.

  I’m gonna find out what happened to the other victims, if there are any.

  I open the folder, and I pick up the only document where there is the most text.

  To Errilk.

  The information you asked for cannot be accessed easily, it’s not within my jurisdiction as the manager of the file storage. This is highly classified documentation, and I’m not risking my life for a client. This is all I could find before I stepped out of my safety line.

  The victims so far are four.

  - Alice Dellis

  - Agathe Leuseur

  - Claire Eisern

  - Lila Berniech

  They are linked together, I’m sure of it because they were all in the same pool. This is just the remnants of our homicide division before it was all classified.

  This isn’t a police case, everything was wiped and nobody knows anything. This is probably something that’s in the hands of the feds.

  My advice to you and your client is to step back before you both get hurt.

  Slightly disappointed, I go over the rest of the contents in the folder.

  Four pictures, the pictures of the girls.

  And I only have information about one of them.

  The cases were classified quickly and wiped from the police’s knowledge.

  This is serious, I’m getting into something hotter than I thought.

  But this also means that I’m right...there is a serial killer, and the feds are taking action already. I should back off.

  Elima enters the room. I put everything in the folder and sigh.

  “So? Anything useful?” She asks me.

  “Nothing. The cases...they were classified. They’re probably in the hands of the feds by now.”

  Elima’s face turns serious, “then this is your wake up call. Move on.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” I raise my hands, “I’m not stupid.”

  “Good,” she nods, “a couple of clients came in, and I booked appointments. I filled the holes you made this week...so...”

  “Yes, don’t worry. As I’ve just said...it’s time to give up,” I sigh, setting the folder aside.

  “Hey...don’t worry. It’s okay,” she mutters, “you’ve done enough. If the feds are on it, no anonymous tip will be of any use.”

  “True. You’re right.”

  “Of course I am,” she chuckles, “now then, let’s get back to work. The usual work.”

  “Mhm.”

  I’m disappointed. I got kicked in the stomach by the feds. There’s not much I can do without risking my career.

  I need to get to my next client...I need to keep doing my job.

  The day’s over. Elima left early, she needs to take care of something at home.

  I’m about to leave too. I’m in my office, gathering my things.

  Before I can wear my black coat, I stare at the folder, closed...hoping for it to talk, to tell me more.

  I look at the phone next, intently.

  “Ahh, fuck it.”

  I need to at least know this...I need to discover if my suspicion is right. It won’t stop itching in my head…I need to check something before I go home and forget about all this.

  I dial Lowe’s number.

  

  “Hi Lowe.”

  

  “Yeah, I’ve been having a few clients, I don’t have time for police work, even if it pays well.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  

  “Mhm, yes...as soon as I have holes,” I clear my throat, “listen, I need a favor. Claire Eisern didn’t sign up a private investigation contract, but she did use up hours of my time, so I figured I’d still write up a report and close the case, since my assistant remembered me it’s still signed as open. I need just a little info from you, since Claire didn’t tell me.”

  Lowe goes silent for a second. Yes, this case is sensitive.

  

  “When did she exactly file the stalking report to the police before coming to a P.I like me and ask for my private help? I want to know how long she waited, that’s all.”

  

  “Yep,” I nod and chuckle.

  I hope she buys it.

  There’s silence on the other side, but after some time...I hear her usual sigh, the sigh she makes when she’s amused by the human detective she has been supervising.

   She sounds more amused than annoyed...I was right, she’s biting.

  “Thank you, thank you. You’re the best.”

  

  “Okay, than you very much! See you at the station.”

  

  I slam the phone shut and stand up, my breathing gets heavier.

  Claire was killed the night between the 30th of September and the 1st of October. She filed the report the 27th...and asked for my private help the 30th itself.

  Why did she say they didn’t believe her? Why did she say they weren’t helpful? I know how the station works. They probably didn’t even have to time to look at it, and she still asked for my help.

  But most importantly…

  Why did she wait for the whole month to pass before asking to be protected from her stalker?

  I run my hands through my hair, thinking.

  Something doesn’t add up, there’s a hole in her story.

  Was she just so afraid and anxious that she didn’t even have the courage to call the police?

  No...when she talked about that stalking ghost, she sounded outraged, tired.

  It’s as if…

  It’s as if it started bothering her only after a whole month.

  I need to check her medical reports. Her doctor should still have them.

  I get to his clinic, he closes at 7:00...it’s 8:16. I hope he’s still here. I try to open the door and miraculously, it’s still open.

  “We’re closed! I’m leaving! Come tomorrow!”

  I hear his voice as he makes noice inside his office, probably preparing to leave.

  “I’m not a patient, Doctor Bellingham.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I get inside his office, slightly opening the ajar door. I smell coffee and heavy ink, tons of papers everywhere...the office is completely white, a good color for the maddened.

  He’s an old man, white mustache and few hair, short. He doesn’t look unhealthy, his job probably pays well.

  I show him my badge, “I’m Detective D’arbie. I’d like to ask you some questions about Claire Eisern.”

  “Didn’t you ask me enough already?”

  The police was here too. The feds are indeed taking all the right routes, I’m impressed.

  “That was Other One cop stuff, I have a private contract with her family,” I lie.

  “Oh, I see, well in that case...I am not obliged to answer your questions.”

  Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.

  What do I do now? I need him to talk.

  “Look, I just need the family to have some closure. All I’m asking is to look into her medical reports, so that they understand what their daughter was going through.”

  “If they want the reports, they will have to come, not you. Alternatively, I’d like to see your contract.”

  He’s not budging. I check my watch and stall for a second.

  There’s no other way, either this works or I’ll have to threaten him.

  “Look, I get it. You wanna respect that poor girl’s privacy,” I step forward, “the truth is...there’s no contract. Her family barely acknowledged her death...a funeral didn’t even take place. The only members she had left were her grandparents and, apparently…”

  “Yes, she told me. They didn’t want her because she was born through rape.”

  I widen my eyes. I had no idea.

  When I was postponing the appointments yesterday, I tried to call them, hoping they’d know anything. They immediately hung up, asking me never to call anymore.

  So Claire lied, she wasn’t on good terms with her grandparents.

  I bite my lips and clench my fists, “I’m doing this for her, doctor. I’m not a cop...I’m not working for anyone but myself. I just want to find out what happened to her and catch the bastard who’s doing this to other girls like her.”

  He keeps silent, staring at me. He’s listening.

  “The cops won’t do anything. We both know it.”

  “Oh, I know that very well,” he sighs, “fucking Other Ones. They keep us just for blood and jobs like mine, since no filth like them can be a psychiatrist."

  “Yes. Which is why I’m here. My next lead is her illness. I have a doubt I need to clear with her reports.”

  “Okay. I’ll give you a copy right away, just wait.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. No word of this will ever be out.”

  “Of course. We’d both get in trouble,” he chuckles a bit more lighteartedly.

  After the printer is done, he gives me all the papers in a folder.

  “Catch him, detective. That girl didn’t deserve this...she had enough on her plate already.”

  Back to the office, I immediately open the folder and spread everything on my desk.

  Time to discover more about Claire’s illness.

  Her symptoms started out of the blue at the beginning of last year. She already lived alone by then, and upon a rough awakening filled with hallucinations and voices, she called the ambulance because she was terrified. She was assigned to this doctor immediately, who examined and diagnosed her with schizophrenia.

  The report states that no prior history of mental illness was recorded in her family, making the sudden onset even more puzzling.

  Claire herself had no notable psychiatric issues before this episode. According to the doctor’s report, it is still unclear how or why Claire started having these symptoms only at the age of twenty-three.

  The newer records also say that her condition severely deteriorated and that her hallucinations got more violent, intrusive, and impairing. She described presences speaking in languages she didn’t understand and hallucinations becoming more and more terrifying, probably a consequence of her own fears and thoughts.

  A higher dosage was recently assigned to her prescription, which made her complain to the doctor because it forced her to start her mornings in a cathartic state...reason why she couldn’t socialize at work, I presume.

  The reports do not mention the White Maiden, or the novel. Last month’s check-up didn’t bring anything up, except this last paragraph:

  “The patient, as of now, isn’t able to function while off her medication. She keeps presenting symptoms like delirium and sometimes violent outbursts, becoming someone completely cut off from reality. Dosage cannot be lowered, as it could lead her to endanger herself.”

  My eyes shoot wide.

  I suddenly remember Linda’s words.

  

  “What made me feel very uncomfortable was that she kept looking at the window outside, from her seat. She stared outside, at nothing. I turned around a couple of times, subtly, but nothing was there.”

  “Did she look scared?”

  “No...not at all. She was relaxed, I’m positive. Whoever or whatever she was seeing...it wasn’t real or a threat. I immediately thought it simply was her illness acting up...since I knew she took haloperidol. After a while of that, I simply was fed up and invented some lame excuse to leave.”

  Let’s approach this logically.

  My theory is that Claire’s sudden vision of this ghost was caused by a real stalker, the serial killer...it means that Claire herself saw him follow her. If my theory is right, the ghost was simply a way of Claire’s mind to respond to the stress of being followed by a creepy man. She should have been stressed...or scared.

  Let’s think back to a few days before her death, when Linda was invited to her house.

  Was she seeing something different at the window? Linda just said she wasn’t even scared of it...so it must be an isolated case of psychosis, not related to the Outer One girl, The White Maiden.

  But wait...Claire told me that when she isn’t on medication, she cannot interact with people. So why was she seeing a random hallucination if the two talked about books?

  Was she off her medication? No...I just contradicted myself. Claire’s medical documents clearly state it right here...when she’s off her meds, she acts confusingly, and she’s not lucid at all. The two were talking about books, and Linda didn’t notice any erratic behavior. She was coherent...so her medication was flowing through her veins.

  This means she was having a hallucination while she was on her medication, and the only hallucination she claimed to see while on meds is that girl, the White Maiden.

  She wasn’t scared of her in that instance. But why? Was it because Linda was with her?

  Also...Claire, then, lied to me.

  

  “Has the girl ever appeared in front of your house, then? I’m far enough so that she doesn’t notice someone in front of it, I don’t see anyone so far.”

  

  She told me she never saw the ghost at her own house, just when she was out and about.

  She lied to me in different ways and kept this stalking problem to herself until her last days of life from the police, from me, and her doctor. Was she in denial? Was Linda’s presence at her house a last effort to grip reality?

  I just don’t get it. Things are getting too confusing.

  But then again, I’m trying to give a logical explanation to a case where the client is a schizophrenic.

  Why is she schizophrenic, anyways? Not even the doctor could pinpoint that in his medical reports.

  Claire’s mother was raped, he said earlier. This could have meant something for her and her mother...and the way she grew up.

  I need to talk to her grandparents, whether they like it or not.

  There are missing pieces of her past that could lead me to the killer’s motive since he assaulted her sexually before killing her.

  I grab my coat. I need answers.