As classes came to an end, William and several of his friends didn't rush to leave. Instead, they headed to the library—not so much to study as to spend time together. The spacious reading room was shrouded in dim light and the scent of old books. At one of the tables, William and Kamar settled in, stacking textbooks and notebooks on the table. Across from them sat Max and Grace—she immediately took out a notebook and began to draw something in the corner of the page.
Around them, hushed voices, the rustling of pages, and occasional laughter filled the air. The group whispered, discussing university news, upcoming exams, and the latest town gossip.
"Hey, guys," Kamar began quietly, writing a formula in his notebook. "We really need to go to the Dark Riders concert! They say they're presenting a new album, and the show will be amazing. William, are you coming with us? I can chip in for your ticket if you want."
William glanced around uncertainly, scratching his head. "I don't know, man... They say the tickets are expensive. My mom will kill me if she finds out I spent so much on music. Maybe another time?"
Suddenly, without saying a word, Max pulled a folded newspaper clipping from his backpack and dramatically tossed it onto the table.
"Look what I have!" he exclaimed excitedly, pointing at the bold headline: "Heart-Eater Strikes Again: City in Fear!" Below was a photograph of police tape, a crowd of onlookers, and a white sheet under which the outline of a body could be seen.
William grimaced, recoiling and quickly averting his gaze. "Dude, are you seriously collecting this kind of stuff?" he asked, making a face. "Seriously, that's disgusting."
Kamar looked at the clipping and shrugged. "Yeah, Max, your beloved maniac decided to share his twisted fantasy with the world again, and you're excited like a kid on Christmas."
Grace carefully took the clipping, as if it were a valuable relic, and began to examine the photos and text closely. Her face was thoughtful, her brows furrowed.
"Listen," she finally said, "it says here that the murder happened right in the park, by the old fountain. I walked my dog there three weeks ago... It's creepy to think about."
"Don't tear it, you idiot!" Max exclaimed, snatching the clipping from her hands. "This is already the fifth case this year! Soon all the news channels will come here. Can you imagine? Our city will finally be famous—though not for the best reason."
Kamar shook his head, looking at Max with a mix of confusion and a slight smirk. "You really get excited about a maniac ripping people's hearts out? Didn't your mom take you to a child psychologist when you were little?" he muttered, scratching his chin.
"Oh, right," Max chuckled, "I think she did. Although you were there too, if you remember, after you got hit in the head with a bat on the baseball field."
William smiled briefly at the banter between his friends, but a cold feeling lingered inside him. He glanced at the grim clipping, then at Grace, who was still staring thoughtfully out the window.
"To be honest, I feel uneasy. What if that psycho is really nearby?" he said quietly.
As soon as William voiced his concern, Grace and Max stared at him as if he had just claimed to believe in Boogeyman. A moment of silence fell over the library, and then both erupted into laughter so loud that someone at a nearby table turned to look. Their laughter was raucous and genuine, filled with gasps and slaps on the table, and William couldn't understand what was so funny.
"Are you… serious?" Max managed to say between laughs, wiping away tears, but then he burst out laughing again, nearly falling off his chair.
"What did I say?!" William retorted, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.
Instead of answering, Max clasped his hands together and tried to imitate the most whiny, helpless voice possible: "Honestly, I feel uneasy! Please, someone, hold my hand or I'm going to wet my pants!"
Grace, laughing to tears, slapped Max on the shoulder, almost knocking his glasses off, and theatrically howled, showing fake long fangs: "Oh, horror! Save the poor boy in distress!"
Kamar, who had been trying to maintain seriousness, couldn't hold back any longer and let out a quiet snort, quickly covering his mouth with his hand. The librarian, a stern-looking woman with a streak of gray hair, shot them a disapproving glance from across the table.
"Idiots, quiet down!" Kamar hissed, trying to keep his voice low. "They're going to kick you out for making noise!"
"Sorry," Grace immediately giggled, modestly covering her mouth, then waved at the librarian, adding, "We won't do it again, promise!"
"Yes, yes, forgive us, ma'am!" Max chimed in, overly polite, but then couldn't help himself: "It's just hard to keep it together when there's a wuss among us who seems to live under a rock and is afraid of his own shadow!"
Grace and Max exchanged glances and burst into laughter again, while William, feeling his face grow hotter, muttered, "What did I even say? Why are you acting like I told a joke about two priests and a parrot?"
"Just relax," Max conceded, holding his palms up as if surrendering. "Don't get all worked up, or you really will burst."
Grace, finally calming down, gently touched his hand. "We didn't mean to upset you, Will. It's just… do you really not know who this Heart-Eater chooses as his victims?"
William shrugged awkwardly, smiling. "Is that important? A psycho is a psycho. The main thing is that he's cutting people!"
Max, still with a crooked grin, shook his head. "That's the thing, my friend. Maniacs don't just choose victims randomly; they always have their own logic. It's like mosquitoes: they bite some people and not others. This one, they say, only targets a certain type of person."
Grace rolled her eyes and gently pushed Max's hand away from her shoulder, where he had casually placed it. "If you believe the news," she added, "the Heart-Eater hunts only people with a criminal past. Like, he thinks he's some kind of avenger or judge punishing the bad ones."
Kamar, lazily yawning, chimed in, "So, dude, if you're not dealing drugs around the corner, robbing old ladies, or in a gang, you can sleep easy. At least until you steal some gum from a store."
"Oh," William sighed in relief, finally smiling. "Well, that's good! So everything's fine… Although I hope none of us suddenly decides to start a criminal career."
Max immediately winked. "Only if it's a crime against fashion, Will! With your argyle sweaters, you definitely need to be arrested!"
Grace giggled and shook her head, turning to Max. "Listen, if the Heart-Eater attacked fashion criminals, you'd have been on his list a long time ago. That shirt with a hole in it is a masterpiece."
Max, theatrically raising his eyebrows, feigned seriousness: "Hey, you! What are you doing looking like that? Are you a night crawler or something?" He pointed sternly at Grace, hinting at her short black skirt and "Saints" logo t-shirt.
Grace, not losing her composure, looked up at the ceiling, pressed her hand to her chest, and sang plaintively, "Oh, stern judge, don't take my heart! I'm just a poor woman earning bread for my children!"
Kamar and William couldn't hold back and laughed, but more quietly to avoid drawing attention.
"Oh, you spawn of darkness!" Max continued, picking up the act. "You've defiled our city with your presence! You are unworthy of a heart!"
He took a pen and, with comical drama, pressed it to Grace's chest as if stabbing her. She responded with a theatrical scream, feigning agony, and, clenching her fists, fell face down on the table.
"The Oscar goes to Grace!" Kamar whispered, smiling, and amidst the applause from their friends, the "victim" rose and took a low bow.
******
The guys had spent over an hour in the library, chatting, arguing, and teasing each other. Time slipped away unnoticed, and only when the wall clock showed seven in the evening did Max suddenly perk up. He slapped his hand on the table and, squinting mischievously, leaned toward William.
"Hey, Will, don't you have a date with Sophia today? It's already seven; you didn't forget, did you?"
William froze as if doused with ice-cold water. All morning, he had felt like he had forgotten something important. And then it clicked—his date with Sophia! He slapped his forehead and hurriedly began gathering his textbooks and notebooks into his backpack.
"Damn it! Right, it completely slipped my mind! Guys, I gotta go; see you tomorrow!" he blurted out, standing up so abruptly that he nearly knocked over his chair.
Kamar, lazily watching his friend's flurry, shrugged. "I'd give you a ride, dude, but my folks took the car today. You'll have to walk!"
Max, smirking, dramatically cupped his hands like a megaphone. "Watch your back, my knight! The Heart-Eater loves absent-minded boys like you!"
"Shut up, Max," William grumbled, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and rushing out of the library.
Grace, holding her notebook, called after him, "Just don't fall on the steps, Will! There's one that's really slippery!"
But whether he was still within earshot was uncertain. William, filled with anxiety and frustration, nearly flew down the corridors. With one hand, he tried to pull on his windbreaker, while with the other, he fished out his phone to call Sophia.
"Hello, Sophia? It's me, Will. I'm running a bit late, but I'll be there soon!" he stammered, barely catching his breath, but all he heard in response was static and fragmented phrases.
"Damn connection!" he muttered, looking at the blinking signal icon with irritation. Trying to call again, he didn't notice the crack in the step by the exit and, like in a bad comedy, slipped, flew forward, and landed face down. The ground was cold and damp, and his face instantly flared with pain.
"Well, great!" he groaned, feeling his nose and noticing something warm trickling down his lip. "Just what I needed!"
He managed to get up, limping and holding his nose, and hurried to the bus stop. His heart raced like crazy, and one thought pounded in his head: "Just don't be late, just don't be late…"
Suddenly, he heard the bus doors slamming shut with a heavy thud. William saw the driver already engaging the clutch and the bus starting to move. He dashed forward, waving his arms desperately.
"Wait! Stop, stop! I need to—" he shouted, but the bus, indifferent to his pleas, slowly rolled away.
"Are you kidding me?! You're always late, and today you decided to be on time?!" he squealed, panting, and in frustration, he punched the schedule board.
Anger and disappointment boiled within him like a kettle on the stove. "Damn it! Why, why is it all happening today?" he whispered through clenched teeth.
Before he could finish his sentence, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He frantically pulled it out, hoping it was finally Sophia. It was—her name lit up on the screen. William, barely catching his breath, pressed the phone to his ear.
"Sophia! I'm sorry, the connection was bad, I fell, the bus left, but I'm running! I'll be a little late; can you…"
Sophia's voice was icy and sharp, like a shard of glass: "No need, William. I've already understood everything I need to. I'm tired of waiting for you. I'm going home; I don't have time for your antics. That's it, enough."
The connection dropped, and all that remained in William's ears was silence. He froze, unable to believe what he had heard. Something jolted in his chest, followed by an internal scream—dull and desperate. He gripped his phone tightly, swung back his arm, and threw it forcefully into the bushes by the road.
"Damn it! Why is everything going wrong?!" he yelled into the darkening evening, not caring about any potential witnesses.
The world seemed to hush, giving him a moment to vent. William took a breath, looked up at the sky, and, almost laughing through his anger, shouted, "So, fate, do you have any more ways to mess with me today? Come on, bring it on!"
His voice echoed in the emptiness, as if challenging fate. And as if the sky itself decided to take up that challenge, it suddenly darkened. Heavy clouds rolled over the city, and in an instant, a torrential downpour unleashed itself upon the ground. Thick streams of water lashed the streets, drumming on rooftops and trees. Raindrops hit William's face, mingling with his tears.
William exhaled shakily, tasting salt on his lips, and, wearily raising his thumb in a thumbs-up gesture, muttered through a crooked smile, "Alright, universe, I get it. Applause to you. I won't ask again."
Realizing he would now have to walk home, William felt bitterness constricting his throat. He stepped back and leaned against the trunk of an old elm tree, gnarled and rough. His heart pounded painfully and rapidly, and his breathing was heavy and ragged.
His knees throbbed with a dull, aching pain from the fall. His nose was sore, and he felt like he might cry—but he clenched his jaw, refusing to let the tears escape.
"Maybe I should just shoot myself?!" he blurted out, his voice echoing down the empty street, colliding with the wet walls of the houses, where evening lights were already flickering to life behind the curtains.
No answer came, only the sky rumbled again, and the rain intensified, as if confirming: yes.
He slid down the tree trunk, wrapped his arms around his knees, and buried his forehead in them. A heavy, familiar feeling squeezed his chest—like a black hole inside him, draining away all his strength.
"You're a loser. You ruin everything. Why do you even try?" his inner voice sounded especially cruel, as if urging him to give up, to lie down right there in a puddle and let the rain wash away the remnants of his pride.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Then, as if deciding to do something important, William suddenly slapped himself on the cheeks. His cheeks burned with heat, and it snapped him back to reality a bit.
"Don't act like a coward," he whispered, but with unexpected firmness. "Come on, get off your ass."
With great effort, he stood up, straightened himself, and shook off the water.
"Okay," he mumbled, "I'll call my parents to come pick me up. It's not the end of the world."
He began to rummage through his pockets, trying to find his phone. The pockets were empty. Only now did he remember how, in a fit of rage, he had thrown his mobile somewhere into the bushes by the road.
"Damn it!" he shouted, and ignoring the puddles, he rushed to look for his phone. He rummaged under wet branches, peered into the thick grass, and picked up discarded bags and cans. But the mobile was nowhere to be found.
"Of course," he muttered wearily, "how else could it be?"
He straightened up, breathing heavily, with wet hair sticking to his forehead, and froze in the middle of the street. There were no passersby, and the windows of the houses glowed warmly and unattainably, like an illusion of a better world.
At that moment, an old man with an umbrella hurried past, shuffling his feet. He cast a brief glance at William, a mix of sympathy and slight caution in his eyes.
"Are you okay, kid?" he asked uncertainly, slowing his pace.
William initially wanted to mumble something, but then just waved his hand. "Yeah, just not my day," he replied shortly, and the old man nodded and continued on, disappearing into the rain's mist.
William felt he had no strength or anger left—only a heavy weariness. He lowered his head and slowly began to walk toward home, feeling the water trickling down his clothes and the cold seeping into his bones. Each step sent a dull pain through him, but he didn't want to stop.
******
As William walked through the dark, deserted streets of his hometown, he felt a sharp sense of loneliness. The heavy shadows of the buildings embraced the sidewalks, and the sparse streetlights pulled fragments of space from the darkness, as if the city itself didn't want to be noticed. A gust of wind stirred the leaves at his feet, rustling so loudly that William's heart jumped in his chest.
To put it mildly, he felt uneasy. Every rustle, every distant sound—whether it was a door slamming somewhere or a sign creaking—made him flinch and look around. Max's words buzzed insistently in his head:
"Just imagine, that creep goes out at night! The police—zero, it's all useless…"
"Damn it, Max, why did you even tell me about that maniac?" William muttered under his breath, quickening his pace and clearly trying not to look toward the dark courtyards.
He tried to walk as fast as possible, as if his safety depended on his speed. But at that moment, the street seemed to exhale, and in the ensuing silence, a sharp, piercing female scream rang out.
William stopped abruptly, his breath catching. He turned around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. His feet felt like they were glued to the asphalt.
"No, I must have imagined it... Who would be out walking alone at this hour, ha-ha?" he nervously exhaled, but the scream came again, this time louder, more desperate, filled with fear and despair. The voice trembled like a breaking string.
"Oh my God, I didn't imagine it!" he exclaimed, biting his thumbnail in panic. Everything inside him clenched.
His mind raced through options. His conscience screamed, "Go help!" while common sense, intertwined with primal fear, urged, "Run away, it's not your business! You don't even know what's happening." He was just a student, skinny and not particularly strong. Without a phone, without a weapon, without a chance to call the police.
"Maybe it's best to just leave and call someone... Yes, that's what I'll do!" he mumbled, already taking a step back, but then stopped as he heard another scream.
"No, please, I have children!" The woman's voice was tearing with terror.
William clenched his fists until it hurt. The thought of someone suffering right now burned him from the inside. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the tremors in his hands, and whispered softly, "If I leave now... I'll never forgive myself."
He began to move cautiously toward the screams, trying to be quiet, stepping carefully to avoid any stones. With each step, fear and determination battled for dominance. His heart raced in his throat, and his legs felt heavy as lead.
In the dark alley, where the streetlight barely penetrated, he saw a horrifying scene. A large man, tall and hefty, in a black jacket, was pinning a young woman against the wall. His hand gripped a knife that glinted in the dim light. The man's face was hidden in shadow, but his tense posture and harsh movements made it clear: he wouldn't stop.
The woman was crying, tears streaming down her face, and her voice broke: "Please, let me go... I'll give you anything, just don't touch me!"
The man merely grunted and began to unbutton her blouse. His voice was low and unpleasant: "Quiet down, sweetheart. This will all be over quickly if you obey."
"Don't, please!" she sobbed, trying to push him away.
William froze in indecision. Everything inside him was boiling. "Damn, where is that creep Heart-Eater when you need him? He would know how to protect people..." an absurd thought flashed through his mind, and then something inside him seemed to click.
Anger mixed with desperation overshadowed his fear. He leaped out of the shadows, ran up to the man, and struck him with his backpack on the back of the head with all his might.
"Get away from her!" he shouted, his voice trembling but filled with determination.
The blow caught the man off guard: he straightened up, grabbed his head, and the knife slipped from his hand, falling to the asphalt with a dull thud.
"Stick with me!" William quickly commanded the girl, grabbing her wrist.
"What—wait!?" she gasped, and together they dashed away down the dark alley, not looking back.
They ran, stumbling, nearly falling, until they burst onto a more illuminated street. Stopping, William breathed heavily, trying to catch his breath.
"Are you alright?" he turned to the girl, struggling to articulate the words.
But at that moment, something cold and sharp plunged into his back. The pain was so intense that it took his breath away. He staggered, his legs buckling.
"W-what..." he whispered, trying to understand what had happened, and met the girl's gaze.
There was no fear or gratitude in her eyes. Only icy indifference.
"Why..." he rasped, trying to reach for the wound.
She leaned closer to him, her voice cold and quiet: "You messed everything up, you piece of trash!"
From the darkness, the man emerged, rubbing his bruised head, his face twisted with rage.
"So, played the hero, did you?" he hissed, leaning over William.
"Why?..." William managed to squeeze out. "I wanted to help..."
The girl smirked: "Not everyone needs help. You stupid freak!"
"You little shit! You nearly killed me!" the man rasped, his voice dripping with hatred and humiliation. Before William could even comprehend what was happening, a heavy boot slammed into his side. Everything went dark, and a dull, all-consuming pain spread through his body. He could only let out a quiet groan, unable to move.
The man, breathing heavily, leaned over him, spat directly in his face, and then said with disgust: "Well, lie there now, you fucking hero."
The girl stood a bit away, her hands trembling. She cast a quick, nervous glance at her partner and then coldly said, "It's your fault! You should have watched your surroundings." There was a note of reproach in her voice, but her gaze flicked over William quickly, without a trace of regret. "We need to leave. If anyone else heard the screams, the police might already be on their way."
"Shut your mouth!" the man snapped at her, turning so that the hood of his jacket slipped off his head, revealing a scar on his cheek. "Next time, try playing the role of the assailant yourself if you're so smart! Let's see how well you do."
"Better not to make this circus," she hissed, but she didn't argue further. Instead, she quickly fixed her hair, glanced at her dirty hands, and turned away.
At that moment, everything around William became unimportant—pain, humiliation, fear. The world narrowed down to the damp asphalt under his cheek, to his ragged breathing, to the loneliness that suddenly felt almost tangible.
Meanwhile, the man began to search him. Large, rough fingers rummaged through his pockets, pulling out everything: keys, a worn bus ticket, loose change, a scrap of paper.
"What the hell do you have here…" he muttered, finally fishing out a wallet. His face twisted into a satisfied grin. "Found it!"
He stood up, brushing his hands off, and turned to the girl, nodding towards the alley: "Alright, let's go. No time to waste."
They both cast a final glance at William. The man lingered for a second, whispering viciously, "I'd love to cut you like a pig, but there's no time, you bastard!"
The girl said nothing—only held his gaze for a moment. In that instant, a shadow flickered in her cold eyes—neither regret nor fatigue. Then they quickly disappeared into the darkness, dissolving into the rainy night.
The rain intensified, turning the asphalt into a muddy river. Lying in a puddle, William felt the cold slowly creeping under his clothes, a good part of his face stuck to the wet pavement. The sounds of the city faded further away. He tried to breathe, but his chest felt constricted as if by iron.
At some point, the sky above him seemed to part—a pale moon appeared between the breaks in the clouds. Water streamed down his cheeks, mixing with tears and blood. He looked up at the indifferent sky and tried to remember his mother's name, how his home smelled, how his friends' laughter sounded. All of it felt so distant, as if it were happening to someone else.
And then—a soft, almost weightless touch on his cheek. He struggled to focus his gaze and saw a black, fluffy cat that had appeared from literally nowhere. The cat gently rubbed against his face, wiping the raindrops away with its warm fur.
"Who... are you?" William whispered, his tongue barely working.
The cat purred as if in response and settled down beside him, curling up. Whether it was real or just a hallucination, William didn't know. But the strange, barely noticeable warmth from this creature brought him relief that he hadn't felt since the beginning of the night.
Shadows began to flicker at the corners of his vision. Another cat, then another—more and more of them. Some quietly meowed, others cautiously stepped through the puddles, while some simply sat aside, watching.
William tried to smile, but it turned into a weak grimace. He struggled to lift his head, whispering: "I thought death was a beautiful girl in a gothic dress…"—a raspy laugh was interrupted by a cough. "Not just some… ordinary black cat."
The darkness slowly enveloped him, like a soft, boundless blanket. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, and cars rushed by, but all of that no longer mattered.
The last thing he saw was dozens of cat eyes glowing in the dark, surrounding his fragile, exhausted body. They weren't frightening—instead, their presence brought comfort, as if someone had stayed with him until the very end.
"Don't be afraid, child," a whispering voice seemed to drift from the depths of his consciousness. "We are with you."
And William allowed himself to dissolve into that darkness—free from pain, free from fear, with a light, almost relieved exhale.