I stared at the check until my eyes burned.
One million dollars. Sitting on my coffee table like it belonged there. Like it was normal for people to casually hand out life-changing amounts of money.
My apartment felt smaller with it there. My furniture looked cheaper. My entire life looked insufficient compared to those zeroes on expensive paper.
I'd been home for three hours. Three hours of pacing. Three hours of picking up the check, putting it down, picking it up again. Three hours of thinking about my mother's medical bills and Alex's cold smile.
The contract sat beside the check. Forty-seven pages of legal language that basically boiled down to one thing: sell your soul for financial security.
My phone buzzed. Text from my mother.
How are you, sweetheart? Doctor says the new medication is helping, but insurance only covers half. Don't worry about me. I'm fine.
She always said she was fine. Even when she wasn't. Even when the bills were piling up and she was choosing between groceries and prescriptions.
I picked up the check again.
One million dollars would solve everything. Mother's medical care. My student loans. The mortgage on her house. All of it, gone with one signature.
All I had to do was become Alex's property.
A knock at my door made me jump.
I glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty PM. Nobody visited this late. Nobody except...
I looked through the peephole. Alexander stood in the hallway, but something was wrong. His posture was different. Smaller. Like he was trying to make himself invisible.
I opened the door.
"Hi." The voice that came out was soft. Young. Nothing like the commanding tones I'd heard from Alex or the artistic flow from Elliott. "I'm sorry. I know it's late."
"Alexander?"
"Sammy." He looked up at me with those same blue eyes, but they were different now. Wide. Innocent. Like a child's. "Can I come in? Please? I'm scared."
Every maternal instinct I had kicked into overdrive. This wasn't the dangerous businessman or the manipulative artist or the violent teenager. This was a child. A frightened child in a grown man's body.
"Of course." I stepped aside. "Come in."
Sammy shuffled into my apartment, looking around like he'd never seen a living room before. His movements were different. Careful. The way a child moves in a space that belongs to adults.
"Your home is pretty." He sat on the edge of my couch, hands folded in his lap. Perfect posture, like someone had taught him to sit properly and he'd never forgotten.
"Thank you." I sat across from him, trying to process what I was seeing. "Sammy, why are you here? How did you get here?"
"I walked." He swung his legs like kids do when their feet don't touch the floor. "Well, Alex walked. But then he got tired and I took over."
"You walked from downtown? That's miles."
"I know the way. I've been watching." Sammy's expression grew sad. "I don't get out much. The others don't like it when I'm in charge."
"Why not?"
"They say I'm too little. Too weak." He looked down at his hands. "They say I get in the way."
My heart clenched. Hearing those words in that innocent voice was heartbreaking.
"You're not in the way, Sammy."
"Really?" His face lit up. "Alex says I'm a mistake. That I shouldn't exist."
"Alex is wrong."
"I know." Sammy smiled, and it was pure sunshine. "You're nice. The others said you were nice, but I wanted to see for myself."
"What else did the others say about me?"
"Elliott says you're beautiful like his paintings. Gabriel says you're strong like a warrior. Ryan says you're fun and dangerous." Sammy's voice dropped to a whisper. "Alex says you're his now."
A chill ran down my spine. "His?"
"He made you sign papers, didn't he? That's what he does. He buys things." Sammy tilted his head. "Are you going to be his thing now?"
"I haven't signed anything yet."
"Good." Sammy's relief was obvious. "I don't want you to be a thing. I want you to be my friend."
"I'd like that too."
"Really?" Sammy bounced a little on the couch. "We could play games! And watch movies! And you could read me stories!"
The enthusiasm was infectious. I found myself smiling despite everything.
"What kind of stories do you like?"
"The ones with happy endings." Sammy's expression grew serious. "There aren't many of those in our head."
"What do you mean?"
"Most of our stories are sad. Or scary. Or angry." Sammy hugged his knees to his chest. "But I like to pretend they end differently."
"How would you change them?"
"I'd make everyone friends. No more fighting. No more hurting people." Sammy looked directly at me. "No more secrets."
Something in his voice made me lean forward. "What secrets, Sammy?"
"The ones the others don't want you to know." Sammy's voice dropped to a whisper. "About what they do at night."
"What do they do?"
Sammy glanced around like he was checking for eavesdroppers. Then he scooted closer to me on the couch.
"Promise you won't tell them I said?"
"I promise."
"They go out. When Alexander is sleeping. They take turns driving the body." Sammy's eyes were huge. "They do bad things."
"What kind of bad things?"
"Alex buys things that aren't for sale. People things." Sammy's words were halting, like he was trying to explain something beyond his understanding. "Elliott watches you sleep. Takes pictures. Paints them later."
My blood ran cold. "Elliott has been in my apartment?"
"Lots of times. He knows where you keep your toothbrush. And your diary." Sammy looked confused by my expression. "That's normal, right? When someone loves you?"
"No, sweetheart. That's not normal."
"Oh." Sammy looked worried. "Am I in trouble for telling?"
"No, you're not in trouble." I took his hand. It was warm. Real. Strange to think this innocent child shared a body with people who'd been stalking me. "What about Gabriel? What does he do at night?"
"Gabriel watches too. But different. He watches the watchers." Sammy giggled at his own words. "He follows people who get too close to you. Makes them go away."
"Go away how?"
"I don't know. They just don't come back." Sammy shrugged like this was perfectly normal. "Gabriel says it's protecting, but it looks like hurting to me."
"And Ryan?"
"Ryan breaks things. Cars. Windows. Sometimes people." Sammy's voice got smaller. "He says it's fun, but I think he's just sad."
"What about the seventh one? The one Elliott mentioned?"
Sammy went very still. The happy, childlike energy drained from his face.
"We're not supposed to talk about him."
"Why not?"
"Because he hears everything. Sees everything. Remembers everything." Sammy looked around my apartment again, but this time he seemed frightened. "He might be listening right now."
"Who is he, Sammy?"
"Hunter." The name came out as barely a breath. "He's the worst one."
"Why is he the worst?"
"Because he doesn't love you." Sammy's eyes filled with tears. "All the others love you different ways. But Hunter... Hunter just wants to keep you."
"Keep me how?"
"Forever." Sammy wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Like his dolls."
"His dolls?"
"The ladies he keeps in the special room. They don't move anymore, but they're very pretty. Hunter talks to them all the time." Sammy's voice was matter-of-fact, like he was describing a tea party. "He wants to make you pretty like them."
Horror crawled up my spine. "Sammy, where is this special room?"
"In the basement of the big house. Behind the wine bottles." Sammy tilted his head. "Hunter says you'd look beautiful there. With the others."
The others. Elliott's paintings of dead women. Gabriel's warnings about dangerous personalities. Ryan's violent energy. It was all connected to this Hunter personality.
"Sammy, does Hunter come out often?"
"Only at night. When everyone else is sleeping." Sammy yawned. "He doesn't like me. Says I'm too noisy. Too... what's the word... obvious?"
"How do you know about the ladies if Hunter doesn't let you see?"
"I peek sometimes. When he thinks I'm sleeping." Sammy looked proud of himself. "I'm good at being quiet when I want to be."
"Sammy, this is very important. When was the last time Hunter came out?"
"Two nights ago. He went to see one of his ladies. But she wasn't where he left her." Sammy frowned. "Someone had taken her away. Hunter was very angry."
Two nights ago. The same night the police had found another body. The same night Elliott had painted those bloody roses.
"Is Hunter coming out tonight?"
"I don't think so. He's sleeping deep." Sammy yawned again. "But sometimes he wakes up when he smells flowers."
"Flowers?"
"He likes the smell of blood. Says it smells like roses." Sammy rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired. Can I sleep here tonight? Please?"
Looking at him - this innocent child trapped in a nightmare with multiple killers - I couldn't say no.
"Of course. You can sleep on the couch."
"Really?" Sammy's face lit up again. "Can you read me a story first? One with a happy ending?"
I found a book of fairy tales I'd kept from childhood. Sat beside Sammy as he curled up on the couch like a little boy. Read him Cinderella, changing the violent parts to make them gentler.
By the time I finished, his breathing had evened out. Peaceful. Innocent.
I pulled a blanket over him and was about to turn off the lights when he spoke again.
"Dr. Erica?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"The others are getting stronger." His voice was drowsy but worried. "They're fighting more. And when they fight, Hunter gets hungry."
"Hungry for what?"
"For quiet." Sammy's eyes drifted closed. "Hunter likes it when everything goes quiet forever."
I sat in the dark for a long time after that, watching Sammy sleep. This innocent child who knew secrets that could destroy lives. Who saw horror and called it normal because it was all he'd ever known.
My phone buzzed. Text message from an unknown number.
The boy talks too much. But don't worry, beautiful. I'll teach him to be quiet. Just like I'll teach you.
The message was signed with a single letter: H.
Hunter was awake. And he was watching.
I looked at Sammy, sleeping peacefully on my couch. Then at the million-dollar check on my coffee table. Then at my phone screen showing Hunter's threat.
For the first time since this all started, I understood the real choice I was facing.
It wasn't about money or ethics or professional boundaries.
It was about survival.
And I was running out of time to figure out how to protect both Sammy and myself from the monster that lived in their shared mind.