Chapter Nine: The Game of Three
"In the game of the mind, strength or courage is not enough…
You must know when to move, and when to remain silent." — Edgar Wilmore
A new message arrived for her in the morning.
It wasn't sealed, nor in an envelope.
It was simply placed on her office window, written in neat handwriting:
"Today, London becomes a stage.
Every move, every glance,
matters.
Are you ready?
— Edgar."
Her heart hesitated, yet a strange sensation swept over her:
He wanted her to know… that the real game was beginning.
She received a call from Howard:
"Ms. Morgan, we need to talk about Edgar's messages.
I'm beginning to think… you have a bigger role than you realize."
She sensed true danger.
He suspects me… and makes me look close to him…
She replied in a steady voice:
"I'm only trying to understand him, to help you with the investigation."
But he wasn't convinced.
He started asking about every step, every meeting, every analysis.
Eliza felt trapped between a clever killer and a detective suspicious of her in everyone's eyes.
That evening, while working on a new article,
another envelope arrived, different from the previous ones.
A single sheet of paper, with a simple drawing: a map of London marked with tiny red dots.
A note in small handwriting:
"Choose your destination. I'll be there."
A chill ran down her spine.
Edgar was pushing her to become a partner in the game,
but this time, the game was public, spread across the city.
That same night, small crimes began to appear:
A child disappeared, then was left unharmed, with a small note saying:
"Good observation… continue."
Animals were killed in a specific way, symbolizing the journalist's patience.
Strange noises, people noticing someone in the shadows, yet no one knew the identity.
Eliza wrote everything down,
yet every line she penned became part of the game Edgar was orchestrating across the city.
In her notebook, it felt as if Edgar was responding to every sentence:
Eliza: "Why are you sending me these riddles?"
Edgar (inside her mind): "So you can know who you are, when escape is not allowed."
Eliza: "But this is dangerous."
Edgar: "The greatest danger is knowing the truth and thinking you're outside the game."
As she wrote,
she took a deep breath and forced herself to face the truth:
Edgar had revealed his childhood, his first crime…
But now, the dark details of the nights following his first murder appeared to her as if alive:
Silent neighbors.
The smells.
The roses.
The feeling of freedom for the first time.
Eliza felt as though she was living the moment with him without moving,
yet her journalist's mind analyzed everything, every step, every scene.
Detective Howard suddenly arrived at her apartment, carrying her notebook.
"Everything you've written… it's like a map for the crimes.
Are you involved?"
Eliza felt anger and pressure:
I am not a victim…
but if even the slightest mistake is revealed… I will become one.
She said in a firm voice:
"I am not participating in anything. All I do is record the truth."
But Howard wasn't convinced.
He began to suspect that her proximity to Edgar made her complicit in the crimes.
At midnight, Eliza received a call from an unknown number:
"Are you ready for the ultimate test?"
She knew it was Edgar.
She smiled despite her fear:
This is the final stage of the game…
She realized that any mistake she made, any hint of fear, would become a weapon for him,
but any clever move she made would become a challenge to him.
Now, the entire city was a stage.
Edgar: writes the game across the streets, the crimes, and in Eliza's mind.
Eliza: writes, analyzes, tries to remain rational, yet becomes part of the stage.
Detective Howard: pressures, watches, suspects, but does not know the full game.
The result: relentless psychological tension, each character pushed to their limits, every move having a price.
At the end of the night,
Edgar closed his notebook,
smiled, and said to himself:
"Now, the game has truly begun.
And anyone who thinks they know the truth…
is wrong."
Eliza, in her apartment, wrote a single line:
"The game is not what we see…
It's what we create when we dare to look the shadow straight in the eye."
Outside, the rain poured harder, washing London's streets…
but the blood and the game continued, and no one knew who would emerge alive,
and who would become just another chapter in Edgar's memoirs.