Chapter 2 - THE THING INSIDE THE INK
The detective took me into the living room.
Michael was restrained on the other side of the house.
Ashley and Chris sat on the couch, pale and silent.
The other two guests had already been separated.
Detective Brooks sat across from me.
"Tell me everything from the beginning."
I looked down at my hands.
"I thought he was cheating."
She didn't interrupt.
"Then I thought he was controlling me. Then I thought he was trying to humiliate me."
"And now?"
"Now I think he was tracking me."
She nodded.
"That's closer."
She placed a photograph on the coffee table.
It showed the tiny metallic object from the ink.
"What is that?"
"A micro-transmitter."
My stomach dropped.
"That's what I thought."
"No."
She leaned closer.
"It can transmit more than location."
I stared at her.
"What else?"
"Identification."
I didn't understand.
She explained that the device could be paired with another system, allowing someone to identify when a particular tagged object came near a reader.
My mind immediately returned to Michael's behavior.
The locked cabinet.
The strange electronic box in his office.
The way he always knew where I'd been.
The way he asked why I had stopped at the grocery store even when I hadn't told him.
My hands began shaking.
"Why would he need that?"
Detective Brooks looked at the ink bottle.
"We don't know yet."
"You're lying."
She paused.
"No."
"You know something."
"We know enough to be concerned."
She opened another folder.
Inside were photographs.
Not of me.
Of other women.
My breath caught.
"Who are they?"
"We're still identifying them."
There were at least eight.
Different ages.
Different appearances.
But each photograph had the same black mark in the corner.
A number.
I recognized the style immediately.
Michael's handwriting.
I stood.
"Where did you get these?"
Detective Brooks didn't answer.
"Where?"
"From a storage unit registered under Michael's name."
My knees weakened.
I sat down.
The detective continued.
"We found files. Recordings. Equipment. Financial records."
I covered my mouth.
"Recordings?"
She nodded.
"Some appear to involve women who believed they were participating in private relationships or arrangements. They didn't know they were being monitored."
I looked toward the hallway.
Michael.
The tattoos.
The cameras.
The jokes.
The videos.
It suddenly became obvious.
The humiliation wasn't the point.
The recording was.
Ashley had been filming because Michael wanted evidence.
Evidence of what?
I asked.
Detective Brooks closed the folder.
"That's what we're trying to determine."
A scream came from the hallway.
Michael.
Then a crash.
Officers rushed toward him.
Detective Brooks stood.
"Stay here."
I didn't.
I followed.
Michael was standing beside the staircase.
His hands were cuffed.
One officer held his shoulder.
Michael looked at me.
"Sarah."
I stopped.
"You don't understand."
I laughed.
"You've been telling me that for months."
"No."
His voice cracked.
"You really don't understand."
He glanced toward Detective Brooks.
"Ask her about the hospital."
I froze.
"What hospital?"
Michael smiled.
It was the same smile he used when he knew something I didn't.
"The one where you were born."
Detective Brooks went completely still.
Michael leaned back.
"Tell her."
The detective's face hardened.
"Michael, stop talking."
But he was already looking at me.
"You think you're the victim."
He smiled.
May you like
"You've been one of them from the beginning."
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