Page 22 of The Toy Collector

Each action is a small act of defiance against my chaos, grounding herself while she waits for answers. I watch her, but I’m not really seeing, my mind still caught on the words, the awful clarity of them. Steam hisses, the kettle whistles, and she pours, sliding a mug in front of me. It’s only when she sits, when her eyes lock onto mine, that I finally find my voice.

“I didn’t imagine it,” I say, more to myself than to her. “The mirror. It was there.”

She nods. “And what was that? What the fuck is going on?” Her tone is gentle, but her gaze doesn’t waver.

I try to gather my thoughts, but they scatter, unruly, refusing to be tamed. “He’s everywhere,” I say, the words tearing out of me. “The envelopes. The puzzle pieces. And… oh, God, he made Daniel drop out. It’s allhim.”

Lena’s brow furrows, and she leans in closer. “Take a deep breath for me, Pipes, because you’re not making any fucking sense.”

“B-but at least he’s alive,” I whisper. “The note basically said I saved his life.” My voice breaks.

“Okay, start at the beginning.” She reaches across the table, her fingers a warm contrast to the chill that’s settled in me. Her hand stays on mine, thumb brushing lightly against my skin like she’s trying to coax coherence out of me.

I close my eyes, exhale slowly, and start to speak. The words flow from me with zero grace or logic. I explain about the stranger in the hallway at Velvet & Rye, and the warning he whispered in my ear like he already knew me.

“Wait, is that why you suddenly wanted to leave?” Lena asks, interrupting me.

“Yes,” I squeak.

She shakes her head, squeezing my hand harder. “Keep going.”

I do as she asks; I tell her how I had received my first black envelope the morning we went to the cocktail bar, but that I’d forgotten everything about it until I received another one the next day.

“And what was in the envelopes?”

My breath saws out of me as I confess, “The first one just had a single puzzle piece. But the second one had a note saying ‘He’s alive because you listened.’”

Lena’s eyes widen. “So why do you think he made Daniel drop out?”

I roll my eyes, ready to state the obvious. “Because no one drops out of Georgetown like that. Daniel had one of the best internships nailed, and his grades were damn near perfection.”

My voice grows hoarse as I continue to speak.

“I didn’t connect the incidents until today, when I heard people talking about him.” Pausing, I take a deep breath. “I think someone’s watching me. I don’t know why. But it’s not just a feeling anymore, Lee. The proof is on the fucking mirror… that guy has been in my apartment.”

I don’t look at Lena while I talk. I can’t. It’s like saying the words makes them more real, more unfixable. My voice shakes, but I don’t stop.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just studies me with a sharp, unsettling focus—like she’s trying to assess how far gone I really am. But I can see the moment it shifts. Her expression tightens, and her jaw sets.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low, edged in something hard. “Jesus, Pipes,” she breathes. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”

“I only just put it all together,” I whisper. “It’s my fault Daniel had to leave.”

Her chair scrapes lightly as she shifts forward, narrowing the space between us. “No, it’s not,” she says firmly. “This is psychotic. This is…” she pauses, rakes a hand through her hair. “… this is next-level obsession.”

I nod once. “I thought about calling the police about the envelopes the other day.”

She blinks. “Why didn’t you?”

“What would I even say?” I ask, voice rough. “That someone has left me a puzzle piece every morning?”

“It’s more than that now,” she adds, concern lilting her tone. “You have a legitimate case, Pipes.”

She’s not wrong. A guy I barely know dropped out, and it somehow connects back to me because of a drink and a touch. And the message written on my mirror which is proof someone’s been in my home.

“I doubt they’d do more than tell me to change my locks and call a therapist.” I force a laugh, but it’s a hollow, scraped out sound.

Lena exhales through her nose. “Then let them tell you that,” she says, already reaching for her phone. “But you should at least try.”

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