You motherfucker! Who the hell do you think you are, watching me—watching us all this time?"
Brian had put his fear aside—he was furious. He knew how terrified Michelle had been lately, and that kind of stress wasn't good for a pregnant woman. There was a chance she could lose the baby. That "motherfucker" had to be stopped.
The couple tried to maintain their daily routines. They did everything together—from sleeping at home to commuting to work. The doors and even the windows were locked at all times. Brian secured the front door with thick construction wire, wrapping and twisting it so tight it was practically glued shut. Considering a single tight wire could hold up to 80 kilograms, dozens of those on every entrance made it almost impossible for the masked man to get in. They'd searched the entire house from top to bottom and hadn't found any listening devices. But then how the hell was he watching them—or why?
After all the fortifications, Michelle felt a bit more secure.
"Are you sure this'll work?" she asked.
Brian replied, "I can't think of anything else, baby. For him to get through all these wires, he'd need to literally bash the door with an axe. And if that happens, we'd definitely hear it and wake up."
"What did the police say?" Michelle asked.
Brian hesitated for a moment. "They didn't believe me. What could they say? There's no proof. Not a trace of being watched or followed."
Michelle cursed under her breath. "For fuck's sake… People will only care about us after we're dead."
Brian smirked and said, "Isn't that just life? You gotta lose what you have—or get damn close to losing it—to realize its worth."
They seemed more at ease. But every morning, when they left for work, they had no choice but to unlock the front door—leaving it vulnerable. And every time they returned, fear crept in again. First thing they did after stepping inside was check the entire house, room by room.
But they couldn't go on like this. Not with a pregnant woman in the house. What kind of condition would that baby be born into? Would it even be born at all?
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
Both of them tensed. Brian grabbed a knife and slowly made his way to the door. He peeked through the peephole. Relief washed over his face, but confusion followed.
"What the fuck is she doing here?"
It was Natasha. Michelle didn't recognize her right away, and thought, Who the fuck is this chick?
Then Natasha slapped Brian across the face.
"The fuck are you doing?! Are you insane?!" she screamed and landed another slap from the other side.
"They're sending my brother to London. Because of you. Another university, another city—because of you!"
Brian muttered, "Not my fucking problem."
That only enraged Natasha more, but she didn't hit him again.
"If you hadn't attacked him, my parents wouldn't be suspicious. My brother would still be staying here—with me."
Michelle squinted, trying to figure out where she knew this girl from. She looked way too familiar, but she couldn't place her.
"Look, Natasha," Brian said calmly, "I'm sorry about Mathew. But he started it. Humiliated me in public. And believe me, I've got way more important shit to deal with than your precious little brother. I'm kindly asking you to leave."
When Natasha threw yet another slap, Michelle had had enough.
"Fuck you, bitch," Michelle snapped. She threw a slap of her own and followed it with a kick—but the slap had already pushed Natasha back, saving her from the incoming kick.
"Just get out," Brian said firmly. Natasha turned around and stormed off.
"Who the fuck was that chick?" Michelle asked.
Brian clenched his jaw. After he explained the situation, Michelle finally remembered.
"She's moving to London? Good. Fuck off. And by the way, how sure are you about what she said about her brother?"
Brian looked confused. "What do you mean?"
Michelle smirked. "Is he her brother… or her lover?"
Six hours later, Natasha lay in her bed, tossing and turning. She was both heartbroken and furious. Because of them, she was about to be separated from her brother.
Wanting to spend every last minute together, the siblings sat side by side on the couch, each holding a beer, a bowl of chips between them, pretending to watch some random show on TV. But neither could focus. They didn't want to say goodbye.
Eventually, Natasha, whose eyes had been welling up since the episode started, finally broke.
"I don't want you to go," she said softly.
They sat there with their feet stretched out on the coffee table, looking at each other. After a moment of silence, Mathew leaned in and kissed her on the lips. The kiss deepened—full of passion and desperation.
"Let's talk to Mom and Dad. One last time. Ask for another chance," Natasha said between breaths. "We've been together since we were fourteen, Mathew. I can't lose you now."
"There's no way," he replied. "They've already given us more chances than we deserved. I sold drugs, I beat people up, I scammed them. The only reason I'm not in prison is pure luck. Going to London, living with our uncle—that's what our parents think is best."
"Just because you're scared of him doesn't mean you'll stay out of trouble there," Natasha said. "I know you. You'll still find your way into shit, even if you go to class every day."
"I love you," she whispered. "I don't want to lose you. Let's just try once more—please."
"They'll never agree."
Without another word, Natasha slowly took off her shirt and climbed onto Mathew's lap.
"Think about it," she said with a sad smile. "A whole year away from these boobs… not even a day, Mathew."
They stared into each other's eyes, the pain and fear so clearly written on both their faces. Then—BANG.
The front door slammed open, then shut just as forcefully.
Someone had entered the house.
Startled, the siblings scrambled to fix their clothes, pretending they had just been watching TV. They froze for thirty, forty seconds—no sound.
"Mom? Is that you?" Natasha called out. "Dad? Are you guys home?"
No response.
"Did they see us?" Mathew whispered.
"No way. We reacted fast. They couldn't have seen anything. Right?"
They had been doing this since they were fourteen. They were good at hiding. No one had ever caught them.
Mathew stood up to check the door. Opened it. Looked outside. Nothing.
He yelled again, "Mom? MOM?!"
Still nothing.
"Nobody's there," he muttered. "What the fuck was that just now?"
Then—they heard it.
A toilet flush.
Upstairs.
They both froze.
It wasn't their parents. If it were, they would've said something. Said hello. Not just gone straight to the bathroom.
Mathew moved toward the stairs to check. As he reached the top, a figure emerged—wearing a bloodstained mask.
The Masked Man.
Mathew screamed and rushed back downstairs, standing protectively in front of Natasha. He could've escaped—but leaving his sister alone in this moment? Not an option.
"Well, well, well… Look what we've got here," the masked man said with a sinister grin.
"Who the fuck are you?!" Natasha shouted, holding a remote like it was a weapon. She and Mathew slowly backed away until they hit the wall. No more room to retreat.
"You know," the masked man began, walking toward them slowly, voice calm but rising in intensity, "Back when I still had a job, I dealt with a lot of people like you. People who didn't know shit about love or value—immoral, twisted people. And the thing is, no matter how hard I tried to be a good man… I never got the same attention as pieces of shit like you two."
He paused.
"I've never done anything as disgusting as what you're doing. Yet somehow, you have love. You have value. Me? I gave so much… and never got anything in return. What did I lack, huh?"
With tears streaming down her face, Natasha whimpered, "Is it… because you're a monster? Because you look like a fucking psycho?"
He laughed. Maniacally.
"You think I was born like this? A killer from birth? No. Every human starts innocent. Pure. You can hold a newborn in one hand. What harm can it do? But as you grow… things change. People shape you. Society… molds you. And those sick, twisted people decide who you are."
He stepped closer. His voice dropped again. "I tried to be good. No one gave a shit. Now? I'm bad. And suddenly I'm unforgettable."
"Please… please just leave us alone," Natasha sobbed, holding Mathew's hand tight.
Mathew didn't speak. He was frozen in fear.
Then the masked man asked the question that made them both pale.
"What do you know about Michelle Flores?"
They were stunned. Brian? Was this connected to him?
"Don't worry," the masked man said. "I'm not her loser boyfriend. Yet."
"This is all about them, isn't it?" Natasha pleaded. "We won't go near them again. Just let us go. Please."
"I said… ANSWER ME."
Natasha sniffled, voice cracking. "She's pregnant… dating some guy named Brian. They used to be really close friends, now they're dating. She's a college student, Michelle is in my uni—"
Before she could finish, the masked man interrupted.
"Brian Easton, huh?" he laughed. "Brian fucking Easton. What's so fucking special about Brian fucking Easton?"
He started shouting again.
"What does he have that I don't, huh?!"
Then he stopped. Took a breath. Calmly.
"Whatever. This isn't about Brian. It's about Michelle. You know what she thought after you slapped Brian today?" He looked at Natasha.
"She wished you dead. She didn't say it—but I know. Deep inside, that heartless bitch wanted you to die."
Natasha shook her head in disbelief, mouth trembling.
But it was too late.
The masked man pulled out a knife.
With one swift move, he slit Mathew's throat.
Natasha screamed—only for his bloody glove to muffle her mouth.
"Don't you ever fuck with my Michelle Flores."
And he drove the blade straight into her throat.
Brian was in the kitchen, cooking dinner—but this time, no music, no dancing.
"That sick fuck even stole my dance joy from me," he muttered under his breath, flipping the steak.
Michelle had been craving steak intensely. Her pregnant cravings hit hard, and this time it was beef—bloody, juicy, perfectly seasoned beef.
"Babe, is it done yet? I'm starving!" Michelle called out from the living room.
"You dead or what? Wait—almost there," Brian answered without turning around.
Michelle smirked and whispered to herself,
"Tell that to the baby you put inside me."
Then, in a barely audible voice,
"Idiot…"
Just as Brian was plating the steak, Michelle suddenly shouted:
"Brian! Come here, now!"
Brian rushed into the living room.
Michelle was frozen, eyes glued to the TV.
The headline read:
"Siblings Natasha and Mathew Dyer missing for 3 days – note and photo left behind."
The anchorwoman explained that due to privacy concerns, the contents of the note were not being shared, and the photo had been blurred. Then, a clip played showing their mother, crying during an interview:
"I don't believe my children just ran away. Someone took them from me. My babies would never leave without a word. Natasha, my daughter—if you're watching this, please send a sign. I know you'd never abandon us. Please… come back."
Michelle stared at the screen and muttered,
"The two lovers ran off. Instead of being apart, they chose to be together forever."
Brian remained silent for a moment, then thought:
"It kinda makes sense, but… seriously? Who the fuck dates their own sibling? Leaves their whole family behind for love?"
"I wonder what the note said," he said out loud.
Michelle shrugged.
"Something like, 'Hi Mom, we love you, but we're in love, we had to leave… blah blah blah.'"
Brian narrowed his eyes at her.
"How are you so sure they were in a relationship?"
Michelle tilted her head.
"You don't remember? They went to our high school. Always clinging to each other. It was way too much for siblings."
Brian raised an eyebrow.
"So let me get this straight—you didn't recognize her when she showed up at our house three days ago, but now you remember she was in our high school?"
Michelle burst into laughter and threw herself against him.
"You've got a girlfriend who does research, baby. Maybe try using your phone for something other than porn once in a while."
Brian smirked.
"Yeah, right. Like you're any different. We all knew what you were like back then."
They laughed.
In that moment, they completely forgot about the masked man, the fear, the chaos. Their love took over the room—teasing, sarcastic, effortless.
But deep inside, Brian couldn't shake it.
"This isn't over. It's far from over."
That night, after Michelle had fallen asleep, Brian got to work.
He began nailing the doors and windows shut—hard, tight, reinforced with two layers of wire. The same way he'd done it before. Only this time, it was even stronger.
He'd taught Michelle how to tie the wires herself. He wasn't going to be there. He needed her to know how to seal the place after he left.
They didn't speak their plans out loud.
They wrote them down. On paper.
Because they knew—they were being listened to.
Brian handed her a folded note before leaving.
"If someone knocks, don't open. Unless it's me—and I'll call you three times before knocking. Got it?"
Michelle nodded.
Brian had told her he was going to visit his coworker Vincent, who had been in a car accident. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he had no choice.
Michelle was scared—but the house was so locked down that it would've taken a tank to get in. She even had a gun under her pillow.
"Let that fucker come. If he shows up… I'll shoot him in the face."
She lay in bed, scrolling through Instagram with her right hand and gripping the pistol with her left.
She was scared, but calm.
She knew the plan.
All that was left was waiting.
Brian parked the car right in front of the Dyers' house. He had a cap pulled down low over his head—just in case things went sideways, it would give him a chance to escape without anyone getting a good look at his face.
He took a slow lap around the house. Quiet. No signs of movement.
Then he spotted it—a window slightly open.
Getting inside was almost too easy. All he had to do was lift it up and slide in.
The house felt empty. Lifeless.
He carefully inspected the surroundings, but nothing stood out. Even if something had, he probably wouldn't have recognized it. He had no flashlight, no experience, no clue what he was actually looking for.
"What am I expecting here? A handwritten letter that says, 'Hi, I'm the Masked Guy, I killed them, my name is blah blah blah…'? Yeah right."
He kept moving, upstairs now. Room by room.
As he expected—no one was home.
But when he entered the bathroom, he noticed something odd.
On the toilet brush—almost hidden, wrapped in its bristles—was a tiny, bloodstained strand of hair. It was so small and blended in with the container's color that it was nearly invisible.
Brian squatted down to get a better look.
He pulled it out gently and examined it.
"It's something, I guess…"
He looked around the entire bathroom but found nothing else. No blood. No signs of a struggle. No messages. Just that one single hair.
He stood there thinking.
Two possibilities came to mind:
Either the Masked Man really had killed them…
Or something else entirely had gone down.
"This could belong to anyone. Making a conclusion based on one hair? Stupid."
"Even if I could do a DNA test, it wouldn't help me find him. His hair isn't even real—it's the fucking mask's hair. That freak hides everything."
Still, he kept searching. Bedroom, closets, under the bed.
Then, in one of the drawers in the master bedroom—tucked inside a slim plastic folder—he found it.
A copy of the note and photo the news had mentioned. The ones the police had taken for evidence.
In the photo, Natasha was sitting on Mathew's lap.
They were smiling.
And the note?
"Mommy, we love you so much, but we have to go."
Brian's eyes widened.
"Michelle was right… Holy shit—she predicted it word for word."
They really had been in an incestuous relationship.
And now, it was clear.
They hadn't run away.
They'd been silenced.
Brian drove away from the Dyers' house, cigarette between his fingers, lips tight with frustration.
"I thought I'd find something. Something that would finally make this all make sense…"
But no. It was never going to be that easy.
He took a long drag and exhaled slowly.
"Fuck."
This wasn't over. It was far from over.
On the way home, he called the police again.
⸻
Michelle sat alone, scrolling through Instagram with one hand and holding the pistol in the other. She hadn't heard a single sound all evening.
Deep down she was scared, but on the surface—calm. Focused.
More than anything, she just wanted Brian to get back already.
And finally—it happened.
Her phone buzzed.
Three missed calls.
The signal.
Michelle got up instantly, gun still in her hand, and made her way downstairs. She peeked through the peephole.
It was Brian.
She opened the door—but didn't lower the gun.
"Stop right there," she said firmly, gun aimed straight at his face. Her brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line.
Brian chuckled.
"It's me, babe. Chill. Move over," he said and stepped inside.
Michelle didn't waste time.
"So? How is your friend? Is he okay? Broken bones? Cuts? Dead? Any goddamn thing?!"
Brian raised a hand.
"Relax, baby. He's fine. Not even a bruise. Tomorrow's Sunday—we'll rest. He might even be back at work Monday."
Michelle suddenly smacked him on the back of the head.
Her brows still angry.
"Why didn't you take me with you?!"
Brian laughed.
"I just wanted you to sleep and rest, babe."
Of course, the truth was—he couldn't risk taking her. She never would've let him go if she knew where he was really heading. But Brian had to do it. He needed to go. He was so sure he'd find something.
Instead, he found… disappointment.
Then—suddenly—
"Hello guys."
The voice came from inside the house.
Michelle screamed. Brian jumped in front of her, shielding her with his body.
Standing just inside the living room was the Masked Man.
"Did you guys know…"
His voice was mocking.
"…there's a small ventilation shaft in your basement?"
Then he burst into wild, manic laughter.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha!"
He sounded just like the fucking Joker.
Michelle aimed the gun straight at him.
"I swear to God I'll kill you right here. What the fuck do you want from us?!"
"I want you, sweetheart," he said with an eerie calm.
"I want to go back. Back to when you looked at me with those brown eyes. I know you still want that too—you just don't realize it yet. So I came to remind you."
"You sick fucking freak," Brian growled.
"You call this love?! You've been terrorizing a pregnant woman for weeks. That's love to you, you piece of shit?!"
He started walking toward the Masked Man, fists clenched.
The Masked Man kept laughing. Holding his head in both hands, grinning wide.
Then, all at once, his voice dropped. Cold. Furious.
"YOU'RE gonna teach me about love?!" he screamed at Brian.
Michelle took two steps forward. Raised her gun even closer.
"Get on your knees. Now."
"Don't, baby… come on. You think I didn't know you'd arm yourselves? Didn't know you'd prepare?"
He smiled again.
"I came ready. I'm here to rescue you from this fucking creep."
He turned to Brian.
"I told you not to call the police, didn't I?"
Brian raised his chin defiantly.
"I did. So what? Kill me."
The Masked Man looked stunned. The courage. The defiance. He'd expected fear, desperation—begging. But instead, all he saw was anger. Exhaustion.
He snapped.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun—aiming it straight at Brian's head.
"Drop the fucking gun, Michelle. Or I blow your psycho boyfriend's head off!"
"If you don't lower your gun, I'll shoot you myself," Michelle said, steady as stone.
He stepped forward, voice rising.
"Think about it. You've never even fired a gun in your life. But me? I'm experienced. By the time you pull the trigger, I'll have shot Brian ten fucking times. Maybe I'll die—but I'll finish what I came for."
The room was frozen. Guns trembling. Voices rising. One wrong twitch and someone would die.
Then suddenly—
The Masked Man felt cold steel press into the base of his back.
"Drop the gun," a calm voice ordered.
A knife slid up to his throat.
"I said DROP IT. NOW."
The Masked Man froze. His hand slowly opened.
The gun hit the floor.
He knelt.
Brian walked up to him, leaned down, eyes sharp.
"You really thought I was dumb enough to call the cops?" he said with a smirk.
"The first time you stood outside my house thinking they were coming—I didn't call them then either. I was just acting. And you bought it."
Michelle looked stunned—this was news to her too.
Brian kept going.
"You've been listening to my calls, haven't you? That's how you knew I'd call them again. That's why ı didn't lock the basement. Because you wanted this moment. I knew the moment she's alone you'd be here. But I came early and weren't alone. Ain't that right tyler ?
He looked over his shoulder.
"Tyler. Search him."
Tyler stepped in, patted the Masked Man down—and found a knife, tucked in his waistband. He pulled it out and tossed it aside.
That was it.
He was disarmed. Harmless.
Now there was only one thing left to do.
Brian reached for the mask. His hands were steady, but his pulse was racing. He gripped the edge of the fabric and pulled it back.
The face underneath was… unfamiliar.
But then—
Michelle gasped behind him.
"Mr. Elliot???"