― William Peter Blatty
I've never been an alpha male and don't see myself as dominant, let alone domineering, but my predator has forced me to question my own assumptions and wonder if I ever really knew myself to begin with.
Whoever this devil is, male or female, he is preying on me―manipulating my mind in such a way that I'm becoming paranoid.
And if I can't trust my own perceptions, then what can I be sure of ultimately?
I'm a prisoner, although I outwardly appear free, and my tormentor has even succeeded in invading my dreams.
And now my very livelihood is being threatened as he uses terror to make me question my own motives.
I feel like Theseus in the Greek myth of the labyrinth, wandering confused and alone inside my own psyche.
But although isolated, I'm not entirely alone―there is the Minotaur, skulking in the background taking full advantage of the maze of circumstances to torture me before finally taking his revenge.
The profile I've been given is that of an intimate stalker, almost certainly a woman, who in some way was wronged by me and now wants to exact her pound of flesh. That may or may not be true but it's made me re-examine everything I believe.
The fact is, I have no idea of what I've done but that's no guarantee I'm innocent―only unaware, perhaps, because of narcissism or my own insensitivity.
Either way I feel condemned.
It's ironic in a certain sense, since I can conceive of the labyrinth in various ways, not all of which result in my immolation.
Some see the maze as a trap for malevolent spirits and my night terrors might attest to that aspect. But others see the winding corridors as a pilgrimage, a path to enlightenment.
But as Milton said, the mind is its own place and in itself can make a heaven of hell, or a hell of heaven. I suppose it all depends on your inner resilience.
Still, one thing is certain. The labyrinth is not a dungeon―there may be traps and a minotaur eager to devour, but there remains a way out and I will find it.
It’s the weekend and I’m back to work trying to finish the rough draft of my novel. I suppose I think losing myself in a fictional world will at least distract me from my troubles in the real one, and it seems to be working.
I’ve written for two hours straight and am close to finishing when a notification pops up at the top right corner of my screen informing me I have a message from an unknown sender.
Once again, my anxiety returns and I’m tempted to ignore it, but feel compelled out of concern for Quinn and Jana to make sure they’re not being threatened again.
Well Liam, the taunt begins, you finally got into your student’s condo, but we both know that’s not where it’s going to end—not with your track record. I thought you might like a memento of your affair. I’m sending these photos to Quinn and Clio and next time to all your colleagues. They’ll see what you’re really like and how you’ve been a naughty boy. Face it, Liam, there’s not enough police to protect everyone you know, so I expect you to resign from your position or face the consequences.
Several photos appear on my feed, one showing Jana leaning in close to me as we walk into her building and the others showing us in compromising poses inside her apartment.
I have no idea how those photos were taken and the fact that they are such close range candid shots is very unnerving.
How the hell did the stalker manage to infiltrate Jana's apartment and does that mean that she's now in real danger?
Much as I'd like to get past the blunder of accompanying Jana to her apartment, I have to inform Sarah and Jana's security detail to make certain she's protected.
This nightmare I thought I could manage is not only continuing but getting worse. I don't see any way out other than to give in to the stalker's demands and hope that ends the torment.