The Murderer's Favorite

One: The underrated author (Part III)

The phone slipped from his grasp the moment his hands began to tremble after reading the message.

Sirius looked around immediately, scanning the room, half-expecting someone to be watching him from the shadows. Only when he confirmed he was alone did he finally exhale—but his relief was short-lived.

His body was still shaking.

How was he supposed to report this to the authorities… when the suspect clearly knew him?

He should forget it. He should ignore it.

But the words refused to leave his mind.

Before he could think further, his phone rang again.

Still on the floor.

Still glowing.

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he picked it up.

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” the Head Editor’s voice greeted from the other line.

Sirius forced himself to steady his breathing. “Good evening, sir.”

“I received your email last night. So far, the novel you submitted is good. I hope you can update it as soon as possible.”

Sirius frowned.

“I didn’t—” he stopped mid-sentence.

A memory suddenly flashed in his mind.

Him sitting at his swivel chair. Typing. Adjusting his glasses. Hitting send.

Then everything went blank.

“Hello? Mr. Kim? Are you still there?” the Head Editor asked again.

Sirius blinked. “I’ll send the next chapters once I’m done,” he replied automatically.

“That’s good to hear. Goodbye, Mr. Kim.”

The call ended.

Sirius immediately opened his email, confusion growing with every second. He scrolled through his sent messages—until he saw it.

A file attached.

His newest manuscript.

“The Mystery Killer of the Night?”

His breath caught.

He didn’t remember writing this.

This wasn’t even his preferred genre. Mystery-thriller was something he had already abandoned and archived.

Yet there it was.

He clicked the file.

And began to read.

---

(Novel Content – Sirius’s Manuscript)

“You can close the shop once you are done cleaning.”

Hillary sighed as she read the message from her boss. Without protest, she cleaned the table of the last customer, locked the shop carefully, and lowered the blinds.

After finishing her tasks, she changed into casual clothes and left through the back door. She checked her watch—10:30 PM. The last bus home would arrive soon.

She quickened her pace toward the bus stop.

It wasn’t far, but the streets were quiet.

Too quiet.

Halfway there, she felt it.

Like someone was following her.

She glanced behind her—but saw nothing.

Maybe she was just tired.

She reached the bus stop just in time. The bus arrived minutes later, and she boarded quickly, taking a seat near the window.

There was another passenger who boarded after her—a man who looked just as exhausted as she felt. She didn’t think much of it.

After several stops, she got off near her apartment. The air was colder now.

And darker.

She chose the shortcut—the alley.

People said it wasn’t safe. But she had walked it many times before.

Still…

That feeling returned.

She was being followed.

Her footsteps slowed as she entered the alley.

Then—

A hand grabbed her shoulder.

She froze.

“Miss—”

“Please don’t hurt me! I don’t have money!” she blurted out, eyes shut tightly as she braced for the worst.

Silence.

Then—

Laughter.

Confused, she slowly opened her eyes.

The man behind her was bent over, laughing so hard he nearly lost his balance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “I’m not a thief. I came to return this.”

He held out her wallet.

Hillary froze.

She immediately checked her bag.

Empty.

Her eyes widened.

“I saw someone following you on the bus,” the man explained. “He was taking something from your bag. I didn’t want you to lose it.”

Relief flooded her chest.

“Thank you so much,” she said quickly. “This is really important to me.”

He smiled. “No problem.”

She turned to leave.

But before she could take another step—

Something struck her head.

Her vision blurred.

Her balance gave out.

She collapsed.

The last thing she saw was the man crouching beside her—

Smiling.

“too easy to fool"

---

(End)

---

Sirius slowly pulled his hands away from the screen.

His face had gone pale.

“This… isn’t what I wrote,” he whispered.

He was sure of it.

That story… it wasn’t from the killer’s perspective.

It was from the victim’s.

So why had it changed?

His phone lit up again.

Another message.

> “I see you’ve started reading it. I’m impressed, Sirius. You really are a talented writer.”

His stomach dropped.

He quickly typed.

“Why do you know my name? Who are you?”

Send.

Seconds later—

A reply arrived.

> “You’ll know me soon. For now… good night, my dear.”

Sirius tried to call the number.

Unavailable.

Blocked.

Gone.

He stared at his computer screen, breathing uneven.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Maybe he should continue it.

Maybe he should change the story.

Maybe he should report everything—

But then again…

Who would believe him?

And if the killer was really watching…

He swallowed hard.

Slowly, reluctantly—

He turned back to his manuscript.

And began to type.