Chapter 4: A Man Without a Past
1254 Words
Rhea waited until she heard Marcus Vale’s footsteps retreat before she moved.
She didn’t know how long she stayed curled against the wall—long enough for the adrenaline to sour into something shaky and cold.
Her apartment felt different now. Smaller. Breached. As if his presence had left a residue behind, invisible but unmistakable.
When she finally stood, her legs protested, pins and needles biting into her feet. She crossed the apartment and checked the door, pressing her ear against the wood.
Nothing.
No breathing. No shifting weight. No quiet patience.
Still, she didn’t unlock it.
Instead, she slid the deadbolt into place, then wedged a chair beneath the handle for good measure. It was a ridiculous gesture—she knew that—but it made her feel marginally less exposed.
Rhea leaned her forehead against the cool wood and closed her eyes.
This is real, she told herself. You’re not imagining this.
That thought was supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.
She forced herself away from the door and went straight for her laptop. If Marcus Vale was an assessment, then she was done being the test subject. She needed answers—real ones. Proof. Something solid she could point to and say, This is why I’m afraid.
She opened her browser and pulled up the notes app beside it, fingers flying as she typed.
Marcus Vale
Knows my name
Knows where I live
No digital footprint (initial search)
Seen at multiple women-focused events
Uses language like he’s choosing, not pursuing
Her chest tightened as she stared at the list.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s pull the thread.”
She started broader this time.
Public records. Property databases. Business registrations. Court filings.
Marcus Vale.
Nothing.
Her jaw clenched. She refined the search, added variations, alternate spellings. Still nothing that matched the man who had stood outside her door ten minutes earlier.
Rhea leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples. People didn’t just… not exist. Even the most private individuals left some trace behind. A parking ticket. A company filing. A forgotten blog post from college.
Marcus Vale was a void.
She glanced at the time in the corner of her screen—8:42 p.m.—and hesitated only a moment before opening a new tab and navigating somewhere she hadn’t visited in years.
Her old university database.
She logged in with credentials she half-expected not to work anymore. When the system let her through, she let out a short,
humorless laugh.
“Figures.”
She searched alumni records first. Then current students. Then staff.
Nothing.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her pulse thudded loud and heavy in her ears.
“Who are you?” she murmured to the empty room.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Rhea flinched, nearly knocking over her chair as she twisted to look at it. The screen lit up with a familiar name.
Mara
She answered immediately. “He came to my apartment.”
“What?” Mara’s voice sharpened instantly. “Rhea, are you okay?”
“I didn’t open the door,” Rhea said quickly. “He left. I think. But he was here.”
“Jesus,” Mara breathed. “I’m coming over.”
“No,” Rhea said, more sharply than she intended. She softened her tone. “No, stay where you are. I don’t want you dragged into this.”
“Too late for that,” Mara snapped. “You’re my best friend.”
Rhea swallowed. “I’m… I’m looking into him. Right now.”
Mara was silent for a moment. “And?”
“And he doesn’t exist,” Rhea said. “Not in any way that makes sense.”
“Explain.”
“I can’t find anything,” Rhea continued. “No records. No history. It’s like he appeared fully formed and started walking around pretending to be a person.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Yeah,” Rhea agreed bleakly. “I know.”
Mara exhaled slowly. “Okay. Okay. Let’s think. Did he say anything else? Anything that stood out?”
Rhea’s fingers curled against the edge of the desk. “He said I ‘met the criteria.’”
A sharp intake of breath. “Criteria for what?”
“He didn’t say,” Rhea admitted. “But it wasn’t… romantic. It wasn’t even personal. It was like he was checking boxes.”
“That’s worse.”
“I know.”
They fell silent again, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them both.
“Rhea,” Mara said finally, “promise me something.”
“What?”
“If you find out something concrete—something bad—you don’t sit on it. You tell someone. Police. A lawyer. Someone.”
Rhea glanced back at her screen, at the blankness where Marcus Vale’s life should have been. “I will.”
She ended the call and turned back to the laptop, jaw set.
If Marcus Vale wasn’t leaving tracks in the present, then maybe the past would tell her why.
She opened an image search and pulled up the photo she’d taken of him in the park. She cropped it, adjusted the lighting, then fed it into every reverse-image engine she could find.
The results trickled in slowly.
At first, nothing.
Then… something.
Not a match. Not exactly.
Her screen filled with similar faces—men with the same sharp cheekbones, the same dark eyes. Stock photos. Fashion spreads. A few candid shots from news articles.
Different names. Different places.
Same face.
Rhea leaned closer to the screen, breath shallow.
The earliest image was dated six months ago.
Her heart stuttered.
She clicked into it—a blurry photo attached to a local news article about a gala fundraiser. The caption named the man beside the mayor as Evan Price. The resemblance was uncanny.
She searched that name.
Gone.
Another image. Another event. Another name.
Daniel Hart.
Gone.
Every instance vanished when she tried to follow it further, as if the internet itself swallowed the trail the moment she looked too closely.
Rhea’s hands trembled.
She sorted the images by date.
Six months ago.
That was as far back as he went.
No childhood photos. No college pictures. No awkward teenage phase. No past.
Just a man who appeared one day and started looking at women like she was looking at data.
Rhea sat back hard in her chair, a chill settling deep in her bones.
“He’s new,” she whispered.
Her gaze drifted to the window without her meaning to. The blinds were still shut tight, the room lit only by the glow of her laptop and the soft hum of the city outside.
For the first time since this had begun, the fear sharpened into something else.
Not panic.
Understanding.
Marcus Vale wasn’t hiding his past.
He didn’t have one.
And whatever he was, whatever system he belonged to—it had only just begun to operate.
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn’t look at it right away.
When she did, her stomach dropped.
Marcus Vale:
You’re looking in the wrong places.
Rhea stared at the message, pulse pounding.
Then another came through.
I haven’t been here long. Six months, if you’re curious.
Her breath hitched.
And you’re running out of time to decide what you want to do about that.
Rhea’s hands curled into fists as dread washed over her.
Because Marcus Vale hadn’t just confirmed her discovery—
He had been watching her uncover it.
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