The storm that had pounded the town for days had left behind a damp, unsettling stillness. The air felt charged, as if something was about to break—a storm of a different kind. Isaac Mercer sat in his office, the silence pressing in around him. His fingers drummed idly on his desk, his mind already racing ahead, plotting out the next steps.
Samuel Harker would come to Ashgrove. That much was certain. What interested Mercer was not the fact that Harker was coming, but how he would come. Harker had always been unpredictable—erratic in his actions but laser-focused in his hatred of Mercer. And that made him dangerous, but also fascinating. He was the kind of patient Mercer had always craved: a challenge worth his time, a test of his skills.
Harker had slipped through the cracks of the mental health system. The doctors had all failed him, the police had given up, and society had labeled him a monster. But Mercer knew better. Harker was a product of his environment, a mind fractured by trauma, but still salvageable. Mercer was sure of it. But that wasn't why he wanted Harker.
Mercer wanted him because Samuel Harker represented something much deeper. He reflected Mercer's own work—an experiment that had, for now, gone wrong. But all experiments could be refined, improved, controlled. And Mercer was nothing if not a master of control.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted Mercer's thoughts. He glanced up, watching as Martha poked her head in.
"Doctor, there's a young woman here to see you. She says it's urgent," Martha said, her eyes wide with a hint of worry.
"Send her in," Mercer replied, sitting up straighter in his chair.
A moment later, a woman entered, her movements hurried, her clothes damp from the lingering rain. She was in her mid-twenties, with dark hair pulled into a messy ponytail and eyes that darted around the room nervously. Her hands were clenched tightly around a small purse, her knuckles white.
"Dr. Mercer," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "I—I didn't know who else to turn to."
Mercer gestured for her to sit. "Please, take a seat. What's your name?"
"Emily," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she sat down. "Emily Rhodes."
"Emily," Mercer repeated, his voice calm and reassuring. "Why don't you tell me what's troubling you?"
She hesitated, glancing toward the window, as if expecting someone—or something—to be watching her. "It's… Samuel Harker," she finally said, her voice shaking. "He's back. I saw him."
Mercer's eyes sharpened, though his expression remained serene. "Where did you see him?"
Emily swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Near the old train station, late last night. I was walking home from my shift at the diner, and I saw him standing there, just… watching. I didn't realize who it was at first, but then he stepped into the light, and I knew."
Mercer leaned forward slightly, his tone soft but probing. "And you're sure it was him?"
"I'm sure," she said, her voice growing more urgent. "He hasn't changed much. It's the way he looked at me… like he knew me. Like he remembered everything."
Mercer's mind worked quickly, fitting the pieces together. Harker had returned to Ashgrove sooner than expected. He must have been moving carefully, avoiding detection, but why would he allow himself to be seen now? Was it deliberate, a message meant for Mercer? Or had it been an accident, a misstep in his plan?
"Emily, thank you for coming to me," Mercer said, his voice gentle, coaxing. "I know how frightening this must be, but you did the right thing. Have you told anyone else about this?"
She shook her head quickly. "No. I—I didn't know if anyone would believe me. Everyone thinks Samuel Harker is some kind of ghost story, but I know what I saw. And I know he's here because of you."
Her words hung in the air, and Mercer felt a spark of amusement. She was right, of course. Harker was here because of him. But what she didn't understand—what no one understood—was that Mercer wasn't afraid. He was curious. He wanted to see how far Harker would go.
"I believe you, Emily," Mercer said, his tone firm and reassuring. "And I'm going to help you. But I need you to trust me."
Emily nodded, her eyes filled with relief. "I don't know what to do. I'm scared he'll come after me."
Mercer stood and walked around the desk, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to worry about that. I'll make sure you're safe. But I need to know—did Samuel say anything to you? Did he try to approach you?"
She shook her head again. "No. He just… watched me. And then he disappeared into the shadows. I ran home as fast as I could."
Mercer's mind raced. Samuel was watching, waiting. He wanted Mercer to know he was here, but he wasn't ready to strike yet. That was interesting. It meant Samuel was biding his time, calculating his next move. And that gave Mercer the upper hand—if only for now.
"Here's what we'll do," Mercer said, his voice taking on a soothing cadence. "I want you to go home and stay there for the next few days. Don't leave unless absolutely necessary. I'll alert the police, and they'll increase patrols around your neighborhood. If you see anything suspicious, call me immediately."
Emily nodded, her breathing calming as Mercer's words wrapped around her like a protective blanket. "Thank you, Dr. Mercer. I didn't know who else to turn to."
"You're safe now," Mercer said with a warm smile. "I'll take care of everything."
As she left, Mercer watched her go, his expression carefully neutral. He knew exactly what Samuel was doing, and it was only a matter of time before their paths crossed again.
But the question remained—was Samuel hunting him, or was it the other way around?
---
Later that evening, Mercer stood at his office window, watching the darkened streets of Ashgrove. The rain had started again, a soft patter against the glass, and the town seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what was coming.
In the distance, the faint sound of sirens echoed through the streets, but Mercer barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by the game he and Samuel were about to play. A game of shadows and whispers, where the lines between predator and prey were blurred.
Mercer had always been the one pulling the strings, always the one in control. But Samuel Harker was different. He was a wildcard, an anomaly that Mercer both feared and admired. He had pushed Harker further than any other patient, exploring the depths of his mind, shaping his fears, and unlocking the madness within.
But now the experiment had evolved, and Mercer wasn't sure if he could contain it.
As the rain grew heavier, a figure moved through the fog outside, barely visible in the dim light. Mercer's eyes narrowed, his pulse quickening ever so slightly. The figure paused, just for a moment, then disappeared into the mist.
Samuel Harker had returned.
And this time, Mercer would be ready for him.