The letter remained on the table long after Vivian finished reading it.
No one had touched it again. The empty plastic of the balloon dog still lay on the windowsill, crumpled like a joke that was no longer funny. Outside, darkness was beginning to fall, and the only sounds in the living room were the ticking of the wall clock and Ana's slightly uneven breathing.
"Employees," Brittany repeated with a short, humorless laugh. "As if we were still doing him a favor. As if this were an actual job."
Ana stood up from the couch.
"I didn't sign up for this. When he first sent us those letters, it was about the twins. Investigating two weird guys. Getting paid. That was it. Not finding out later that our boss was the same monster whose victims' bodies and crime scenes we'd been piecing together."
Madeleine looked at her without fully raising her head.
"It was never a normal job, Ana."
"I know. But at least back then, it seemed like there was an ending. Now he's telling us he knows we're looking for him and that he finds it amusing. That's not a boss. That's a sick person playing games with us."
Vivian hadn't stopped looking at the sheet of paper.
You still work for me.
He had written it as if there were no other option.
Brittany rubbed her face with both hands.
"So what are we supposed to do? Answer him? Tell him no? The last time, he didn't accept a 'no' either."
The memory settled heavily between the four of them. Those first letters. The mocking tone. The way the money had appeared without anyone being able to explain how. The feeling that they had crossed a line without entirely realizing it.
Ana crossed her arms.
"I'm out."
The silence that followed was different. Sharper.
Vivian looked up.
"Ana…"
"I said it from the beginning. If things got too weird, I was leaving. This has gone way past weird. He's watching us. He's writing to us. He calls us employees while talking about alleys and telling us not to get too close yet. Yet. As if he's going to send us there later."
Madeleine spoke quietly.
"If you leave… do you think he'll stop watching you?"
Ana opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no answer.
Brittany slumped back against the wall.
"Hating him won't get us out of this. Ignoring him won't either. The letter is already here. He already knows that we know."
Vivian carefully folded the sheet, as if handling it carelessly might break something else, and placed it on top of the closed notebook.
"No one is going to force anyone to stay. But we can't make this decision by shouting at each other. We need to think."
Ana didn't sit down. She remained standing, looking at the window, the balloon's plastic remains, and the street that was beginning to fill with shadows.
"Think about what? If we continue, we're accepting his game. If we stop, he keeps going anyway. There's no good move."
They didn't have to wait long for the next blow.
It came less than an hour later, when the argument had already become repetitive and exhausting. Brittany was in the kitchen looking for water. Madeleine was staring at the floor. Vivian still hadn't let the letter out of her sight, as if putting it down completely would be foolish.
This time, the sound didn't come from the windowpane.
A thick envelope simply… appeared on the table.
No one saw it arrive.
One second, it wasn't there.
The next, it was.
All four of them froze.
Brittany returned with a glass in her hand and stopped in the doorway.
"Tell me one of you put that there."
No one answered.
Vivian approached cautiously. The envelope had no unusual seal or drawings. It was simply closed, slightly bulky, and on the front, in the same familiar, neat handwriting, it said once again:
To My Employees.
Ana took a step back.
"Don't open it."
"If we don't open it," Brittany said, "it's still here."
Vivian pulled the flap open.
Inside, there wasn't another long letter. There were banknotes. Counted. Neatly arranged. And a small piece of paper, almost a note, folded just once.
Vivian counted without meaning to, her eyes moving over the bills.
Four hundred dollars.
In 2006, for four high school girls, it wasn't an absurd fortune. But it wasn't a small amount either. It was real money. Money that carried a different weight when it came from him.
Brittany let out a breath.
"He's paying us."
Madeleine picked up the note between two fingers, as if it might burn her, and unfolded it.
Vivian read it aloud again because someone had to.
So you can't say the job doesn't pay.
Four hundred. For now.
Keep investigating. Be careful. Don't get into alleys that aren't yours to enter yet.
When I want more from you, I'll tell you. When you want more answers, you'll have to earn them.
Don't bore me.
—The Clown
The silence that followed was worse than the one after the first letter.
Ana let out an incredulous, almost broken laugh.
"He's buying us."
"He's reminding us that he can," Brittany corrected. "There's a difference."
Vivian placed the bills on the table, away from the first letter, as if mixing the two things together would make them more dangerous.
"It's not just the money. It's the message behind it. That the job continues. That he sets the pace. That we… are still in this, whether we want to be or not."
Madeleine looked at the four hundred dollars without touching them.
"If we accept it, we confirm that we're his employees. If we reject it… what do we do? Burn it? Leave it on the table so it can disappear again?"
No one had a clear answer.
Brittany ran a hand through her hair.
"I don't want his money. But I'm not going to pretend it changes nothing. He's telling us that the investigation is useful to him. That it benefits him if we keep putting things together. Even if we do it in our own clumsy, frightened way."
Ana shook her head over and over.
"This is turning into a cage. First the letters. Then the cases. Then 'I know you're looking for me.' Now money on the table. What's next? Is he going to send us into a forest again?"
The memory of the forest passed through Madeleine's and Vivian's eyes at the same time. Neither of them said it aloud. They didn't have to.
Vivian placed both hands on the table.
"Listen. No one has to take the money tonight if they don't want to. No one is signing anything. But we can't pretend this note doesn't exist, either. He wants us to keep investigating. The question is whether we're going to do it because he's forcing us to… or because we can't bring ourselves to stop anymore."
Brittany looked her straight in the eye.
"I can't stop. Not after Gabriel. Not after everything that's happened. Even if the thought of him paying us makes me sick."
Madeleine hesitated longer.
"I… can keep going a little longer. But with rules. No going anywhere alone. No chasing balloons. Just information. Only what comes to us without us crossing the line."
They all looked at Ana.
Ana's jaw was clenched, and her eyes were far too bright.
"I'm not taking a single dollar from that envelope. And I'm not going to pretend this feels like a job. If I stay… I'm staying so I don't have to be alone with everything I've already seen. Not because he's paying us."
Vivian nodded slowly.
"That's enough for now."
She picked up the small note and placed it beside the first letter. She left the bills where they were. No one divided them up. No one put them away yet. They carried too much weight to decide in the heat of the moment who they belonged to or whether they even deserved to be touched.
Outside, night had fully fallen.
Inside, the four of them remained in the same living room where, an hour earlier, they had tried to talk about movies, teachers, and ordinary things. Now all that remained was the smell of cold coffee, the plastic of a deflated balloon dog, and four hundred dollars no one had asked for.
Far away, Ryan stared at the ceiling of his room with a short, almost tired smile.
He had sent the letter.
He had sent the dog.
He had sent the money.
Not too much.
Just enough to remind them that the connection was still there. That the game had rules. And that he was still the one writing some of them.
Four hundred dollars couldn't buy loyalty.
Or silence.
Or courage.
But it could buy a pause.
An acknowledgment.
A "I'm still here" that was impossible to ignore.
Ryan closed his eyes.
"Keep investigating."
The mark on his chest barely burned, a reminder that larger boards were waiting. For now, this one was enough.
He had called them employees again.
He had paid them again.
And he had left the next move halfway in their hands.
If they broke, he would see it.
If they organized themselves better, he would see that too.
Either way,
the show
went on.