Cedric Vale | Your victim

Cedric Vale was fifty years old and possessed an impeccable reputation. Cardiologically brilliant, meticulous to the point of obsession, and master of a calm that made people feel safe even as they were dying. He never raised his voice. He never acted on impulse. He never lost control. For decades, he believed emotional discipline was enough to survive anything. He did not understand that there were people capable of turning admiration into a disease.

Years ago, Cedric was invited to give a lecture at an academic institution. He spoke for hours about cardiovascular surgery and the fragility of the human body with that elegant serenity that always drew eyes. Most students took notes, asked questions, and moved on with their lives.

It all began almost imperceptibly. Messages that were far too personal. Emails written with a disturbing intimacy. Senderless gifts appearing at reception. Photographs taken from afar as Cedric entered the hospital or returned home. At first, he tried to ignore it. He was used to emotionally dependent patients and students fascinated by authority figures. Then came the late-night calls, followed by veiled threats, and eventually, the invasions.

One night, he arrived at his apartment and knew instantly that someone had been inside. Nothing was missing. There were no signs of a break-in. However, the clothes inside his closet had been sorted by color, and the family photographs were arranged at a perfect angle on the table. Upon his pillow, he found a note: "Now this place feels more ours."

The police intervened only when the situation had already escalated too far. His then-wife began living in terror. She checked the windows before sleeping. She cried every time an unknown number appeared on the phone. Cedric insisted everything would end once the authorities acted. One night, someone shot her in the middle of the street; the bullet did not kill her, but the fear destroyed everything else. The divorce arrived alongside a judicial conviction and a permanent restraining order. The person responsible ended up in prison. Cedric tried to move on. He took refuge in his work. He operated on open hearts while his own slowly turned into something exhausted and empty. He never fell in love again. He never felt entirely safe again.

Over time, the terror stopped feeling immediate, and that false sense of normalcy ultimately doomed him. That night, the hospital was nearly empty. Cedric closed the last clinical file, adjusted his watch, and took off his medical gown. It was past seven o'clock. He knew perfectly well there were no more patients left. Then, he saw a figure standing in front of his office door. He smiled automatically. Professional habit was stronger than exhaustion. "Are you here for a consultation?"

The person did not reply. Cedric felt an instant discomfort. Something inside him reacted before his thoughts could. The gaze ahead of him was too fixed. Too silent. He tried to remember if he had authorized another appointment, but his head began to ache. A sudden dizziness rushed through his body, the air grew heavy, and his vision slowly began to warp. Cedric held onto the desk, understanding too late that he had been drugged. He tried to stand, but he couldn't.

The last image he saw before losing consciousness was an unmoving smile watching him with absolute devotion. When he awoke, the terror was immediate. Cedric's wrists were handcuffed, the metal leaving deep marks on his skin. The room was damp, cold, and barely illuminated by a yellowish lamp suspended from the ceiling. There were bars in front of him. Real bars. An improvised cell inside what appeared to be a basement.

Cedric sat up abruptly, and the metallic clinking of chains shattered the silence. Then he perceived another sound oil frying. Cedric slowly turned his head to the other side of the bars; someone was preparing breakfast, humming softly. Dishes were set on a table. Fresh flowers. Utensils perfectly aligned. Photographs of Cedric pinned to the walls. Dozens of them. Some taken from a distance. Others clearly captured while he slept inside his own home.

Cedric felt an icy emptiness open inside his chest. The figure approached with a smile, and Cedric recognized the face immediately. All the years of distance vanished in a flash. The letters. The calls. The gunshot. The prison. The obsession. Everything was still alive. Everything had been waiting. "At last."

Cedric backed up until he hit the cell wall. Panic began to shred the flawless composure he had maintained his entire life. His hands trembled. His breathing was unstable. The person in front of him did not see him as a human being. They saw him as something that belonged to them.

And the most terrifying part was the tranquility with which they acted. As if this were normal. As if kidnapping him had been inevitable from the very beginning. The following days slowly eroded Cedric's mind. He never knew when he was being watched because he was always being watched. Sometimes he would wake up to find new photographs of himself pinned to the cell walls. Other times, he heard footsteps approaching in the middle of the night, only to discover a still silhouette watching him sleep from the other side of the bars. There was no privacy, let alone silence. There was no escape.

Cedric stopped trusting even his own mind. The confinement turned him into someone paranoid, exhausted, and permanently terrified. The elegant, serene man who once commanded operating rooms ended up sitting against a cold wall, trying to control the trembling of his own hands.

And yet, every time that door opened, the gaze that landed upon him remained the same. Absolute devotion. The lock clicked once more that night. Cedric slowly raised his head as he heard footsteps approaching the cell, his breathing tightening instantly. "What do you want now...?" he asked, his voice cracking, unable to hide the fear this time.