Chapter 15: Headlined and panic

David sat cross-legged on the worn couch in Gran’s living room, the faint hum of the television filling the air. Fifteen years old, but eyes sharp, mind calculating, he watched as Manhattan’s upper-class elite were reported dead one by one. Gran sat at the kitchen table, knitting quietly, her voice soft when she murmured, “David, don’t stare at that all day, it’ll make your head ache.”

“I’m fine, Gran,” he said, voice calm, almost soothing. “Just… watching the news.”

The TV anchor, Melissa Grant, spoke with the practiced urgency of someone delivering disaster. “Breaking news: Several prominent Manhattan families have been found dead under suspicious circumstances. Police are investigating, but no suspects have been identified. The city’s elite are shaken, and authorities are urging vigilance.”

David leaned forward, resting his chin on his palms. Shaken. They don’t even know who they’re afraid of yet. He whispered under his breath, Every second they panic… every heartbeat they waste… it’s mine.

Gran glanced up. “David… these stories… all these deaths… you shouldn’t get too caught up. You weren’t involved, right?”

David forced a small, casual shrug. “Of course not, Gran. I moved here. Yonkers is all I know. I haven’t been back to Manhattan.” He let his gaze return to the screen. Let them see patterns. Let them wonder. That’s what they do when they think someone is untouchable.

Melissa Grant continued, her voice grave. “Authorities have confirmed deaths in the Parker and Blackwell families, among others. While some incidents appear accidental, experts suggest a possible connection. Manhattan residents are alarmed, with security companies reporting unprecedented demand for private protection.”

David’s lips curved into a faint smile. Connection? Pattern? They’re finally noticing my design. But not yet the truth. He whispered quietly, “Gran… imagine they’re all screaming inside their gilded homes, thinking they’re safe… and yet they can’t see me.”

Gran frowned slightly. “David, your imagination… I hope you’re not thinking about… things you shouldn’t.”

He waved her concern away, calm and almost teasing. “I’m just observing, Gran. It’s important to pay attention to the world, isn’t it?”

From the TV, field reporter Jenna Marlow appeared in front of the Blackwell estate. “Neighbors report hearing gunfire late last night. Police found Richard, Eleanor, Liam, and Sophia Blackwell dead inside their home. So far, no suspects have been identified. Investigators are treating this as a highly unusual case, possibly the work of someone meticulous and intelligent.”

David whispered under his breath, Meticulous. Intelligent. Precisely how I like to be described. He adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, eyes narrowing. “Gran… do you see? They’re calling the work impossible. But they don’t know I exist. Not yet.”

Gran sipped her tea, glancing at him. “David, I don’t like hearing these names. These are families… children… it’s… horrible.”

David nodded solemnly, voice soft. “I know, Gran. It’s horrible. And that’s why it has meaning.” He spoke aloud, almost philosophically, “People like them… they think wealth is armor. They think being untouchable is a birthright. They don’t remember the lives they’ve destroyed… the people they’ve ignored.”

On the screen, a split-panel discussion showed Calloway and Vega speaking with a crime analyst. Calloway’s voice was tense. “We have no evidence linking these deaths to any individual. Surveillance footage is inconclusive, fingerprints absent. Whoever is responsible is highly skilled, calculating, and willing to take extreme risks.”

David whispered, almost lovingly, Calculating… extreme risks… that’s me. Perfect description. He leaned back, arms folded, imagining the Blackwells’ panic in their final moments. Every heartbeat I controlled… every breath they took… it was mine.

Vega added, “We urge Manhattan residents to stay alert. The killings appear targeted, precise, and deliberate. No one is safe until the perpetrator is caught.”

David chuckled softly, the sound almost inaudible. “They think no one is safe. They don’t know the safest place is in plain sight. Gran… everyone is looking everywhere but here.”

Gran set her teacup down. “David… you’re scaring me. You sound… too focused. Too… certain.”

David looked at her, voice gentle, controlled. “Gran… I’m just observing patterns. I’m learning. I’m seeing how the world reacts when rules are broken and no one notices the hand behind it. Nothing more.”

Melissa Grant returned to the screen. “Authorities are canvassing neighborhoods, asking residents to report suspicious activity. Experts warn the perpetrator could strike again at any moment. Manhattan is on edge, with high-profile families living in fear. We will continue to follow this developing story.”

David leaned forward again, whispering to himself, eyes glinting with cold amusement. They will be afraid. They will wonder. And they still don’t know it’s someone they wrote off, someone they believed powerless… someone who survived what no one should.

Gran shook her head lightly, knitting again. “David… you’re too quiet these days. Too serious. Don’t let the world make you bitter.”

He smiled faintly, a shadow crossing his features. “I won’t, Gran. But I will… observe. And I will… learn. The world teaches harsh lessons, and sometimes… lessons need to be delivered in ways people never expect.”

David glanced once more at the flickering images of Manhattan elites, the flashing headlines, the empty streets outside their gated homes. “Gran… one family at a time. One life at a time. And they’ll never know it’s me. Not yet.”

Gran hummed softly, returning to her knitting. David sipped his coffee, eyes glued to the screen, already mapping his next moves. In the safety of her house, in plain sight, the Dead Boy Walking watched Manhattan tremble—and smiled.