Mark's scribbled crayon drawing along with his naive line of text was a rare warm streak of sunlight heating Maya's soul amidst gloomy days. Every time she was exhausted or felt lonely, she would open her wallet, gently stroking each wobbly line to add a bit of strength to herself. However, that peace as fragile as a flower petal was quickly and completely torn apart by abnormal developments, pushing the young intern teacher's panic to its climax.
That afternoon, after completing an exhausting teaching session at St. Jude, Maya dragged each stinging, painful footstep back to her dilapidated rented apartment located at the end of the suburban street block.
However, as she stepped up a few wooden staircase steps emitting a creak... creak... sound, she paused in her tracks. Maya's whole body froze right before the doorstep.
Neatly in front of the wooden door handle — where she entered and exited every day — was a bouquet of pure white lilies. The bouquet had absolutely no greeting card, no sender's name, nor was it wrapped fancy in silk paper like ordinary gifts. It lay motionless, stark white like a sacrificial offering on the dirty grey tile floor.
Maya timidly stooped down. Her trembling hand slowly extended out, picking the bouquet up. At that exact moment, a strange, pungent fragrance rushed straight into her nostrils. Behind the sweet lily fragrance that was sharp to the point of biting was a lingering, extremely familiar yet terrifying scent: a light burnt odor, bitter and pungent with the characteristic reek of gunpowder.
The back of Maya's neck went ice-cold; every hair on her body stood bolt upright. This nameless bouquet of white lilies scented with gunpowder was not a romantic gift or a mistake. In the underworld and among hitmen, white lilies steeped in the smell of gunpowder were a ruthless message: A threat of death and a funeral wreath laid out for the soon-to-be deceased.
Clatter! Snap!
Maya's hands trembled to the point that it took nearly a minute just to insert the key into the lock. She hurriedly pushed the door open to slip inside the room and fastened the latch very quickly.
The moment the wooden door closed, an icy autumn wind blew straight into her face.
Maya was startled, looking toward the corner of the room. The window frame facing out to the back yard — which she always latched tightly from the inside with two iron lock rings whenever leaving home — was at this time wide open. The wooden window door lightly bumped against the wall with every blow of wind, emitting dry click... click... sounds in the quiet space.
"Who... who is inside the house?!" Maya screamed in a trembling voice, hastily grabbing the rain umbrella near the door as a self-defense weapon.
Panic-stricken, she rushed in to check every small corner. The narrow rented room was completely deserted. Belongings were not disturbed in the slightest, the most expensive old laptop still lay intact on the table, and even a few loose coins she left in a porcelain dish were not missing a single cent. The intruder did not come here to steal or search.
However, as Maya's eyes casually glided over her desk, her heart felt as if it stopped beating for a beat.
Her university graduation photograph — the small picture frame showing Maya smiling brightly in her bachelor gown that she always set prominently facing the room door — was at this moment deliberately flipped face down on the table surface.
The threat lay not in destruction, but in an arrogantly full presence. The hitman had directly stepped into this private room, nonchalantly walking about, flipping her picture frame face down like a ruthless declaration: He could step into her space at any time, observe her every second and every minute, and could end her life as easily as flipping a photo over.
The days that followed became a prolonged chain of nightmares, gnawing at Maya's mind by the hour.
The terrifying obsession caused her to fall into a severe state of insomnia. Whenever night fell, the rented room sinking into darkness was also the time her nerves were stretched to the point of nearly snapping. Just a sound of dry leaves rustling outside the window, the sound of a stray cat jumping over the corrugated iron roof, or the sound of quiet, thumping footsteps from the men in black lingering down on the street... was enough to make Maya jump up startled. She did not dare lie on the bed, only cowering in the dark wall corner, both hands tightly clutching her knees, her eyes staring wide at the window until dawn broke.
In less than a single week, Maya grew visibly emaciated. Her eyes, once clear and radiant, were now sunken with dark grey circles. Her skin was deathly pale from lack of sleep and exhaustion, her two cheekbones hollowed out making her look like a faint shadow amidst St. Jude School.
In ultimate despair and panic, Maya repeatedly pulled out her phone to dial Travis's number. She needed help, needed an explanation, or at least a spiritual anchor to know she did not have to face death alone. However, replying to her agonizing wait were only hopeless, prolonged beep... beep... sounds or an ice-cold automated voice from the voicemail box. The tycoon seemed to have vanished completely from her world after that stormy night.
On Wednesday evening, Chloe video-called over again.
The screen brightened up; seeing her friend's haggard, emaciated appearance along with eyes wild with panic, Chloe on the other end of the line was shocked to the point of dropping her water glass, continuously pestering with questions: "Maya! My god, what is happening to you?! You look like a living corpse! Is someone hurting you? Tell me!"
Maya's thread of reason vibrated wildly. She wanted to scream, wanted to pour out all her fears about the hitman, the lily bouquet smelling of gunpowder, and the face-down picture frame to her best friend. However, the image of the ruthless hitman and dark gun barrels re-appeared inside her head. Maya understood that if she dragged Chloe into this, her naive best friend would also become a target for elimination.
Maya bit her lip tightly to the point of oozing blood, forcing a pale smile to lie to her friend: "No... it's nothing, Chloe. I... I just have too much pressure preparing intern lesson plans, plus time zone shift with chronic insomnia. Don't worry too much..."
"Are you certain?" Chloe narrowed her eyes looking at her through the screen, her gaze overflowing with suspicion and worry. "If you feel unwell, you must drop that internship and come back here with me immediately, do you hear?!"
"I know... I promise."
Ending the call with Chloe, Maya buried her head on the wooden table surface, helpless tears silently streaming down her cheeks. Loneliness and fear enveloped the young girl.
However, Maya's already exhausted nerves were completely defeated on Thursday evening.
While sitting dazed by her desk, the phone placed beside her abruptly vibrated with a harsh beep....
The screen brightened. It was a text message sent from an unfamiliar phone number with no identity, no sender information. The screen displayed merely a single line of text in English, six short words yet ice-cold like frost from the deepest dungeon:
"Don't go on the picnic."
Maya's whole body trembled violently, the phone in her hand dropping thud onto the floor.
Ultimate fear choked her throat. The autumn picnic to the suburban eco-zone of St. Jude School had only been internally announced by the school board to teachers during the briefing meeting this morning! What did that mean? The stalker not only grasped her home location, but also controlled her entire schedule, every work step of hers at school. He was observing her like a cat playing with a small mouse before acting to swallow it whole.
The next morning, Maya rushed straight up to the principal's office with a deathly pale face lacking a single drop of blood.
Standing before the principal of St. Jude, Maya tried to suppress her trembling voice, making an excuse that she had a prolonged high fever and an exhausted physical condition that did not ensure safety to ask to withdraw her name from the list of teachers accompanying and managing the picnic this weekend.
However, the principal of St. Jude — still with her pompous demeanor, her gold-rimmed glasses sitting arrogantly on the bridge of her nose — slammed her fountain pen heavily onto the wooden desk with a thud. She glared up at Maya with eyes of ultimate contempt and severity:
"Ms. Maya! Are you looking down on the discipline and prestige of this St. Jude School?!" The principal gritted her teeth, each word uttered like jabs of disdain. "An intern teacher who hasn't even passed her probation period like you, where do you get the right to make demands or pick assignments?! This picnic has already had its official list submitted to the Department of Education and parents; you are required to go to assist in managing Morning Star Class. If you dare to be absent, I will immediately fail your internship, send a violation report back to your university, and fire you at once! Is that clear?!"
The principal's life-ending threat was like a forced sentence, locking tight every exit for Maya.
She stood rooted to the spot in the middle of the luxurious office, her trembling hands hidden deep inside her coat pockets. Maya realized she had been pushed into a trap laid out in broad daylight — where the upcoming eco-picnic was not a walk in the park, but would be a life-and-death battlefield full of snares from which she had no way to escape.
