The House Among the Pines - A Cardiophile Stalker
The car stopped with a slight crunch of gravel. Sofía turned off the engine and for a moment sat still, her hands still on the steering wheel. The silence of the forest was deeper than she had imagined. It wasn’t an empty silence: it was full of whispers, the rustle of leaves, a gentle wind filtering through the tall, straight pines like columns.
In front of her, the dark wooden house remained motionless, almost hidden among the shadows of the trees. It was small, two stories, with a narrow porch and an attic window that seemed to watch her.
“Well…” she murmured to herself. “Vacation.”
She opened the car door. The forest air enveloped her immediately: cold, damp, smelling of earth and resin. The sound of the door closing echoed too loudly in that environment.
Sofía looked around. No one. Just trees. Miles of trees.
She took her suitcase from the trunk and walked toward the house. Each step made the gravel crunch beneath her sneakers. The key was where they had told her, under a flowerpot by the door. She took it, hesitated for a second, and inserted it into the lock.
She pushed the door. The house smelled of old wood and confinement, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The afternoon light came through the windows, illuminating specks of dust suspended in the air.
“Hello…” she said softly, as if someone could answer.
She placed the suitcase on the floor and explored the interior. The living room had a worn sofa, a low table, and a stone fireplace. The kitchen was small but functional. Everything was clean, as if someone had left only a few hours before. That gave her a strange sense of unease.
She went up to the second floor. The master bedroom had a large bed and a window that looked directly out into the forest. From there, the pines seemed even closer, as if they surrounded the house in a closed circle.
Sofía placed her backpack on the bed and sighed.
She fell backward onto the mattress. The trip had been long, and the silence, though strange, was beginning to relax her.
But when she closed her eyes, she noticed something. Her own heart.
Slow, steady. The rhythm of someone finally calming down.
The sunset in the forest was quick. The golden light turned orange, then red, and finally disappeared among the dark trunks. Sofía turned on the lights in the house one by one. The sound of each switch broke the silence.
She cooked something simple, ate by the window, and watched as darkness thickened among the trees. There were no lanterns, no neighboring houses, not even the distant glow of a road. Just night.
At ten, she went up to the bedroom. She put on her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and got into bed. The mattress creaked under her weight. She turned off the light. The darkness was immediate, total.
The forest was not silent now. Branches moved, leaves were dragged by the wind, some distant creak she could not identify.
Sofía turned to her side, trying to ignore it.
Her heart remained calm. She was almost asleep when she heard something. Downstairs. A dry, brief sound.
Her eyes shot open. She stayed still, listening. Nothing. Maybe the wood contracting from the cold. Or a poorly closed window.
She closed her eyes again.
Then she heard it again. This time it wasn’t a creak of the house. It was the front door. Opening.
Her heart leapt violently in her chest.
But it was not the same silence as before. This one had weight. Presence. Someone was inside.
Sofía got out of bed carefully, her bare feet touching the cold floor. She walked to the bedroom door and cracked it open just a few inches. The hallway was dark.
And from below, from the living room, came a sound. Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Her breathing shortened without her realizing it.
But the footsteps stopped. And then, from the base of the stairs, a figure emerged from the darkness. Tall. Covered by a black robe that fell to the floor. And a face completely hidden behind a smooth, expressionless mask.
Sofía held her breath for a second. Her heart exploded inside her chest.
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The figure slowly lifted its head, as if observing her directly, though the eyes were not visible behind the mask.
And then it began to climb the stairs.
“Don’t… don’t come closer!”
Sofía stepped back, tripping over the bed. Her breathing became uncontrolled.
hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The masked man did not speak. He did not stop. He just kept ascending. One step. Another. Another.
Sofía turned and ran toward the window, but when she tried to open it, she found it stuck.
The footsteps were already in the hallway. The bedroom door began to open slowly.
And she, without thinking, ran to the other side of the room and went into the hallway, passing just inches from the black figure.
The air stirred as she dodged it. It smelled of damp cloth and something metallic.
She ran downstairs. Her heart pounded so hard she felt every beat thudding in her ears.
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“Help! Is anyone there?!”
But the forest did not answer. Only darkness awaited her beyond the open door.
And behind her, the footsteps began again.
Sofía reached the last step, nearly tripping. The front door remained open, swaying gently from the night breeze coming from the forest. The darkness outside was thick, as if the trees had joined together to block any trace of light. She could see only a few meters ahead.
She stopped for just a second. That second was enough to hear the footsteps behind her.
They were not running. They were not shouting. They were not speaking. They were just walking toward her. The sound was constant. Certain. Inevitable.
Panic gripped her chest like a hand closing from within. Her heart raced.
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The sound was so loud it seemed to fill the house.
Sofía ran toward the door, crossed the threshold, and immediately felt the cold night air stabbing into her lungs.
Her breath broke into an involuntary gasp.
hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The gravel of the porch crunched under her bare feet as she descended the two steps and entered the uneven terrain surrounding the house. The ground was damp. Fallen leaves stuck to her soles. Behind her, the door stopped moving. And the footsteps followed her outside.
Sofía did not look back. She ran. Low branches struck her arms and face, leaving burning lines on her skin. The pines closed in around her, turning the space into a dark, narrow labyrinth. She tripped over a root and almost fell, but managed to regain balance at the last second, swinging her arms.
Her heart seemed like it wanted to escape her chest.
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Each beat was accompanied by a dull thud inside her ears. She heard nothing else. Not the wind. Not her own footsteps. Only that.
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She ran without a clear direction. She just wanted to get away from the house, from the black figure, from that faceless mask that was now somewhere behind her in the darkness. Her breathing became rough, irregular.
hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The cold air burned her throat as it entered. She felt a faint whistle as she exhaled, as if her lungs couldn’t fill enough. She looked back. Between the trunks, a dark silhouette moved forward without hurry. It didn’t run. It didn’t need to. That terrified her more than any frantic chase.
She tried to speed up, but her legs began to hurt. The muscles, tense and cold, responded with less and less precision. She stepped wrong. This time she fell. Her knee hit the damp earth with a dull sound, and her body slid forward through leaves and pine needles. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs.
She stayed face down for a few seconds, her face against the ground, trying to catch her breath. The smell of dampness and rotten leaves filled her nose and throat.
Her chest heaved violently, uncontrollably. She felt a sharp pressure in the center of her sternum, as if her heart were pounding against a cage too small.
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Her hands slipped on the damp ground.
She heard the steps approaching.
Each one closer than the last.
There was no hurry in them.
Only absolute persistence.
Sofía managed to turn and sit up, dragging herself backward on the ground with her heels. Leaves stuck to her pajamas, a light, soft, fine cotton blouse, now stained with mud across the front. The fabric clung to her sweat-dampened skin in the cold night.
—Please… —she whispered in a broken voice—. Please, don’t…
The figure emerged from between the trees and stopped a few steps from her. The black robe swayed gently in the wind. The white mask reflected the faint moonlight, smooth, with no visible eyes, no mouth, nothing to indicate emotion. Her heart was out of control.
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Each beat was a sharp blow that made her chest shudder and her shoulders tense involuntarily. The figure took another step. Sofía tried to move back again, but her back hit a tree trunk. The rough bark scraped her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. There was no more space. He leaned toward her. Sofía raised her arms instinctively, trying to shield herself, to push him away, to do something.
She tried to stand, but her legs didn’t respond in time. The figure was faster. One hand closed around her waist, firm, through the wet fabric of her blouse, pressing against her side. The grip wasn’t brutal, but it was unbreakable. —Let go—! She twisted, trying to break free. Her hands struck the chest covered by the robe, pushed, clawed at the fabric, but she couldn’t move him away.
hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah
Her breathing collided with her own throat, broken by fear and exertion. The masked man pulled her forward, forcing her to lift only a few centimeters off the ground. The proximity sent her into pure panic.
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She felt her own heart pound against the thin fabric of her blouse, bouncing against her chest as if visible from the outside. She struggled harder, trying to twist her body, escape that arm that kept her trapped against him.
Her hands pushed the air, her back arched trying to move away, her feet slipping in the dirt. And then— She stopped. Not because she wanted to. But because something cold touched her chest. The contact was sudden, precise.
A circle of metal pressed directly over the center of her blouse, at the height of her heart. Sofía froze. Her mind took a second to comprehend that it was not a hand, nor a blade, nor a strike. It was smooth. Hard. Ice-cold. The cold pierced the damp fabric, making her hold her breath sharply.
The masked man still held her by the waist, but no longer tried to drag her or restrain her more forcefully. He just kept her in that position, the metallic object pressed firmly against her heaving chest.
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The metal vibrated slightly with each beat crashing against her ribcage. Sofía blinked, confused, fear mixing with growing disbelief. Her body kept trembling, but she had stopped struggling. She didn’t understand what was happening. She only felt that cold, unmoving point pressed against her racing heart.
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Her breathing returned in short bursts.
hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The masked man tilted his head slightly, as if focused on something only he could perceive. Sofía swallowed, her eyes fixed on the expressionless mask just inches from her face. —What… are you…? She didn’t finish the sentence. Because at that moment, she understood. Not by what she saw. But by what she felt. That cold, round metal, pressed with surgical precision over the exact spot where her heart pounded most violently… was not a weapon. It was something designed to listen. And while she remained trapped, panting and trembling, the man did nothing else. He only held the object against her chest. Listening.
Sofía stopped speaking mid-sentence. The air was trapped in her throat, vibrating faintly as her wide eyes searched for any hint of intention in the smooth mask in front of her. Nothing. Only the pale, immobile surface. And the firm arm around her waist, keeping her pressed to his body. The metallic object remained pressed against her chest, right over the point where her heartbeats struck most forcefully.
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The sound seemed to bounce inside her own head, amplified by the silence of the forest. Each beat made the cold disc vibrate against the thin fabric of her blouse, transmitting the violence of her fear directly through the contact. Her breathing remained broken in fragments.
hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah
The masked man said nothing. He didn’t move. But Sofía felt him adjust the pressure of the object slightly, shifting it a few millimeters to the left, then upward, as if searching for an exact point. The movement was careful, almost methodical. She shivered at the feel of the metal sliding over the wet fabric, her skin bristling under the cold.
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His arm around her waist didn’t squeeze more than necessary, but it was strong enough to prevent any attempt at escape. His long, firm fingers rested just over her side, where he could feel the rapid rhythm of her breathing expanding and contracting her torso.
Her voice barely a thread. The masked man tilted his head a little more, as if her words were just another vibration traveling through the invisible tube connecting that cold metal to his ears.
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Sofía felt a sudden dizziness. The effort of fleeing, the cold, the panic, and the constant pressure on her chest made the world seem to beat in sync with her heart. Her hands, which had been pushing and clawing, now hung weakly at her sides. Not in surrender, but because her body had no more energy to fight.
hah… haaah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The masked man slid the disc a little lower, right between her breasts, where the fabric of her blouse stretched with each violent inhale. The more intimate contact made her shiver from head to toe. —N-no… It wasn’t a clear protest. It was more a reflex, a mixture of shame, fear, and confusion. The object vibrated strongly again.
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He stayed like that for several seconds. Maybe minutes. For Sofía, time had ceased to have meaning; there were only the beats and the cold of the metal. The forest around them was still alive: leaves moving, branches creaking, some nocturnal insect buzzing in the distance. But everything seemed muffled, as if underwater.
Finally, the masked man moved away just a few centimeters, enough to change the angle. The disc slid again, this time toward the upper part of her chest, near the collarbone. Sofía watched the movement with glassy eyes.
Her thoughts were slow, heavy.
The words came out twisted, as if saying them aloud made them more absurd. The masked man didn’t respond. But his fingers tensed slightly over her waist, like an involuntary reaction.
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The rhythm of her heart, though still fast, began to change. The initial terror transformed into something stranger: a sustained anxiety, a colder, deeper fear. And he seemed to notice it.
The disc moved again, this time returning to the center of her chest, pressing firmly over the spot where the beats were still clearest.
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She could imagine the sound traveling through the tube, entering the ears hidden behind the mask. She could imagine him listening to every irregularity, every small jump in the rhythm, every acceleration when she tried to hold her breath.
Her breathing broke again into short gasps.
hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The masked man remained motionless, as if that sound were the only thing that mattered in the world. Then, very slowly, he removed the object from her chest.
The cold vanished instantly, leaving a ghostly sensation on her skin, as if it were still there.
Sofía opened her eyes immediately, confused by the loss of contact.
The man didn’t let go of her waist. Instead, he raised a hand to his own face and, with a deliberate gesture, removed one of the earpieces.
The stethoscope hung between them, swaying slightly.
It was the first time Sofía saw him clearly. The dark tube, the shiny metal, the medical instrument completely out of place in the middle of the forest and night. Her mind took a moment to process it.
He placed the disc back against her chest.
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As if he needed to confirm it once more. As if he didn’t want to miss a single beat. The disc settled back on her blouse with an almost reverent precision. Sofía held her breath reflexively, as if merely breathing could alter what he sought to hear.
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The sound of her heart remained the only thing that seemed to matter in that dark forest clearing. The night enveloped them, thick, heavy with moisture and a silence that seemed to listen alongside him.
The masked man did not speak or move for several seconds. His arm still wrapped around Sofía’s waist, keeping her upright even though her legs shook uncontrollably. His fingers had sunk slightly into the fabric of her blouse, just above her hip, enough for her to feel every slight adjustment of pressure.
Her breathing remained fast, shallow, irregular. The cold air came and went in short bursts, lifting and lowering the metal disc with each violent expansion of her chest.
The masked man tilted his head just slightly more, as if that change in angle could make the beats come clearer, deeper.
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Sofía began to feel something new. It wasn’t exactly relief. But it wasn’t the pure terror of the first minutes either. It was a strange, uncomfortable sensation: the awareness that her body was being watched, measured, listened to… and she could do nothing about it.
She tried to step back just a centimeter. The arm at her waist responded immediately, tightening slightly, reminding her she had no space to move.
The plea came weaker than before, almost powerless.
The masked man didn’t react to the words, but moved the disc again, this time tracing a slow path along the left side of her chest. The metal slid over the fabric, following the contour of her ribs, pausing at each point where the beats seemed to resound most clearly.
Sofía shuddered at the movement.
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Her heart couldn’t stabilize. Every time the disc changed position, a new spasm of anxiety made it race again. Her hands, which had remained rigid at her sides, began to tremble more violently. She hesitated, but finally lifted one and placed it against the forearm holding her—not to strike, but as if seeking to feel something solid, something human beneath the robe.
The fabric was thick, rough. Beneath it, the muscle felt firm, warm. The contrast with the cold metal on her chest made her swallow.
—W-what… what do you want from me…?
hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
There was no answer. Only a slight adjustment in the disc’s position.
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The masked man seemed to follow the rhythm as if it were a changing melody. Each variation in the speed of the beats caused a minimal movement in his posture, a slight tilt of the head, a millimetric shift of the instrument.
Sofía began to notice that he was not simply listening.
As if recognizing patterns within the chaos of her racing heart.
That idea sent a chill deeper than the cold of the forest. She tried to hold her breath, pressing her lips together, trying to force her body to stay still. … But the silence of her lungs only made the beats resonate more forcefully inside her chest.
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The masked man did not miss that change. The disc remained firm in the same spot, as if he had found exactly what he wanted to hear. Seconds stretched. Sofía began to feel fatigue seeping into her muscles, her eyelids, her neck stiff from tension. Her head drooped slightly forward. The man, without removing the stethoscope, raised his free hand and placed it against her back, supporting her so she would not collapse. The gesture was automatic. Almost careful. That confused her more than anything else.
Her breathing was becoming deeper, less chaotic, though still rapid. Exhaustion began to overtake panic. And with that change, the rhythm of her heart began to transform once again.
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It remained fast, but the intervals between each beat began to lengthen by just a few milliseconds. The masked man noticed. Sofía knew because the disc stayed completely still, pressed more firmly than before, as if he did not want to lose that new slower rhythm. His hand on her back slid slightly higher, between her shoulder blades, keeping her upright. She opened her eyes with difficulty.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
The man did not respond. But after a few more seconds, he removed the disc again. The cold air filled the space between the metal and her skin. Sofía felt the absence of contact as a strange, almost unsettling void. The stethoscope hung between them, swinging gently with their breathing. The arm at her waist remained. He did not let go. As if, even without listening, he still needed to feel how her body trembled in his hands.
The silence that followed was denser than any sound. The stethoscope hung between them, swinging in small arcs, and each time the metal lightly hit itself, it produced an almost imperceptible chime.
Sofía watched him with eyes still glassy, trying to understand how she had gone from running desperately through the trees to standing there, supported by a stranger who had just listened to her heart as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. Her breathing was still unstable.
hah… hah… haaah…hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The masked man made no attempt to release her. Instead, he leaned his face slightly to the height of her chest, as if he could still listen, even without the instrument. The white mask, featureless, remained just a few centimeters from the mud-stained fabric of her blouse. Sofía felt a new surge of anxiety.
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The sound sped up slightly again, responding to the renewed fear from that closeness. The reaction was immediate. The man took the metal disc again and placed it against her chest, this time higher, just below the left collarbone.
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He seemed incapable of ignoring any change in the rhythm. Sofía let out a brief, involuntary sob. Her shoulders trembled, and with that movement, the stethoscope vibrated against her skin, amplifying even more the sound he seemed to be pursuing.
—Why… are you… doing this…? —she whispered, her voice broken.
The masked man remained motionless for a few more seconds. Then, slowly, he raised the hand that was holding her by the back and brought it to the stethoscope tube, as if ensuring it was well placed, that nothing interrupted the transmission of the sound. The gesture was meticulous, almost obsessive.
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Sofía began to notice something unsettling in the way he breathed. Through the tunic, his chest moved with a slower, more controlled cadence than hers. He was not panting, did not seem agitated from the chase. It was as if he had walked the entire time while she ran to exhaustion. That calm contrasted with the violence of her own body.
The difference between them made her feel even more vulnerable. She tried to look away, but her eyes kept returning to the spot where the metal touched her blouse, as if she could not ignore the evidence that someone was listening to the most intimate part of her body without her permission.
The masked man suddenly moved. He did not release her, but he slightly turned his body, guiding her a few steps back until her back rested against the tree trunk again. The rough bark scraped the wet fabric, but he adjusted his posture carefully, as if he wanted her to be more stable. Then he pressed the disc a little more firmly.
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Sofía squeezed her eyes shut. The sound of her heart, which until that moment she had only felt, now seemed external, something that existed outside of her, shared, heard by another.
—You’re… going… to… kill me…
—she murmured, more like a logical conclusion than a question.
The masked man remained completely still. Seconds passed. The disc stayed in place.
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The rhythm, due to fatigue and the cold, began to slow again, becoming less chaotic, heavier, like a distant drum instead of a frantic hammer. The man tilted his head slowly, as if that new cadence absorbed him completely. And for the first time since he had reached her, Sofía felt the pressure of his hand at her waist relax just slightly—not enough to release her, but enough that she could breathe a little more freely.
hah… haaah…hah… hah… haaah…hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
The stethoscope remained on her chest for several more beats. Then, with an almost solemn slowness, he removed it. He did not let it hang this time. He held it in his hand, observing it, as if the instrument had captured something valuable inside.
Sofía opened her eyes and looked at him, trembling.
Her voice broke at the end of the word. The masked man did not respond. But his hand, the one no longer holding the stethoscope, rose slowly from her waist to the center of her chest and, for an instant, pressed gently with the palm directly over the fabric of the blouse, right where her heart was still beating.
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There was no metal this time. Only the warmth of a human hand. As if he wanted to feel the beats himself, without intermediaries. Sofía held her breath, paralyzed, unable to decide whether that contact was more terrifying or stranger than everything before.
The palm of his hand remained on her chest. It was not a strong pressure. It was firm, but strangely careful, as if he were measuring something invisible beneath the fabric of the blouse, following the pulse that still throbbed forcefully inside her.
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Sofía did not dared to move. She felt the warmth of that hand filter through the damp cotton, right at the point where, minutes before, the cold metal had vibrated with each beat. The contrast between the two sensations disoriented her. Her breathing, though still irregular, had decreased slightly in intensity.
hah… haaah… hah…hah… hah… haaah…hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah
The masked man tilted his head slightly, as if listening also with touch. His fingers tensed slightly, pressing more firmly, and Sofía felt each contraction of her heart push against that hand, as if trying to escape from her own chest. He said nothing. The forest did not either. Only the soft whisper of leaves and that constant rhythm between the two of them.
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Sofía opened her eyes slowly, looking up at the mask. From that distance, she could distinguish small marks on the white surface: fine scratches, opaque areas where the paint seemed worn. The figure was not a supernatural presence. It was someone real. Someone breathing, touching, listening. That thought made her swallow.
—…have… you… heard… enough…?
Her voice came out weakly. The hand on her chest did not move immediately. It remained there for several more beats, as if the man were comparing what he felt now with what he had heard through the stethoscope.
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Finally, his fingers relaxed. The pressure lessened, and his palm began to slowly slide to the side, away from the center of her chest. The cold air filled the space his hand had warmed, and Sofía felt a shiver run across her skin beneath the fabric. The masked man took a step back. It was the first moment since he had caught her that there was no contact between them. Sofía remained leaning against the tree, trembling, her arms pressed to her body as if she had forgotten how to use them.
hah… haaah…hah… haaah… hah…hah… hah… haaah…hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah
The stethoscope hung again from his hand, swaying slightly. He watched it for a few seconds, as if considering using it again, as if he were not entirely satisfied with what he had heard. Sofía followed each of his movements with her eyes, too tired to flee, too confused to speak again. The man lifted his gaze—or at least, the mask turned toward her—and watched her in silence. Time stretched. One minute. Two. Her heart kept beating, now heavier than fast, like a drum losing strength after a run that was too long.
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Then, with a slow gesture, the masked man brought the stethoscope to his neck and let it fall onto his chest, where it hung as another piece of his black attire. Sofía blinked. That meant he was done. At least, with that. Her fingers trembled as she tried to steady herself against the trunk. She felt weak in the legs, as if they didn’t belong to her. The mud had partially dried on the fabric of her blouse and on her knees, tugging at her skin with every movement.
—…are… you… going… to leave…? —she asked, her voice barely audible.
The masked man did not respond with words. But he took a step back. Then another. His figure began to blend into the darkness among the trees, the black robe absorbing the little moonlight until only the white mask remained visible for a moment longer, floating in the gloom. Sofía watched him, too afraid to move.
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Finally, even the mask disappeared among the trunks. The forest was empty again. Silence returned abruptly, heavy, unreal, as if everything that had happened had been a fevered dream. Sofía remained there, leaning against the tree, listening to her own heart in the absence of the other.
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Her hands slowly rose to her chest, pressing the fabric of her blouse in the same place where the metal and the hand had been before. She could still feel the cold. She could still feel the pressure. And now, with no one else listening, the sound of her heartbeat seemed louder than ever inside her own head. The forest did not respond to her soft sobs when she finally broke down, exhausted, trembling, unable to understand why she had been pursued… only to be listened to.
Sofía did not know how long she remained there, leaning against the tree, hands on her chest, her breathing still shaky. The forest gradually regained its usual sounds: the rustling of branches, the occasional crackle of a small animal in the underbrush, the whisper of the wind moving the pine tops. But to her, everything sounded distant. As if she were still trapped inside her own body, listening to the echo of what had happened.
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When she finally managed to stand, her legs faltered, and she had to lean on the trunk to avoid falling again. She walked back toward the house with slow, unsteady steps, constantly looking over her shoulder, expecting to see that white mask again among the trees. It did not appear again. The door of the house was still open, swaying with the night breeze.
Sofía crossed the threshold carefully, as if afraid the interior had changed in her absence. She turned on the lights with trembling hands and walked through each room, searching for signs that he was still there. Nothing. No footprints, no moved objects, no trace of the presence that had altered her night. Just the silent house. Just her.
That very early morning, without even changing her dirty clothes, she took her things and left. She never slept there again. She never returned to that forest. For weeks, she tried to convince herself it had been an isolated encounter, a disturbed individual who had chosen her house by chance. But over time, stories began to appear.
First on local forums, then in small news articles that no one seemed to take seriously. People spoke of a figure dressed in black, of a white expressionless mask, of pursuits that ended not in murder or theft… but in something stranger. In every account, the detail repeated itself. A cold object against the chest. Absolute silence. And then, the figure disappearing into the darkness, as if it had obtained exactly what it sought.
A year later, a journalist managed to gather several testimonies. The victims did not know each other. They were of different ages, different places, different circumstances. But all described the same thing: The man did not strike first. He did not threaten. He did not speak. He just pursued. He waited. And when fear had reached its peak—when breathing became uncontrollable and the heart pounded as if it would break the ribs—then he intervened. Then he listened.
The psychologists who analyzed the cases offered different theories: a medical obsession, a childhood trauma, a paraphilia associated with the fear of others. No explanation could be confirmed. The only thing that seemed clear was his pattern.
The masked man did not seek money, nor revenge, nor even prolonged physical harm. He sought the sound of terror in its purest state. The chaotic rhythm of a heart beating on the verge of collapse. The broken breathing of someone who believes they are going to die.
That was his goal. And once he had heard it—once he had memorized every variation, every irregularity in that desperate heartbeat—he lost interest. He disappeared. Like a predator that does not feed on the body, but on the exact moment the prey realizes it cannot escape.
Years later, Sofía still woke some nights with the sensation of something cold against her chest.
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Her heart accelerated immediately, as if her body remembered before her mind. And in those moments, in the darkness of her room, she could not help but imagine him somewhere in the forest, with the white mask turned toward the night, waiting.
Waiting to hear that sound again.
The sound of a human heart losing control.
The forest seemed to have closed in around them.
There was no wind among the branches. No insects. No leaves moving. The night had become dense, almost solid, as if the air itself were silently watching what was happening beneath the trees.
Sofía hung in the arms of the masked man, held against his chest by a firm, immobile force. Her back rested against the dark robe, and the cold circle of the stethoscope remained pressed against the center of her blouse, right where her heart pounded desperately.
Her breathing was short, broken, as if each inhale had to pass through an invisible wall.
hah—hah—hah—hah—hah… haaah…hah… haaah… hah…hah… hah… haaah…hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah… haaah…hah… haaah… hah…hah… hah… haaah…hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah… hah… hah…hah—hah—hah—haaah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—hah—
Her chest rose and fell violently, crashing against the metal with every movement.
THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP
The sound was fast, frantic, so loud it seemed to fill the space between the trees. Each beat made the stethoscope’s diaphragm vibrate and travel up the tube to the man’s ears, who remained completely still, his head tilted.
Sofía tried to move her arms.
She only managed to make her fingers tremble weakly against the black fabric.
—No… —she whispered, barely a thread of a voice.
The masked man did not respond.
His posture was that of someone absorbed in a private melody, oblivious to the outside world.
THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP
Her heart was beating as if she were still running among the trees, as if her body had not understood that there was no escape.
The weight of Sofía’s body was beginning to become difficult to hold even for him. Not because she was heavy, but because she no longer cooperated: her muscles had stopped responding, and each time her chest tried to rise for a new breath, the movement stalled halfway, like a wave that never breaks.
The night’s cold had seeped under her blouse, sticking it to her damp skin. The stethoscope remained pressed against the center of her chest, transmitting every irregular vibration to the masked man’s ears.
THUMPTHUMPTHUMP… …THUMP…THUMP… …THUMP…THUMP… THUMP… TH…THUMP… THUMP…THUM…P...THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…TH… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…TH… THUMP… THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP… THUMP… TH…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP… THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP… THUMP… TH… THUMP… THUMP…TH… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP… THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… TH…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…THUMP… THUMP…
The rhythm was no longer a continuous pulse. It was a succession of isolated beats, spaced by silences too long. The man barely adjusted his posture, making sure the metal diaphragm did not lose contact for a single second. His breathing, slow and measured, contrasted with Sofía’s failed attempts to keep breathing.
Her eyelids trembled. Her lips moved, but no words came out.
And then her body began to give in.
His arms wrapped more securely around Sofía as she began to collapse.
He held her against his chest as if cradling her, but his posture had no tenderness: it was the cold precision of someone protecting an experiment in its final phase.
THUMP—… THUMP—… THUMPTHUMP—… THUMP—… THUMPTHUMP—… THUMP—… THUMPTHUMP—… THUMP—… THUMPTHUMP—… THUMP—… THUMPTHUMP—… THUMP—… THUMPTHUMP—… THUMP—… THUMP THUMP—… THUMP—… THUMP
The silence between the beats began to lengthen.
Sofía opened her mouth in a desperate attempt to take air. Her chest rose, but it failed to fill. Her eyes widened, glassy, disoriented.
Her voice broke before she could finish the word.
The masked man did not remove the stethoscope.
On the contrary, he pressed his ear closer, carefully, as if fearing the sound could escape at any moment. Sofía felt her strength leave her all at once. Her legs stopped supporting her, and her weight fell completely into the man’s arms, which held her effortlessly.
Her head rested against the dark fabric of his shoulder.
Barely a vibration against the metal.
The masked man remained completely still, listening, waiting, his breathing slow and controlled beneath the mask.
The silence extended so long it felt definitive.
A late spasm of an exhausted heart refusing to stop.
Sofía’s body shuddered slightly with that last movement, a minimal reflex that did not become a full breath.
Afterward, her chest remained still.
Her parted lips ceased to make sound.
Her hands, which had been weakly gripping the robe, slid down and hung lifeless.
The stethoscope transmitted nothing anymore.
The masked man kept the diaphragm pressed against her blouse a few seconds longer, ensuring there was no other hidden beat, no residual vibration, no delayed echo.
Slowly, he lifted the stethoscope.
Sofía’s body, now without muscular support, grew heavier in his arms. He carefully lowered her to the damp earth, resting her on the leaves and grass trampled during the chase.
Her head fell to the side.
Her chest remained motionless.
The man tilted his head, in the same gesture he had made before listening to her alive, but this time it was different.
It was the final gesture.
Like someone acknowledging that a musical piece has ended and there will be no more measures.
He placed the stethoscope inside his robe.
His steps began to recede among the trees.
The forest gradually filled with its own sounds again, indifferent, eternal, while in the darkness lay a motionless body and silence where once there were beats. For a few more seconds, the spot where the stethoscope had rested preserved the shape of the metal against the fabric, a slight indentation the night wind began to erase slowly.
The cold air slid over Sofía’s motionless chest, barely moving the fabric of her blouse. No muscular response, no delayed reflex, no residual sign of life. The masked man had already walked several meters away when the forest regained its usual rhythm. An insect began to sing in the distance. A branch creaked under the weight of some small animal.
None of that belonged to her anymore.
Where there had once been heartbeats, now there was only night and the absolute silence of a heart no one would hear again.
Epilogue - Dawn arrived without hurry
Light filtered through the tall forest branches in thin, pale lines, as if hesitant to touch the ground. The night’s humidity still hung in the air, and a low mist crawled between the trunks, covering the ground with a whitish layer.
The first human sound was not a scream, but the crunch of boots on dry leaves.
It was Tomás, the forest ranger who checked the perimeter every morning. He had walked these paths for years, and the forest was as familiar to him as the hallways of his own house. He could distinguish the noise of an animal from that of a person, the smell of wet earth from something out of place.
That morning, something did not fit.
The ground showed recent markings: flattened leaves, disturbed soil, an irregular trail leading among the trees.
Tomás frowned and followed the tracks.
As he advanced, the fog grew thicker. The sunlight barely penetrated it. Then, a few meters ahead, he saw something that did not belong to the forest.
A patch of light-colored fabric between brown and green.
—Hello? —he called, more out of habit than hope.
He approached with slower, cautious steps, as if afraid to startle an injured animal.
The figure on the ground began to take shape: first the outline of legs, then an extended arm, then the face partially hidden among strands of dark hair stuck by moisture.
Tomás felt his stomach tighten.
Sofía lay on her side, her blouse stained with mud and leaves clinging to the fabric. Her skin had that dull tone the forest alone could not produce. Her slightly parted lips seemed frozen mid-breath that never finished.
The ranger extended a trembling hand and placed it gently on her shoulder.
Not the cold of morning, but another, deeper, that did not leave with the sun’s warmth. Tomás withdrew his hand immediately, as if he had touched something forbidden.
He stood, looking around. The forest remained calm. No signs of a recent struggle, no visible trace of another person nearby… except for the footprints leading away in the opposite direction.
He brought the radio to his shoulder.
—Central… —his voice came lower than usual—. I need backup in the north sector. There’s… there’s a person here. I think she’s dead.
Static responded for a second before a distant voice answered.
While he waited, Tomás looked at the body again.
The soft dawn wind barely moved the fabric of Sofía’s blouse, lifting it and letting it fall again. For a moment, the movement made him think he saw her chest rise.
The silence was absolute, broken only by birds beginning to sing in the high treetops. Tomás looked down and noticed something else: a small circular mark on the fabric, right in the center of the chest, as if something had been pressed there firmly for a long time.
He paid it no attention at the moment. He just noted it, as one notes details not yet understood. In the distance, he began to hear a motor approaching along the dirt road.
The forest, which had witnessed the night and its final silence, now began to fill with human voices, hurried steps, and crackling radios. But among the trees, beyond where Tomás could see, the traces of another person had already vanished under the morning moisture.
And somewhere, far away, hidden under a black robe, a stethoscope rested in silence, waiting to hear another heart again.
The Investigation – One Week Later
The autopsy did not give the answers everyone expected.
The medical report spoke of acute cardiac collapse, caused by extreme stress and physical exhaustion. There were no toxins in the blood, nor internal injuries suggesting direct violence. Only Sofía’s heart, described in clinical terms, as “subjected to an abnormally elevated rhythm over a prolonged period.”
Inspector Lara Méndez left the report on her desk and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
—So… she died of fear —she murmured.
The coroner, on the other side of the desk, hesitated before responding.
—In simple terms… yes. But there’s more.
—It’s not a wound. It’s prolonged external pressure. Something circular, metallic, probably cold, pressed exactly on the sternum for several minutes… maybe longer.
The silence in the room was heavy.
Lara closed the report carefully.
—Like a stethoscope —she finally said.
The coroner did not smile.
—That’s exactly what I thought.
Two days later, Lara sat in front of a screen illuminated by a police database spanning decades. She had filtered cases by keywords: sudden death, no signs of violence, forest area, mark on chest.
At first, the results were chaotic.
But then patterns appeared.
A case in 2011: a man found near a lake, dead with no visible injuries. The report mentioned a “slight circular depression on the sternum.”
Another in 2004: a teenage girl found on a mountain trail. Cause of death: cardiac arrest. Curious detail: “slight skin irritation on the chest, rounded shape.”
Lara leaned back in her chair.
—It can’t be a coincidence…
There were more. Not many. Not enough to be obvious. But enough to form a faint line stretching back in time like a crack in glass.
In an improvised meeting, Lara laid several photographs on the table: images of old scenes, copies of reports, medical diagrams.
—All these people died without signs of direct violence —she explained—. All were in isolated places. And all present marks consistent with the pressure of a circular object on the chest.
One of the agents frowned.
—Are you suggesting someone… chased them to death from fear?
Lara shook her head slowly.
—Not from fear. From exhaustion. From extreme stress. But the strangest part isn’t that.
She pointed to the position of the marks in the photographs.
—The strangest part is that the object remained in contact even after the victim collapsed.
—Why would someone do that? —asked another agent.
Lara looked at the images for a moment before answering.
Three weeks after the discovery, a call arrived at the police station from a village near the forest. It was an elderly woman, nervous, insisting on speaking with Inspector Méndez.
Lara received her in a small interview room.
—I… I’m not sure what I saw —the woman began, twisting her hands—. It was years ago. Maybe fifteen… or more.
—Tell me anyway —Lara said gently.
—We lived near the forest. One night, my husband went out to check a noise outside. I followed a few minutes later. And I saw him… with someone.
The woman nodded, eyes shining.
—A black figure. Like a robe. And it was leaning over him… as if hugging him. But it wasn’t a normal hug. It had something in its hand, something pressed against his chest.
Lara felt her pulse rise.
—No. It was… round. Shone a little in the moonlight.
The woman lowered her gaze.
—I hid. I was scared. When I looked again, the figure was walking away. And my husband… was on the ground.
The report from that night, Lara now knew, had recorded the death as sudden cardiac arrest.
The Conclusion No One Wanted to Write
That night, Lara stayed alone in her office, staring at the board where she had placed photographs, maps, and lines connecting the cases.
A persistent idea formed in her mind, one that did not fit protocols or official reports.
It was not a common killer.
It left no mutilated bodies.
It did not even seem interested in hiding completely what it did.
It only chose isolated places.
And stayed long enough to listen to something no one else would consider valuable.
Lara closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the circular mark on Sofía’s chest.
—He doesn’t kill them —she whispered—. He just waits.
She opened her eyes and looked at the forest through the window.
In the darkness, the trees seemed motionless, but there was an unexplainable feeling: as if something moved among them, out of sight, following a rhythm no one else could hear.
And somewhere, hidden among the shadows of the trunks, a man in a black robe carefully adjusted the stethoscope’s earpieces, preparing for the next night.
The Hunt – Night Operation
Two months after Sofía’s death, the forest was full of lights again.
Not the erratic lights of an improvised search, but strategic points carefully placed among the trees. Night vision equipment, thermal cameras, and encrypted radios.
Inspector Lara Méndez observed the map spread across the hood of a truck.
—The victims were always alone —she said quietly—. Hikers, tourists, people who strayed from main paths. If he acts again, it will be in a place like this.
An agent adjusted his earpiece.
—And if he doesn’t show up?
Lara looked up at the darkness of the forest.
—Then we will keep waiting.
The night silence was denser than any sound.
Leaves barely moved. The air smelled of wet earth and old wood. Each agent occupied a fixed position, with strict instructions not to move unless necessary.
Radios crackled occasionally.
krrk… unit three, no movement…
krrk… unit five, all clear…
Some began to think Lara was chasing a ghost.
Near midnight, one of the thermal cameras picked up something.
It appeared between two trees, barely a silhouette warmer than the surroundings. It did not walk in a hurry. Did not seem nervous. It moved with the calm of someone who knew every meter of the terrain.
—Movement in the west sector —a voice whispered on the radio.
Lara took the transmitter.
—Do not approach. Just follow its path.
The figure stopped suddenly.
As if it had heard something the others could not.
Then it slowly turned its head in the exact direction of one of the hidden cameras.
—How…? —muttered the agent in front of the monitor.
The figure remained still for a few seconds.
Then it moved away in the opposite direction.
When the agents reached the spot where it had been, they found no clear footprints.
—Inspector… —called one of them.
On the ground, partially hidden under a branch, was a metallic object. A small silver cylinder, clean, without a single speck of mud.
It did not appear old or damaged. It was in perfect condition, as if someone had intentionally left it there.
Lara picked it up with gloves, feeling the cold metal through the latex.
—He saw us —she whispered—. And left this for us to find.
Back at the station, the technical team examined the stethoscope carefully. No useful fingerprints. But something caught one of the specialists’ attention.
—Inspector… there’s something inside.
The specialist carefully dismantled the diaphragm capsule and extracted a small hidden device inside.
—It’s full —he said—. Hours of audio here.
The silence in the room was absolute.
Lara looked at the device as if it were dangerous.
The file began with wind and footsteps.
Then a sound Lara recognized immediately.
The audio captured every vibration, every change in rhythm, amplified by the stethoscope’s metal.
Agitated breathing could also be heard.
—It’s her… —Lara whispered.
No one spoke for the next few minutes. The sound continued, the rhythm becoming irregular, disorderly.
THUMP—THUMP—… TH—THUMP—THUMP—
One of the agents brought a hand to his mouth.
—He records them —he said hoarsely—. He listens… and keeps them.
Lara turned off the player.
For a long moment, no one moved.
—It’s not just listening —she finally said—. It’s collecting.
She looked at the stethoscope on the table, now open, vulnerable, stripped of its clinical appearance.
—Every heartbeat is a trophy for him.
One of the agents spoke quietly.
Lara shook her head slowly.
—No. Because for him… this isn’t a crime.
That night, before leaving, Lara reviewed the thermal recordings of the forest once more. She paused the video at the exact moment the figure turned its head toward the camera.
She zoomed in as much as she could.
The mask was still a dark blot, featureless. But in the right hand, barely visible, was something reflecting infrared light.
He had not left the only one he had.
Lara closed the file slowly.
And for the first time since the case began, she felt more than determination.
Because somewhere, in the vastness of forests and lonely roads, there was a man walking silently, listening to the world not with ears, but with the obsession of someone who finds beauty in the exact moment a heart stops.
And now she knew they were searching for him.
Which meant that, sooner or later, he would also begin listening to the heartbeats of those who pursued him.
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