Dylan Anderson. The only name that floated through my head as I walked into my final, insurance-covered, therapy session. I walk through the stark white hallway, no decorations adorning the walls. It felt like I was in a movie scene. It almost looked like the owner paid in bulk to have this place furnished, even in the offices. Not one of Dr Hertz's books looked worn or used. As a matter of fact they all had a layer of dust coating the top. Plus, he didn’t strike me as a classics type, more of a fantasy or historical fiction kinda guy. Books that wouldn’t be acceptable to have in an office. 

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Pushing through the doors to the sterile therapy room, I sat on the couch. It was normal for me to walk into Dr. Hertz's room without him being there. He was a busy man, and I was his court-mandated patient. This isn’t to say he didn’t care about me; he did, or at least he faked it well enough. 

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I pulled out my phone and looked at the blank screen. No one needed me. Turns out when you’ve been presumed dead for over a year, people stop texting you. No one wants to text a dead girl, or in my case, not so dead. To be fair though I kinda wish I’d died. It would make a lot of people's lives easier. Turning my not-so-busy phone off, I stared at the desk in front of me. Dr. Hertz always struck me as a Ladybug type of organizer, with the drawer and boxes to hide stuff in, but he is definitely a butterfly. Everything that is important is out in the open. The files are meticulously placed, the post-sized calendar acts as a catch-all, hell, even the Kurige coffee pods are in the open. Kelly Rogers's folder was sitting open like a beacon. I had been wondering how she was doing, her file was also on the desk two sessions ago. 

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Kelly was the CEO of a big tech company, she had been struggling with sleep and her partner. From what I’d observed from our brief encounters, Kelly had been sleeping in her office, the wrinkles in her button-up would only be that pronounced if she was hunched over her desk for longer than 25 minutes or sleeping on a love seat made of leather and her phone backscreen was only of her kid. This might not seem crucial but on all of Kelly’s social media post, all three of them are in almost every photo. Why would Kelly have all three of them on her lock screen? Did I take the time to stalk Kelly? Maybe… but I am a resurected girl of 25 years with way to much free time. The truth of the matter though was Kelly and her partner, Issibell, were having issues, issues that meant she was sleeping in her office some nights. And since she has defined wrinkles on her shirt, she wasn’t going home to get a change of clothes. So, Kelly was staying in the office late alongside the handsome CFO Dean Mander. They were having an affair and Issibel found out kicking Kelly out of the house. How do I know all of this, you might ask? Well kelly never wore any jewlery other than her thin silver wedding band, nothing else. Until about 3 weeks ago when she walzed into Dr. Hertz office wearing a gold Rolex. This is weird because not only did Kelly not wear any jewelry but she never wore gold. In all of her social media post, if she is wearing any jewlery it is silver. The hoops she wore to the founder's dinner, silver. The bangles at the gala silver AND on top of that there was a rash on her wrist from the gold watch on her hand. All of this to indicate she was sleeping with Dean, the CFO of her company and Issabella found out. Case closed. 

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“Hello Mandy.” Dr. Hertz booms as he walks through the door. It isn’t that I dislike Dr. Hertz; it’s just that nothing he says is going to help me. While I might have spent a year tied up in a basement, I wasn’t helpless. I had been devising a plan. 

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About a year and a half ago a bunch of girls started to go missing, they seemed to vanish into thin air. Gail Maddoc was at a bus stop one minute and gone in the next, Jenny Kim was going to a routine house call; and lastly, me, Mandy Miller. I was going to class at the community college, exactly where Dylan Anderson loitered. Honestly, the guy was good. He was pretty but unassuming and was able to hide behind his parents' money. I knew there wasn’t much I could do to stop him from taking some other girl, so I became the next girl. It wasn’t that I had a death wish per-say I jsut wanted a challenge and Dylan Anderson happened to be that challenge. 

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For someone who was known for being untraceable I found him pretty easy. He was hiding in plan sight. 

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Dr. Hertz walked to his desk, adjusting his tie like he always did—a quick tug, then a slight roll of his shoulders, as if settling into a role. A habit. A practiced motion.  

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He sat down, lacing his fingers together. "Mandy, what’s on your mind?"  

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I tilted my head, watching him the way a cat watches a mouse. "Oh, you know. Psychology, behavioral patterns, the art of not getting caught."  

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His lips twitched. Just barely. Almost imperceptible. But I caught it.  

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"You’re still thinking about him," he said smoothly.  

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I smiled, slow and sharp. "Thinking? No. Solving? Yes."  

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I stood up, taking my time as I wandered around his meticulously arranged office. "Dylan Anderson’s problem is that he believes in chaos. Randomness. He thinks no one can predict his moves because he doesn’t follow a pattern." I trailed my fingers over his bookshelf, over the untouched spines of books that were just for show. "But see, that’s where he’s wrong. Chaos only looks unpredictable when you don’t know what you’re looking for."  

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Dr. Hertz said nothing, but I could hear the way his breath subtly shifted. Slower. More controlled.  

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"You know how I figured it out?" I turned to face him, crossing my arms. "It wasn’t the obvious things. Not the fact that you had other doctors patient files in here. Not the fact that your office is staged like a movie set—no personal details, no signs of real use." I took a step closer. "It wasn’t even the way you always called me Mandy, when my files, my court papers, everything official, says Amanda."  

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I leaned down, placing my hands on the desk between us. "It was your watch."  

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Dr. Hertz—Dylan Anderson—remained perfectly still.  

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"The same model you wore when you took me. The one I only saw for a second, catching the reflection in a basement mirror before you yanked it off. You stopped wearing it after I was found, didn’t you? But old habits die hard. You started again a few months ago. Thought I wouldn’t notice?" I tapped my temple. "That’s where you miscalculated."  

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A slow breath left his nose. Then, finally, he spoke. "And what do you plan to do with this... revelation?"  

I smiled. "Oh, that’s the best part." I turned toward the door but paused, looking back at him with a gleam in my eye.  

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"You ever play chess, Dr. Hertz?"  

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His mouth twitched, but I saw the tension in his jaw. "Not really."  

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"Shame. It’s a great game." I exhaled, slow and satisfied. "People always assume the queen is the most powerful piece because she moves the most. But the real threat? It’s the player."  

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I opened the door, stepping out into the hallway just as the sirens wailed outside.  

Because I didn’t just figure him out. I made sure the game ended before he could make another move.  

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Checkmate.