Chapter Fifteen: The Distorted Copy
"The worst thing that can happen to a dark idea
is not that it gets stopped…
but that it is born the wrong way."
— Edgar Wilmore
The crime wasn't shocking because of its brutality…
but because of its imperfect resemblance.
The flower was in the same place.
The victim belonged to the same category.
The neighborhood… one of Edgar's old territories.
But the details?
They were wrong.
The wound was deeper than necessary.
The autopsy was chaotic.
No message—just a crude phrase:
"Art never dies."
Howard stared at the body for a long time.
"This isn't him…
but he wants us to think it is."
The newspapers exploded:
"The London Killer Returns?"
"Crime Writer Under Suspicion"
Eliza read the headlines in silence.
She didn't feel anger.
She felt danger.
The imitator doesn't just kill…
he rewrites the story.
When Edgar saw the photos,
he didn't get angry.
He trembled.
He said quietly:
"This isn't murder…
this is blind imitation."
And for the first time,
he felt real disgust.
Whoever does this doesn't understand meaning…
doesn't understand the silence
between the stab and the idea.
He smashed the mirror with his fist.
"Get out of my head."
Edgar was called in for questioning.
Not officially…
but the message was clear.
Howard said:
"You know more than you're saying."
Edgar replied calmly:
"And you see less than you think."
Then added:
"If I wanted to return…
I wouldn't need all this."
Howard didn't smile.
This man isn't defending himself…
he's defending his idea.
She visited Edgar after the interrogation.
She said bluntly:
"He's copying you to frame you."
Edgar replied:
"No…
he's copying me because he wants to be me."
He paused, then said:
"Isn't that what you did too?"
She looked at him steadily.
"No.
I wanted to understand you… not become you."
That was the first real wall between them.
The next crime came faster.
But this time…
the imitator left something personal.
A pseudonym.
A symbol that was never public.
A detail known only to:
Edgar.
Eliza.
And a third person… very close.
Howard realized the truth:
"The imitator isn't a reader…
he's a witness."
Late at night,
Edgar sat down and wrote a message
not sent to the police…
nor to Eliza.
But to the imitator.
"You steal my shape,
but you can't endure my silence.
If you want to see me…
come alone."
It was a risk.
But Edgar no longer accepted being distorted.
Near midnight,
Eliza received a short message from an unknown number:
"If you want to save him…
don't trust him."
At the same time,
Howard stood before a map of London
and told himself:
"Either I take down two killers…
or I lose everyone."
As for Edgar,
he wore a calm, terrifying smile:
"Now…
I will see my face
in a shattered mirror."