Chapter 42: The Set-Up “He said I’d call?” I repeated, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. I’d come here seeking answers, some kind of explanation for the paranoia that had been eating me alive, and now Greg was dropping this bomb. Greg shifted in his seat, the smugness finally gone from his face. He looked genuinely uncomfortable. “Yeah, man. It was weird. A couple of weeks ago, when he was still around more often, before… everything. He said if anyone came asking about him, especially you, I should tell you he knew you’d call.” “Knew I’d call? About what? Did he say anything else?” I pressed, my mind racing. How could Noah have known I’d be digging into his past? It was like he was playing a game, and I was just a pawn moving according to his plan. Greg ran a hand through his hair. “That’s it, man. Just that you’d call. And that I should tell you that he left a message for you, but he can only deliver it himself.” “A message? What the hell is this, some kind of spy movie?” I scoffed, but the unease in my gut was growing. This wasn’t just about jealousy or a crush anymore. This was something else, something darker. “I don’t know, Jim. I’m telling you, it was weird. He was acting… different. More intense than usual. I didn’t think much of it at the time, figured he was just getting into some new role or something. But now…” Greg trailed off, shaking his head. “Did he seem surprised about any of this?” I asked, “Like the threats made to me, my blow up in the coffee shop, the arrest or anything? Did he ever mentioned that or alluded to that?” “No, man, like I said, this was weeks ago. I think he probably just knew you’d come around eventually since you’re so close to Demitra.” “Great so he planned this,” I grumbled under my breath. I stood up, agitated, pacing the small space between the table and the wall. Noah knew I was going to investigate him. He anticipated my suspicions, even left a message for me. It was a carefully constructed game, and he was several steps ahead. “He set this up,” I said, more to myself than to Greg. “He planned all of this.” Greg reached out, grabbing my arm. “Hey, calm down, man. You’re getting worked up over nothing. Maybe he was just being dramatic. You know how actors are.” “No, Greg, you’re not seeing this. This isn’t just about acting. He knew. He knew I’d be coming after him.” I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all. The anonymous calls, the mention of Ms. Hanover, the feeling that I was being watched… it all pointed to Noah. “Look, even if he did somehow know, what are you going to do about it? Go confront him? That’s exactly what he wants, isn’t it?” Greg argued, his voice rising. “You need to chill out, Jim. Don’t let this guy get to you.” “Chill out? Greg, he threatened me! He’s messing with my life, with Demitra. I’m not going to just sit here and do nothing.” I pulled away from Greg’s grip, my anger simmering. “I am a bit confused about what this message is about to be honest,” I said “And that’s why I have to find him, if he wanted to send me a message.” “And what, you’re going to beat him up? That’s not going to solve anything. It’s just going to get you into more trouble,” Greg countered. “You’re already on thin ice with the cops and the judge. You can’t afford to screw this up.” I knew Greg was right, logically. But logic wasn’t exactly my strong suit at the moment. All I could think about was Noah, pulling the strings, watching me squirm. I needed to face him, to get answers, to put an end to this. “I’m not going to beat him up,” I said, though I couldn’t promise anything. “I just need to talk to him. Find out what he knows, what he’s planning.” “And you think he’s just going to tell you? He’s going to be honest with you after you just accused him of being behind all this stuff?” Greg scoffed. “Come on, Jim, use your head for once.” “I don’t care,” I said, my voice hard. “I’m going to find him, and I’m going to get answers. One way or another.” I grabbed my jacket from the back of the booth. “Where are you going?” Greg asked, his voice laced with concern. “I’m going to find Noah,” I said, heading for the door. “And I’m going to get him to tell me what the hell is going on.” “Jim, wait!” Greg called after me, but I didn’t stop. I pushed open the diner door and stepped out onto the bustling Bleecker Street sidewalk. I didn't know where Noah was, but I knew I had to find him. I pulled out my phone, scrolling through my contacts. I wanted to get to the bottom of the situation. I found Noah's contact. I paused, my thumb hovering over the call button. Calling him felt like walking into a trap, like playing right into his hands. But I didn’t see any other way. “I can’t call. He knows I’ll call. What do I do?” A few moments later, after thinking long and hard, I decided to text him. I tapped the message icon and started typing. My fingers flew across the keyboard, fueled by a mix of anger, frustration, and a desperate need for answers. *“We need to talk. Now.”* I stared at the message, rereading it several times. It was blunt, direct, and left no room for interpretation. It was exactly what I wanted to say. But then, I started overthinking. What if he didn't reply? What if this was what he wanted, to play with my feelings and make me look desperate? Was it too aggressive? Did I sound too eager? I took a deep breath, deleting the message. I needed to play this smart, not let my emotions get the best of me. I started typing again, this time crafting a more calculated message. *“Hey Noah, it’s Jim. Got a minute to chat?”* I cringed. It sounded weak, almost friendly. It was the opposite of how I felt. Delete. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to clear my head. This was harder than I thought. How do you confront someone who seems to be anticipating your every move? After a few more failed attempts, I decided to go with something simple, something that conveyed my urgency without giving away too much. *“Where are you?”* I stared at the message, hesitating. It was short, to the point, and left the ball in his court. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best I could come up with. I took another deep breath and tapped the send button. The message disappeared into the digital ether, and I was left waiting, my heart pounding in my chest. Now all I could do was wait, and hope that Noah would take the bait. I started walking, not really sure where I was going. I just needed to move, to burn off some of the nervous energy that was coursing through my veins. I wandered aimlessly through the streets of Greenwich Village, past cafes and boutiques, lost in my thoughts. Every few seconds, I glanced at my phone, willing it to light up with a response from Noah. But nothing. I started to doubt my decision. Maybe I should have just confronted him directly, shown up at his apartment or wherever he was hiding. But what if he wasn’t alone? What if he was waiting for me, ready to spring some kind of trap? No, texting him was the right move. It gave me some control, some distance. It allowed me to assess the situation before diving in headfirst. I walked for what felt like hours, my anxiety growing with each passing minute. Finally, just as I was about to give up hope, my phone buzzed. My heart skipped a beat. I fumbled with the phone, unlocking it with trembling fingers. It was a message from an unknown number. *“Who is this?”* My blood ran cold. How did someone else get my number? It could’ve been someone doing Noah’s dirty work. It was likely not Noah, who already had my number. It was probably just some random bot, or some person who wanted money. Before I could reply, another message came through. *“Wrong number, sorry.”* And then, a text from Noah *“What’s this about?”* I stared at the message, my mind racing. He was playing coy, pretending not to know why I was contacting him. But I wasn’t buying it. I quickly typed out a reply. *“Don’t play dumb. We both know what this is about.”* I waited for his response, my anticipation reaching a fever pitch. This was it. The moment of truth. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed again. *“I have no idea what you’re talking about. If this is about Demitra, I don’t know what to tell you. I have no interest in you or Demitra. We were just friends.”* I scoffed. He was still trying to deny it, to act innocent. But I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. *“Cut the crap, Noah. I know you’re behind the threats. I know you’re messing with me. I want to know why.”* I hit send, my finger hovering over the screen, ready for his reply. A few minutes passed, but nothing came through. I started to get impatient, my anger rising. *“Noah, answer me. What do you want?”* Still nothing. I tried calling him, but the call went straight to voicemail. He was ignoring me. He was refusing to engage. I felt a surge of frustration, a desperate need to lash out. I wanted to scream, to break something, to make him pay for all the stress and anxiety he had caused me. But I knew that wouldn’t solve anything. It would just make things worse, play right into his hands. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I needed to think clearly, to come up with a plan. If he wasn’t going to talk to me, I would find him. I would confront him face to face, and I would get my answers. I started pacing again, my mind racing. Where would he be? Where would he go if he was trying to avoid me? I thought about Demitra. Maybe he was with her, hiding behind her protection. But that didn’t feel right. He wouldn’t want to put her in danger. Then it hit me. The theater. He would go to the theater. It was his sanctuary, his safe place. It was the one place where he felt in control. I pulled up Google Maps on my phone and searched for the nearest theater. There were several in the area, but one stood out: the Cherry Lane Theatre, a small, off-Broadway venue known for its experimental productions. It felt right. It felt like the kind of place Noah would gravitate towards. I started walking towards the theater, my pace quickening with each step. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, a mix of fear and excitement. I didn’t know what I would find when I got there. I didn’t know what Noah was capable of. But I knew that I had to confront him, to put an end to this nightmare. As I approached the theater, I scanned the street, looking for any sign of Noah. I didn’t see him. I took another deep breath and reached for my phone. It was time to force his hand. I opened my messages and typed a quick text. *“I know where you are. Meet me outside the Cherry Lane Theatre in ten minutes. Or I’m coming in after you.”* I hit send, then walked towards the theater, ready for whatever awaited me. This was it. The showdown. I waited for a response, leaning against the brick wall of the Cherry Lane Theatre. Each passing second felt like an eternity. The sounds of the city faded into the background as my focus narrowed. Then, my phone vibrated. A text from Noah. *“Fine.”*