The Good Samaritan

Ryan’s character arc through these chapters charts a course from grief to moral corruption, a journey he attempts to legitimize. His discovery of Laura’s public persona as a charity fundraiser cements his resolve. The moment he finds her quoted in a newspaper article, using the exact phrase she used on him—“We’re here for you in whatever capacity you want us to be” (168)—collapses the distinction between her public altruism and her private predation. For Ryan, this confirms her duplicity and justifies his invasive actions. His visit to his grandfather becomes another pivotal moment of self-justification. Ryan unburdens himself and interprets his grandfather’s ambiguous utterance—“Eye, fa”—as an endorsement of revenge. This interpretation provides the moral mandate he seeks, transforming his vendetta into a form of righteous law. However, his grandfather’s vulnerable state recalls Laura’s interactions with Henry; the two even live in the same facility. This implies that Ryan may similarly be using his grandfather to exculpate himself.

Ryan’s methodical investigation thus repositions him from a figure of sympathy to a complex actor. This choice directly engages with the theme of The Blurred Line Between Victim and Perpetrator by making the reader complicit in his stalking and his creation of the “Steven” persona. Ryan’s pride in a performance worthy of an “Oscar […] for Best Dramatic Role via the Telephone” is an admission that blurs his quest for justice with the thrill of deception (163). The decision to surveil Laura’s entire family marks a particular ethical turning point, revealing that his mission is no longer about simple justice but about the complete destruction of his enemy’s life. His interest in Effie is especially significant; while later chapters suggest that he embraces a campaign of manipulation only after the confrontation with Laura at the empty house, the fact that he has already singled Effie out for attention implies he must have some idea of how he could use her. Overall, the sustained immersion in Ryan’s point of view demonstrates how the righteous anger of a victim can curdle into a methodology that mirrors the perpetrator’s own.

The parallels between Ryan and Laura’s methods also advance the theme of The Compulsive Nature of Manipulation and Control. In Ryan’s first conversation with Laura, he is frustrated by how quickly his plans go awry: “She’d taken complete control of the call and I was angry at myself for losing grip of my own plan” (166). Though revenge remains his primary goal, an element of ego thus emerges as Ryan battles with Laura for dominance. Ryan becomes a student of Laura’s craft, adopting the very tactics of psychological warfare she employs. His process is systematic: He creates a script, hones his delivery, and gathers intelligence on his target. This mirroring reveals that manipulation is not simply a tool but a mindset. Ryan learns Laura’s language, anticipating her moves and playing the role of the perfect victim—hesitant, then resolved, then vulnerable. Their phone conversations become a duel of feigned identities, where control is the ultimate prize.

The house Ryan bought for Charlotte undergoes a symbolic transformation in these chapters, shifting from a monument to a shattered future into a stage for revenge. He populates its walls with surveillance photos, weaponizing the architecture of his former dreams. This act is a manifestation of Rewriting Reality to Reconcile Trauma; unable to build the life he planned, he converts the space into a theater of retribution.

Meanwhile, the narrative builds suspense through pacing and dramatic irony. The pacing shifts from the slow burn of Ryan’s 81 failed phone calls to the accelerated tempo of active surveillance. The central dramatic irony lies in the gap between Ryan’s perception and the reality known to the reader. Ryan believes he is the predator cornering his prey, setting a trap for a woman he underestimates. His internal monologue reveals his fatal flaw: a belief that he remains in control. He plans to orchestrate a moment of terror, force an admission, and then walk away, believing, “I would let her go—but I wanted her to know that her actions had consequences” (190). The reader, however, has not only been inside Laura’s mind (and thus experienced her ruthlessness firsthand) but also knows in advance how the climactic confrontation that dismantles Ryan’s plan will unfold.

Nevertheless, Ryan’s point of view provides new insights into Laura’s character, undermining the narrative she has constructed for herself and pointing to her vulnerabilities. For example, his account of Laura at her daughter’s school contrasts starkly with her own. Where Laura attributes her reluctance to speak to other parents to their own shortcoming, remarking that they “fascinate[] and repulse[] [her] in equal measure” (42), Ryan’s account suggests she fears rejection: “Laura […] looked as if she might want to join them in conversation. Instead, she turned and walked away as if she were afraid to take the risk” (171). Besides foreshadowing that Laura is not nearly so involved in her children’s lives as she claims, this passage illustrates that Laura is not invincible: Her need to feel in control of her interactions with others in many ways controls her.