My, oh my, her death wish. The meaningless little server approaches him, nonchalant about the fact that I almost moved up her meeting with sweet Jesus.
Well, this is interesting.Possessiveness. Less than twenty-four hours ago, I didn’t even know him, but now, I feel justifiably entitled to be the only person he talks to.
He looks at her, giving her something that cannot be more than a one-syllable answer, and stands up abruptly while slipping his phone into his pocket. Why are you in a rush, my little Professor? Meeting? Something wrong? I’ll fix it, don’t worry.
His face switches back to the calm, detached expression a second later, but I catch it. Something changes in his demeanor. I allow myself a few more moments once he gets out of the café, allowing the prey to experience five extra delusional seconds of freedom before their fate is sealed.
I melt into the shadows behind him, matching his every move. The city around us fades into background noise as the cool, persistent drizzle, typical of Seattle in March, falls.
I stay close, not enough for him to detect me but close enough for me to mirror every one of his moves. Following hadlong become an art for me, the ability of being invisible while in the middle of the crowd.
His footsteps lead me through rain-drenched streets shadowed by the faint light of the sunset. The walk doesn’t take long, and he—we—arrive in front of a building I know too well already. His home.
My pulse thunders, but I force it to slow. Today’s hunt will have to end here. There is no reason for a reckless rush or useless frenzy. Our story will bleed slowly until the point I finally get what I want.
I linger a moment longer in the shadows, watching the door swallow him whole, then I slip away. One more plan needs to be put in motion tonight.
Fifteen minutes away from his apartment is the faculty building. The outside screams “modern,” while the interior is barely keeping it together. The sad, typical, “low funds but we try to show off” story of most universities in the States.
I circle to the side entrance, waiting for the moment when the guard is done with his rounds and goes for a smoke break, which should be…three minutes from now. Once I see the light in the hallway turn off, I enter.
The heavy metal door is rusted at the edges, with a keypad flickering on the side. I don’t actually have the access code to get in, but this university is barely providing the necessities, so there’s no way it could give me trouble.
Six seconds later, the faint click from the lock pricks my ears. I move toward the second floor, where I know his office is located, following the map my mind memorized last night.
It doesn’t take me long before I finally push the door open just enough to slip inside. A breathless moment, and I’m in his territory.
His scent hits me immediately. Azrael’s intoxicating scent curls through the office air. Sandalwood and cardamom, and a hint of cigarette smoke. Can a man smell any more delicious?
My footsteps fall silent against the thick carpet. I pause for a second, letting my eyes adjust to the soft glow of the desk lamp casting shadows across the walls.
My eyes catch the bookshelf made of dark wood, heavy from the weight of all the volumes resting on it. As I move closer to it, my fingers tremble as they touch the spines of his books, the same books he has probably touched thousands of times.
I pull one out, inhaling the scent of old paper, imagining the thoughts waged within those pages. What does he see when he reads them? What twisted thoughts are invading his brain when he looks at these pages?
The desk calls to me next, a mirror of the perfectly organized Azrael. My finger drifts to a small silver pen resting in the crease of a book, his favorite, maybe. I roll it between my fingers, feeling the cold metal, imagining his hand wrapping around it, the pressure on the tip of his fingers as he holds it—Stop fantasizing about him choking you!
I crouch low, pulling a small camera from the bag I prepared hours ago, long before Alex called me.
It finds its place beneath the desk, nestling into the corner, the lens capturing the entrance. Another camera goes on his bookshelf, tucked between two volumes. I adjust the angle carefully, knowing it will watch when I can’t.
The third camera will monitor the room from the window’s edge, ensuring it has visibility over the entire room.
Once the cameras are in place and their microphones are turned on, I quickly sync them all to my phone, watching the small screen flicker to life as I stream myself into the room.
I like this. Me, in his personal space. Him, unaware.
A soft creak of the floorboards in the hallway reminds me I shouldn’t be here, as I’m technically an intruder.
I’m about to turn and leave, but the urge claws at me. As much as I love a good haunting game, he needs to understand he’s being watched, and I have full access to him as I please.
Scanning the desk, I settle my gaze on a folder shoved beneath a pile of papers. I slide it toward me, tearing a corner from one of his reports, while grabbing his pen.
So now that I’ve grabbed your attention…
I place the folder and the pen back in their places, but leave the note on top of the papers. If he misses it, well, I tried. But I really hope he doesn’t.
The streets are quiet now, surrendered to the darkness of night. Somehow, the air itself knows that the center of gravity is shifting.