Chapter Fifteen – Reese
It was a good thing I’m quick at what I do; I was not expecting anyone to come home so soon.
I had the cameras and microphones set up, and I was about to leave the house, when I heard voices outside—so I darted up the stairs and found myself a dark window on the second floor of the house.
A quick look was all I needed to see that Wren had come home…
and Logan had walked with her. She must’ve met him there.
And here I thought tonight I’d have enough time to go through her things, to learn more about her. Alas, I’d have to settle for the microphones and cameras.
I managed to crack it open without making a sound, so I was able to listen to the little conversation Wren and Logan had before she told him goodnight and entered the house. Thankfully he did not come in with her.
I know I should find shadows to cling to until she hides away in her bedroom for the night, but…
let’s just say doing the smart thing isn’t in my blood, not when it comes to obsessions.
Going too hard, doing too much; it’s what we Scotts do.
The lengths my father went in order to make sure he was all my mother had… it’s damn near legendary.
So, no. I don’t do the smart thing. I rush back to Wren’s room—it wasn’t difficult for me to discern which room was hers.
The one minus the jewelry boxes filled with diamonds and the closet with designer clothes.
Her roommate, Sloane Karnagy, has a bit of a dark side herself. Same with Elias Whitenbaker.
But I’m not here for them, although I will keep an eye on them, only so that I can know more about Wren, so when I make it to Wren’s room, I crawl beneath her bed.
She’s neat; she doesn’t store anything beneath her bed, and thankfully it’s high enough off the floor that I have enough room.
It must be newly-placed in the room, because the carpet beneath the bed has no dust bunnies to speak of.
Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad. What am I getting myself into? It’s been so long since I had a hunt, too long since I had a good chase. Even though my life could spectacularly blow up because of this, I have to. I simply can’t resist.
Lying in wait is something I’m used to. It’s an innate ability of mine, blending in, sticking to the shadows, being silent all the while.
What people don’t look for, they never find.
It’s remarkably easy to sneak up on someone when they aren’t anticipating it.
Someone who never looks under the bed has no reason to think a person is there.
Wren makes it to her room. When she does, she flicks on the light and closes her door. I turn my head and watch as her bare feet cross the room. I hear her sigh, a soft, feminine sound of pure exasperation and perhaps even a little sadness, and then the sound of a zipper being undone.
She left the house tonight all dolled up, looking gorgeous in a way she never does during the day, for class. As much as I wanted to follow her, it was my only chance to bug the house while everyone was away.
Shortly after that, the dress she wears falls off her body, down around her ankles, and she steps out of it before bending to pick it up. The sound of drawers opening and closing tells me she’s getting out pajamas, then a knock on her door.
Shit. The others must have followed her home and ended their night early, too.
“Wren,” another girl’s voice speaks—must be Sloane.
The girl who’s been around one too many murders for it all to have been a coincidence.
Oh, no. Call me psychic, but I have the feeling she had a hand in one of them, or even all of them.
Death doesn’t follow normal people around like that. I’d know.
“Hold on,” Wren says, as she must hurry to finish changing. She then walks to the door and opens it. “You guys could’ve stayed at the party. You didn’t have to leave just because I did.”
“We were worried about you.” A moment passes. “Okay, I was worried. Someone like you shouldn’t walk home alone in the dark.” Huh. Sounds like Sloane is a little protective of Wren, something I’m not expecting, since based on my research, she and Wren didn’t know each other a month ago.
“I didn’t walk alone. Logan came with me.”
A moment before Sloane mutters, “I saw. I’m surprised he didn’t bully his way in.”
Wren sighs. “I know I bash him a lot, but… I don’t know. He’s not so bad.”
“Do you like him?”
I lay there in wait, wondering what Wren’s reply will be, and what I want it to be. A part of me, the instinctive part, wants her to say an emphatic no, but the more realistic side assumes that, whatever is between her and Logan, it’s messy. She might not even know the answer.
And Logan? I’ll bug his place soon enough.
“No,” Wren finally says. “I don’t think so. Don’t you think it’s too soon to like someone else, anyway? I mean, I was with Mike for four years.”
“If you like someone, you like them. There’s nothing you can do about it. Doesn’t matter who you are or who they are, same with timelines. If you like him, you like him, and if you don’t, you don’t.” A moment before she asks, “Did something happen at the party?”
“I saw him,” Wren whispers. “Mike. He… was across the room. I don’t know if he saw me.
If he did, he didn’t care, and if he didn’t…
it’s like he’s fine. Like he’s not torn in two.
It makes me wonder if everything was in my head.
Maybe our relationship was never as strong as I thought it was.
” Softer, barely audible, she adds, “Maybe I’m just stupid. ”
My gut twists when I hear her say that. She’s the last person I’d ever call stupid.
Hell, she got every single question right on my just-for-fun pre-test, and she did it in record time.
The former has never happened before, but to do it so quickly…
she’s something special, and she doesn’t seem to know it.
I can’t help but wonder what she’d do in one of my hunts.
“No,” Sloane tells her what I cannot, “you’re not stupid. Your ex is. It’s going to be okay. Maybe you just need a little more time.”
“Thanks,” she tells her roommate. “I think I’m just going to bed. Night.”
“Night.”
With that, Wren shuts her bedroom door, flicks off the lights, and walks around the bed. The box spring sways as she crawls onto it, but it doesn’t sink down on me, thankfully. The darkness of her room lights up thanks to what I assume is her phone as she probably doomscrolls social media.
But, no. She’s not doomscrolling, because after a while, I hear it: a video. The volume is low, but it’s enough for me to listen.
Singing. Singing an old song, maybe from the nineties: “I thought I saw a man—” A girl’s voice, not the original singer’s, along with an acoustic guitar, and it snaps into place for me, just like that: the voice is Wren’s. Soft, haunting, but beautiful.
I want her to turn the volume up so I could hear it better, but I know she’s keeping it quiet enough that the others in the room next to hers wouldn’t be able to hear.
Faint as it is from where I am, it’s a voice I want to hear more of, a siren’s voice, and I am suddenly nothing but a sailor unable to steer my ship away from the jagged rocks she calls home.
Wren doesn’t let the song finish. She must shut off the screen to her phone, because it goes silent the same time the room becomes dark once again. I assume she rolls onto her side and sets her phone on the small nightstand nearby. She sniffs, and I wonder if she’s crying.
It’s not a pleasant thought, strange as it is. I don’t like the idea of Wren laying alone in bed, crying. I want to crawl out from where I am and comfort her, but I’m not stupid. If I reveal myself she’ll freak out—as any sane person would.
This ex of hers… he really fucked up, but where he fucked up, I wouldn’t.
Time crawls by, and I lay there with my eyes open, waiting, patient.
When you’re a hunter, you must be patient.
Only strike when the time is right. I wait until I think she’s fallen asleep, and then I wait more just for good measure, and I wait even more after that.
By the time I crawl out from underneath her bed, I have no idea how long I was under there, but it doesn’t matter.
Wren is asleep, her head turned in toward the wall, away from me. She lays on her back, the sheets a mess around her as her chest rises and falls with slow, even breaths. Fast asleep, the sorrow of being awake no longer haunts her, and she is the epitome of peace.
Only a few feet away. So close, I could touch her.
My hands think about it, but I resist the urge.
I don’t know how heavy of a sleeper she is, if I would wake her—and I unfortunately don’t know her well enough yet to know how she’d react to a stranger in her room at night.
If she’s like most everyone else, she’d scream.
And that’s understandable. Most people’s thoughts would go to either murder or rape, or a combination of the two.
I’m no stranger to the illegal side of things, obviously, but I’m not an animal in the sense of a common murderer.
No. There is a difference between the cooks at a fast food joint and the chefs at a five-star Michelin restaurant.
They are simply not the same. One might know how to adequately cook a burger and fries, but the latter truly understands the chemistry of creating a meal that will tantalize every taste bud.
The latter knows how to switch out ingredients, play around, and make something truly unique and special.
No, killers are every day. Killers are average, so common most don’t even make the news anymore. I am so much more than that, my family is so much more than that.
I don’t know exactly what I want to do with this girl just yet, whether she’ll become my first true hunt in over two years, or if I want something more from her.
Craving the touch of another, a relationship, sex—I’m not a stranger to it, but I’ve never really been fully immersed when I did have them.
I’ve dated in the past to try it out, to look normal, to play the part society wants me to play.
I think my longest relationship was a whopping four months.
Not long, in the grand scheme of things.
So, because there’s nothing else I can do here tonight, I turn away from Wren.
I head toward her door and slip into the hall without making a sound.
I wait a moment to be sure there is no movement in the house, and when I hear not a single thing, I turn toward the stairs.
Soon enough I’m exiting the house through the back door—had to avoid the front entirely thanks to the doorbell camera, and thankfully the neighbors didn’t have anything pointed in this direction.
Tonight did not go as planned, but still, I accomplished my goals. I’ll be able to listen, to watch, to get to know Wren better, much more than I would if I simply relied on our class time together.
Some men might not look twice at a girl who’s as broken and depressed as Wren, but those men would miss out.
I’ve found that you can only really get to know someone’s inner workings when they think they’ve lost it all, when they believe they have nothing to lose.
When nothing is perfect in their life, their true self comes out.
I wonder… does Wren’s true self have a penchant for the darkness, or will she refuse to play my game once I lay the board before her? Time will tell.