Chapter 3
AMbrOSE
August
I’ve been watching her for weeks now. She hadn’t been my original target, but to her misfortune, she caught my attention nonetheless. The man I had been planning on killing is long forgotten.
She’s my only focus now.
My fascination with her started with something so small: petty theft.
Shoplifting. That in itself is nothing revolutionary, but when I had witnessed her slipping a bottle of vanilla extract, of all things, into her purse, I couldn’t help but wonder why.
There were much more expensive things she could have chosen.
Intrigue, not logic, guided my actions as I followed her out of the store and watched her from a distance as she loaded up her groceries into a car that gave further proof she wasn’t shoplifting due to lack of money.
I’m not ashamed to say that I followed her home. My interest was piqued. But my hour of watching her turned to days, and slowly, she became my obsession.
She didn’t notice—at least, not at first. I watched her for days as she followed a mind-numbing routine and catered to a petulant, egotistical man, only breaking down when she thought she was alone.
I cannot pretend I am not captivated by her contradictions.
She changes when she’s alone, and it’s those moments when she thinks no one is watching that fascinate me the most. Every time she goes to the grocery store, she slips a cheap item in her purse, and for the life of me, I cannot figure out why.
I’ve seen her stare off into space for minutes at a time before returning to the present moment.
I’ve watched her stay calm through the most infuriating of situations only to break down in tears because she knocked over a drink that spilled onto the floor.
I’ve listened to her sing along to the oldies rock station when she thinks she’s home alone.
I’ve also noticed her starting at the knives in the kitchen just a little too long and a little too often.
She’s beautiful but broken, and she wears the despair like a chain around her neck.
It shows in the way she carries herself, hunched and crossing her arms whenever possible, like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible.
Purple hollows are permanent fixtures beneath her eyes, dark against her pale skin, and her waist-length brown hair is usually secured in a messy bun.
I don’t think she’ll make it much longer. I’ve been around long enough to see the signs, and it seems as though she’s hitting a breaking point.
I could be selfish and use her death to my advantage… It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done something of the sort. But something tells me to wait.
My presence has only served to unsettle her and throw her more off-balance from the precarious mental state she was already in.
After watching her for a week or so, I allowed her to see me, but only in glimpses.
But instead of being afraid, she’s curious.
Desperate. Somehow, she’s deluded herself into believing I’m here to help.
She wants me to be her guiding light, but the only thing I can do is drag her into a different sort of darkness.
She senses I’m dangerous, but then again, she’s no stranger to fear. Like a moth to a flame, she insists on coming closer, attempting to figure out the identity of the shadow who’s been haunting her. It’s a fatal attraction, yet she seems to be unaware of the dire consequences.
Once she realizes what I am, it will be too late for her to run.