3. You Don’t Know My Name
you don’t know my name
César
I spend two weeks following her routine only to find that my dangerous subject is a philanthropic, considerate, and seemingly kind woman.
Nothing about the way Deirdre carries herself publicly or privately screams criminal or murderer.
Unfortunately, this extends my time on her case, because the Hales are determined to find something .
If only she’d let the mask fall enough for me to wrap this shit up, I’d be outta here and everything would go back to normal.
Well, as normal as things could be for me.
Deirdre Klarke may be the most fascinating subject of my career. It amazes me how she moves as a woman in the mob while presenting herself as an upstanding citizen. A pretty girl with a bright smile can easily fool everyone around her.
But not me.
The most challenging part of this case isn’t her attractiveness, it’s that I haven’t actually witnessed her doing anything worth reporting. When you keep eyes on someone long enough, they’ll grow comfortable and eventually reveal themselves as if someone isn’t watching.
I’ll admit the complexity of this case has taken my mind off of worrying about my abuela every second of the day. She’s been sick for a while and doesn’t have a lot of time left. So I’m sure to spend every free moment I have with her, like I am right now.
I always accompany her to her dialysis appointments, and we make the best of it.
Before Deirdre, I’d find myself bored whenever Abuela fell asleep, exhausted from the treatments.
Since I hacked into her office cameras, I now have a source of entertainment as I monitor her working through her webcam from an app on my phone.
Her life is structured, often relying on reminders and alarms to hold herself accountable. She leaves little room for error and panics whenever something doesn’t go according to plan. Hardly says no and struggles to enforce boundaries in her professional life.
For some reason, she’s reliant on little white lies to assure those around her. If she was a talking doll, her voice box would say, “don’t worry, I’m fine,” “everything’s okay,” and, “no worries, I’ll take care of it.”
All the while, she is one hiccup away from bursting into tears, which usually ensue after interactions with her family and friends. I’ve witnessed the outbursts firsthand, and they’re uncomfortable to watch. That still doesn’t explain what it is that weighs on her.
She’s a puzzle that keeps my mind sharp; her scattered pieces only make things more interesting. She’s mindful and behaves like someone who suspects they’re being watched, but I’ll credit that to her upbringing. Or a bad case of anxiety, maybe even guilt.
However, no one in her family has been convicted of anything. Even when she was named as a person of interest in the death of Lawrence Wiley, it was brief and the local police issued a statement to clear her name.
It’s no secret what her family does, but they’re too thorough and well respected within their communities to be placed under fire. They haven’t even gone to war with a rival family in nearly thirty years.
On paper, the Klarkes are clean as a whistle compared to their colleagues, but they wouldn’t have the reputation they do if that were the truth.
And once I discover who Ms. Klarke is whenever she slips—well, I’m on the edge of my seat, because this reveal may surprise even me.
Is that so wrong that I’m tempted to see just what lies beneath the character she plays? Will she be afraid, angry, or intrigued by my interference? Only one way to find out, and the thought has my heart racing.
Provoking her could either be life-threatening, turn me on, or both. And if it does, I vow to attend therapy more than twice a month. I’ll admit I should’ve scheduled a session once I felt compelled to install cameras in her home, but I can’t explain that without setting off alarms.
Also, my therapist is a woman, so the last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable around me or say anything she’ll need to report. Safe territory topics will have to suffice for me to maintain some semblance of control over my mental health.
I’ve learned how to navigate therapy, and censoring myself is key since I’d prefer to avoid grippy socks and handcuffs. Unless I consent to using them, of course.
A few ideas cycle through my mind as to how I could disrupt Deirdre’s routine in an unthreatening way. I’ll give her a choice to engage or not, and see if she takes the bait.
I find myself tossing and turning tonight. I’m not as tired as I should be, and I’m fighting the urge to check on her, curious if she’s awake. I reach for my remote, flip on the TV, and pull up the app for her camera feed.
I press the arrow button to change the channel until I find her in bed reading with a book light hanging around her neck. How does she get anything done when she hardly sleeps? And how does she manage to still look incredible even when she’s exhausted?
She’s reading a romance novel, and to my surprise, stalking is a main subject of the story. At least she’s familiar with the idea.
This could possibly unveil some fantasies she wouldn’t dare express out loud. Her dedication to being the “good” Klarke is admirable, but I get the sense that something darker exists within her. And I plan to uncover it.
Only because I’m very good at my job. That’s all.
Her lush curves are hidden by a hoodie that’s about six sizes too big, but she’s comfortable and that’s what matters. Whatever makes Deirdre feel safe enough to remove the mask and be herself without judgment.
I’ve noticed how her shoulders drop whenever she crosses the threshold of her home. A literal fortress shielding her from the outside world.
I’m aware I shouldn’t invade her privacy the way I have, so I don’t have cameras everywhere, only in her frequent spots. Though I could argue that she could stand to have better security to protect this fortress of hers.
Something about her calmness entices me to disturb it a little, but with good intentions. A thought crosses my mind that the voice of reason in my head is advising against, but I’d like to nudge her. Something to make her feel seen without compromising myself.
I’ll come to regret moving this needle with her, but I must. One time is enough. For a conversation starter, I browse Kiwi Music on my burner phone for an album she can’t resist appreciating, even with a stranger.
I settle on The Diary of Alicia Keys , entering her number to open a thread and hovering my thumb over the send button. There’s still time to turn back, but I don’t. I hold my breath, unable to hear anything but my heart thumping in anticipation as I tap the send button and wait for a response.
Unsure of what to do with myself, I glance at the feed, and her phone chimes.
She tilts her head, placing a bookmark to save her spot and setting aside her book.
Her brows scrunch as she stares intently at the open thread.
I’m certain she’ll ignore it and keep reading.
After all, it’s one in the morning and she doesn’t have to respond.
But her finger taps the screen, and a chime fills my room as her response awaits me. She reacted to the link with a heart, but hasn’t returned to her book yet. I fire off an apologetic response, curious of what it may coax out of her and wait, assessing her reaction through my screen.
?Cono! I meant to send this to a friend. Realized I have the wrong number, sorry to bother you.
DK
No worries! I don’t know who you are, but your taste in music has me curious.
She follows her last text with an eye emoji. Three bubbles dance around as she types another message.
DK
Tell me, what’s got you listening to this album in the middle of the night. Heartbreak or nostalgia? Hopefully the latter. :)
Nostalgia. My mom loves this album and had to replace it a few times from playing it so damn much.
DK
Our moms have good taste. I was reading, but I had to stop and listen. This album was a staple in my household.
You didn’t have to stop reading for me.
DK
How presumptuous of you to assume. I needed a break. What are you doing?
Being presumptuous is sort of my thing. lol
DK
This is how you admit you’re a man. I’ll allow it. What’s your favorite song on the album?
Lol was it that obvious? Now you know that’s unfair when there’s no skips on that album.
DK
Very obvious. Since ladies come first, I’ll go. Samsonite Man.
She follows that with a crying laughing and shrug emoji.
Doesn’t take herself too seriously. Her mask is slipping, and I’m here for it.
Well, alright then. I’d have to say You Don’t Know My Name.
DK
Shy one, aren’t you? Fine. Let’s not spoil this with names.
So, what do you suggest?
DK
Code names, of course. Let’s see…fave childhood movie?
Mine is Bambi.
Easy. The Lion King. What about Doe?
DK
I like that. Least favorite character?
Scar, obviously.
DK
That’s what I’ll call you then
It’s nice to meet you, Scar. I’m Doe.
Damn. It’s like that? I’ll allow it.
It’s nice to meet you too. Would you mind if I texted you on purpose next time?
DK
Why else would we be picking code names?
Fair enough. Figured you may just be slap happy. You are texting a stranger after all.
DK
It’s possible, but so are you. Maybe I’m having a fever dream.
Is your head warm? I could teach you how to make a mean sancocho.
DK
My head feels fine. Puerto Rican, huh?
You know it. Dominican too, from my dad. You?
DK
Just good ole Black from both parents.
I heart react to her message. This is going better than I anticipated. She’s quick-witted; everything I toss her way is served back, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m no longer the one in control here.
I could see myself becoming addicted to her conversation and humor. My observation of her needing to feel in control before acting on something was accurate, though I threw out a line with a baited hook, and she found a way to reel me in instead.
I already spend my days monitoring her, but this is who she is when she’s alone. Something you can’t view through a lens, but by invitation. If I’m not careful, I could stay up all night learning the ways her mind works, but I shouldn’t. I type and delete several responses before settling on one.
We should probably get some rest. Thanks for talking to me tonight.
DK
No, thank YOU. Goodnight, Scar.
Me
Sweet Dreams, Doe.