Chapter 34
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
COMING OUT OF THE SHADOWS
Normally, I have no problem passing out despite living next to the highway.
The blaring sirens and honking of horns have become almost a lullaby during my years living here.
Despite staring at the ceiling, listening to brown noise for hours on end, I barely sleep.
Thoughts of Cindel’s angelic face and crystal blue eyes looking up at me flood my mind.
When I saw her touching herself on the camera, it took a great deal of self-control to not simply go over there and take her. Instead, I eased the tension by picturing all the things I wanted to do to her, none of them are what I was employed to do.
“Watch her, don’t let her learn the truth.” I’ve been instructed, that was before I decided she’s mine.
Everything I do is monitored, well, he tries to, but I have ways of circumventing the system.
For such a long time, living the life of an ‘agent of espionage,’ never knowing acceptance…
constantly grappling with any form of a moral compass.
I spent the beginning of my childhood in an orphanage, learning real fast that you can either eat or be eaten.
Never growing attached to anyone or anything, I became accustomed to change and insurmountable strife.
To avoid emotions that deemed me weak or vulnerable; I became detached, violent, and unruly.
My time consumed in that place was either with my nose in the corner or with difficulty sitting from being walloped.
They managed to break multiple wooden paddles on me before the ripe age of eight.
I heard the nuns talking one evening in the courtyard about a crimson-haired lady who revisited, years after dropping off her baby boy.
Gossiping about how she was too young, too pretty, and made the right choice.
I saw the woman in question earlier that day, when I was playing ball with the other kids.
They said the child was the product of rape and shouldn’t have come to be.
Later on, I learned what that meant. The baby was a mistake.
A sin from the beginning. The child was me.
How could someone who looks so pure, deliver something so undesirable.
Being insignificant was familiar territory; learning that I was conceived in such a fashion, just validates my brilliant reputation.
A few days after the nice woman visited, I found one of the nuns with an affinity for whooping me, packing a modest suitcase with all of my belongings.
She explained how some generous guappo wanted to adopt me and take me back to the States.
Her jeering tone told me she was glad to be rid of me.
I was immediately skeptical, always thinking the worst of everyone without giving them a chance to fuck me over first. I was so young…
a small part of me still had hope for a family.
Naturally, I was thrilled to flee the deplorable living conditions of chilled porridge, uncomfortable bedding, and stale biscuits which could literally shatter a window.
The man who took me in had me call him sir. He lived by himself in America, in a state known as Boston. No siblings or mother waited for me, but he did have a whole extra room for me to sleep in. To my relief, he wasn’t a pedo, but that doesn’t mean a guaranteed magical childhood.
When I started maturing, I realized something.
Uncooperative hair, familiar gait and stature, identical iron eyes; I was looking more like him each day.
I wasn’t blind. The man kept me mostly hidden from the world; homeschooling and private combat lessons were the only time someone else was welcome in our home.
I was meant to be his secret shadow and nothing more.
That time spent on my own made me long for a friend.
Even a weak conniving one, like I could find in the orphanage.
For the longest time, I was under the impression my guardian was a salesman, because of all the places we went and new people he’d meet, but I never understood what he was selling.
One day he took me for a long stroll in the park.
Which was unusual because he never normally took me anywhere.
When we finally got in the car, he didn’t drive us home, but to the hospital.
I wasn’t sick or anything, but he said he had to “make an appearance.” He told me to wait in the hall with one of his weird friends.
I didn’t like the people he knew very much.
In a room at the other end of the hall, I could see a small, young girl in a hospital bed.
She must have been sick, but she looked more scared than anything.
The people in the room wouldn’t stop crying, and the girl screamed as if no one could hear her. I couldn’t look away.
Those sapphire eyes have been ingrained into the very fiber of my being from that moment on.
I’m confident she doesn’t even remember that day.
All the same, I will finally get to make myself known to her tonight.
Her undivided attention on me alone. I already knew Eamon offered Cindel another day off work.
I, myself, didn’t sleep for two days straight, after seeing my first dead body, but to my surprise it was well past ten in the morning and she was still sleeping like a rock.
My little princess was made for this life; she just didn’t know it yet.
My phone vibrates with a notification.
Warden: Your mark is asking a lot of questions. Put the plan into motion.
I agree with him there, she is asking a lot of questions, mostly because I’m leaving her the trail of breadcrumbs.
My monitor displays multiple images of Cindel in her apartment from various angles.
I love that she still hasn’t found a single camera.
Be that as it may, she is aware I’m watching.
Sleeping beauty is so close to revealing the truth, she simply needs to open her eyes.
Until then, Princess… rest, you’ll need your energy for this evening.
I reply to Warden with a thumbs up emoji. In turn putting MY plan into motion.
I watch the surveillance feed as Andrea pours another cup of coffee, not yet making it to her own bed.
She has a notepad full of theories including the song names, durations, and researched lyrics.
She’s been a good friend to my woman, yet I recognize that’s not why she’s stuck around.
Even though Andrea doesn’t care much for me, I’m going to throw her a bone.
She’s spent so much time and energy looking into the Murrays, she’s completely missed what’s right under her nose.
As strange as it may seem, my playlist wasn’t meant to be anything beyond a creative way of communicating with Cindel.
Somewhere down the road… the collection shifted, carrying messages of relevance.
Sure… it may have scared her at first, causing her to become slightly paranoid but that’s my way of showing I care.
I appreciate her roommate’s dedication to the cause, so I toy with the list. Using artist names and songs, until I construed some kind of meaning.
Just another breadcrumb for Cindel. I transferred her entire contacts list, into my phone, during one of my previous visits.
Texting her roommate a series of numbers, holding cryptic information.
The Stalker: 12-11-7-7-7-5-4-3-2-16-7-2-7-10-4-5
The Stalker: The End is the Beginning.
Rubbing at my stubbled jaw, I watch the camera in their living room. Andrea grabs her phone, reads the message, and finally sits down for the first time in hours. Yahtzee.
I’m glued to the feed as she scoots the kitchen chair over to the whiteboard and begins by writing the numbers, then circling letters under the list labeled: Stalker’s Playlist. I like the name. It would make a great title for a novel.
Before long, her overworked friend has strung together the letters: eilsalohcinelcnu.
Her head tilts to the side, she erases, then rewrites the nonsensical characters, but inverted.
Unclenicholaslie. Almost there. She feverishly removes and modifies the letters with spaces in the right places.
Uncle Nicholas Lie. I send her exhausted friend one more message before I go back to focusing on the screen, where Cindel lies in bed.
The Stalker: You need to tell her. Before it’s too late.
Andrea’s wild eyes bounce around the room, like I’m hiding in a corner.
Sorry… you’ll never find the cameras. Her overworked form can barely stand, as she initiates searching the room. She’s going to crash hard at some point. Rest easy comrade, I’ll take over the next watch.
I never got presents for Christmas, or any holiday for that matter. If I ever did, I’m sure I would have been sneaking peeks every chance I got. That’s how I feel right now, as I watch Cindel dress and ready to meet me at the boathouse.
After showering, she pulls on a cropped shirt, form fitting skirt, her usual boots, and a bomber jacket.
I rewind the footage just to confirm, the naughty little minx didn’t bother putting any underwear on.
Fuck, I am already hard. No self-control when it comes to surprises…
. so eager to sink into her after waiting for what feels like a lifetime.
Before Cindel is scheduled to arrive, I let myself into the festively lit boathouse to arrange everything the way I want.
A sign hangs on the front entrance: closed for the season.
Wintery conditions make it difficult for anyone to navigate the water, so they aren’t open to the public during these colder months.
An ideal playground for this very occasion.