Chapter 12
Chapter
Twelve
HIM
I tap my foot against my desk and cross my arms. Frustration mounts with every passing moment, and I can’t take it anymore. It’s been over a week, and I still can’t find inspiration for this article. Meanwhile, David balances a pen on his upper lip, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Must be nice , I think bitterly.
I let out an exasperated sigh and massage my temples. Despite visiting my Little Finch the other night and bringing her pleasure to the point of drenching herself, I’ve been in a bad mood. I have found no solid leads on her stalker yet. And since the police refuse to take Gwen seriously, I have to step up my game. At least I won’t have to worry about the blue shirts snooping around anytime soon.
I prop my elbows on the desk and rest my chin in my hands, letting out another stream of air. I consider getting up and taking a break, but that would be admitting defeat. If I don’t finish this article soon, my reputation will suffer. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realize I’ve been spinning my wheels on the same paragraph for the past hour. Ugh .
“Need any help?” David asks, rolling his chair over. “A new perspective for a new angle, perhaps?”
I feign a friendly smile as irritation gnaws at me. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”
He leans in, peering at the monitor, his eyes skimming the text. He takes his pen out, placing it between his lips. I resist the urge to rip it out of his mouth and stab it in his eye as he chews on it. I know he means well, but the sound of teeth grinding on plastic drives me nuts.
“I think you should focus on how this issue is affecting people in our community,” he says after a minute. “You could interview those who have been directly impacted. It’d give your story an emotional angle. Help you make it more relatable to readers.”
I take a moment to consider his suggestion. I have to admit that it’s an interesting take, one that William will probably love. “That’s a great idea,” I say with a grateful smile. “Thanks for the advice.”
He grins. “Don’t mention it. Anytime you need a hand, I’m here.” He wheels his chair back to his desk.
I nod. “Appreciate it.”
Maybe I’ve underestimated David’s abilities. He has a deep capacity for empathy, something I lack on a deeper level. At least I can get inside people’s heads and use that to my advantage. It’s come in handy more times than I can count. Sitting back in my chair, I shift my gaze to the monitor.
As I’m mulling over how to implement David’s suggestion, William enters the room with a stack of files. He greets us with a smile, then places the stack on David’s desk. “Ah, Blake. Just the man I need to see. How’s everything?”
I give him a tight smile. “Everything’s been going great. Just discussing a few ideas with David here. His insight is invaluable.”
“I agree,” William remarks, turning to David. “You always seem to come up with the most creative solutions.”
David smiles bashfully and shrugs his shoulders modestly in response. “I try my best.”
William laughs. “Well, keep up the good work! To be honest, the two of you make a great team. Which reminds me …” He gestures to us both. “Maybe it’s time you both do some field work together.”
David’s gaze slides to William, drawing his attention from the files he’s currently sorting. “Oh, really?”
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, forcing a placid veneer. I don’t work well with others. Never have, never will. People are nothing but liabilities. And I am only willing to make an exception for one .
Our boss smiles. “I’d like you guys to cover the upcoming Fright Night Festival later this month, along with Colton.”
David’s eyes light up. “I’m totally in,” he says eagerly. “What about you, Blake? ”
I know I can’t argue with William; once he’s made up his mind, it’s like talking to a brick wall. So reluctantly, I nod, already bracing myself for what lies ahead. “I’ll do it.”
“Excellent!” William says, clapping his hands together. “I have faith in you both. But don’t let me down. This story needs to be a hit.”
I glance over at David, noticing the excitement that bubbles just below the surface in the way he bounces his leg. “We won’t disappoint you, sir,” I state seriously.
“I know you two will come up with something great.” He starts to make his way out of the room when he abruptly stops and glimpses me over his shoulder. “Remember, Blake. I need that article on my desk by tomorrow morning.” He then throws me a smile and disappears into his office with a wave.
David and I exchange glances before I stand up from my desk. “I don’t know about you, but I need some fresh air,” I say, grabbing my coat and heading to the exit before he can ask too many questions. Because frankly, I’m not in the mood right now.
I leave the office and go for a walk, hoping the crisp air will help clear my head. The long hours I’ve been putting in lately are taking their toll. The lack of leads is infuriating. Who is the son of a bitch threatening my Little Finch? He’s bound to slip up. All I need is a clue, a tiny nugget, and things will fall into place. They always do.
I round the corner—and there she is. Dressed in black and sitting on a bench near Tetra Brew, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She sits alone, her eyes cast downwards, lost in deep thought. I pause for a moment and watch her, wondering what she’s thinking.
Maybe about my cock grinding against her ass as I held her down? My fingers in her pussy, reaching her darkest depths—depths no one else could reach? Oh, how her body trembled when I tugged her violently to the edge. I feel myself harden uncomfortably as I replay the memory of her screaming as she came all over, soaking her uniform and the floor.
Fuck, I want her—no, I need her.
As if sensing me thinking about her, she looks up in surprise before quickly recovering. I try to ignore the torturous feeling in my pants as I walk casually toward her. She takes a drag from her cig as I approach, unable to disguise the wariness in her eyes.
“Hey Blake,” she says, her voice low and strained. “Is there something you want?”
I sit beside her. “Hey,” I begin, softening my voice. “You okay?”
“You haven’t come around the store in a while,” she states matter-of-factly, keeping her eyes trained on the cars passing by on the street in front of us.
I reach out my hand in a friendly gesture, which she stares at for a moment before slowly placing her own in it. “You’re right,” I say, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ve been … busy. But I wanted to see you. I know I should’ve come around more often because I miss you.”
She looks at me for a few moments, her expression unreadable as she takes in my words. Withdrawing her hand, she takes a deep breath before breaking the brief silence. “Why are you here?”
Is she trying to brush me off? My blood simmers, but I bite my tongue and remind myself to keep calm. If my Little Finch really thinks she can distance herself from me, she has another thing coming. “I wanted to check on you, see how you were doing. Maybe get you another one of those albums that were?—”
“I don’t need your charity,” she snaps, before biting her lip and shooting up to her feet.
I stand in a single, fluid motion and take hold of her arm. She tenses and tries to pull away. Instinctually, I want to dig my fingers into her and make it known that she’s mine, but Blake is a kinder man than me. So I let her go, and she takes a step back. Her fingers tremble as she lifts the cigarette to her mouth.
“It’s not charity,” I clarify gently. “Just something I wanted to do for you. It’s unfair that your stuff got destroyed like that. I know how much those albums meant to you.”
She takes one last puff before stubbing out the cig on the brick wall and tossing it into the nearby trash bin. She maintains a cautious expression and a stiff posture. But I can see the battle waging within her, and I wait patiently for her response.
“You don’t need to do this for me. I can take care of myself,” she says, a slight catch in her voice that betrays her stoicism. “Always have.” The corner of her mouth twitches up briefly in a forced half-smile. “It was nice seeing you. Take care, okay?”
Without another word, she whirls around and trudges down the sidewalk before vanishing around the corner, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts. And my rage, which lingers long after I’ve gotten my coffee and returned to the office.
I think I’ll go hunting tonight.
After chugging too many beers and gobbling up too much greasy bar food, Patrick Murray steps out of the Hidden Bull Pub unsteady on his feet. He zigzags down the sidewalk, the smell of alcohol and smoke radiating off him. Eventually, he makes it to a nearby alleyway, where he halts to lean against the brick, his breathing shallow and his head surely spinning.
With what I dosed him with, he’s lucky he’s still standing.
Targeting a man like Patrick so soon is not my usual approach. I typically spend weeks observing my targets, learning their habits, and uncovering their hidden secrets. I seek out their sins and mete out justice. But with him, there is no deep fascination or hidden agenda.
He must know something.
I’ve seen him hanging around my apartment building. He’s chummy with another tenant, a man named Gregory. Chummy as in they’re screwing each other’s brains out behind Patrick’s wife’s back. Gregory occasionally performs maintenance duties in exchange for rent for Nancy, and there’s a real possibility he’s seen that shithead stalker skulking around in some form or another. It’s too risky to interrogate him, so his fuckbuddy will have to do.
I watch from the shadows as Patrick wobbles further into the alley. But he loses his footing, tripping over a broken wood pallet before crashing into a stack of water-stained crates. Moaning in pain and cursing, he brings a hand to his forehead. Seizing my chance, I reveal myself and stride up to him with purpose. He looks up in surprise, quickly standing but swaying and ultimately falling on his bony rear next to a dumpster leaking a smelly, viscous fluid.
“Patrick,” I say, the modulator sharpening the edge of my voice.
“What the fuck do you want?” he slurs, though hesitantly, his eyes darting around before focusing on me again.
I crouch in front of him. “You have information that I need,” I say, narrowing my gaze behind the mask. “I can either get it from you. Or Gregory. And I’ll expose your affair to his wife—in all its sordid, graphic detail.” I dig into my pocket and show him the snapshot I took last week of his partner railing him.
“You son of a bitch!” he shrieks, reaching for the photo.
I lift my arm, keeping it out of his reach. “Now, now. Are you going to talk or am I going to him? Your choice. So what do you say?”
He scowls and huffs in frustration, his brain working on fumes. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “What do you want to know?”
“Have you seen someone wearing a mask and a hood prowling around Grand Pointe Apartments?” I ask.
“Someone besides you wearing that get-up?” He looks up at me, attempting to make out my eyes behind the mask. “Why do you wanna know?”
I snatch the collar of his shirt and tug him closer. “I’m not here to waste time, Patty . You can either help me out, or I will cut your boyfriend into pieces and leave whatever’s left of him on your front doorstep.”
His face pales, his eyes widening in fear as he swallows hard. “I saw him a couple of weeks ago but haven’t seen him since. He was walking around the apartments, and it looked like he was scouting out the place or something. Then he left in a hurry.”
“Do you know where he went?”
He shrugs, and it fills me with impatient fury. “Didn’t pay much attention. But he looked like he was going towards Chamberlain Street.”
“Did you notice anything about him? Anything at all that could help identify him?”
He shakes his head slowly, which only further enrages me. I release my grip on his shirt, shoving him against the dumpster, and unsheathe my knife. I place it against his throat, pressing it against his skin as he gasps.
“I suggest you think very carefully before answering my question again. If you’re holding out on me, I swear I’ll make sure you regret it.” I press the blade harder against his throat, drawing blood, and he trembles. “Now talk!”
His wide eyes bulge with terror. “It was dark, and I couldn’t see a lot of details about him. But he looked about average height.” His voice cracks as he continues to recall the details. “Maybe kind of built, but not too muscular. He wore black jeans, I think. That’s all I know, I swear! Please don’t hurt me!”
I narrow my eyes, searching his face. Despite his fear, he didn’t seem to be lying. I lower my blade away from his neck and he exhales in relief. I stand up straight as his eyes slip closed.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
I glare down at him, my knife still in hand—and swiftly swipe it across his throat. He tries to scream. Such an ugly, pathetic sound. But I cover his mouth, grab a fistful of hair, and slam his head against the dumpster with a sickening crack. I stab his chest, watching as blood blooms, staining his shirt. Slowly, I twist the knife, smiling as he desperately tries to claw at my arms.
He writhes in pain until the moment he slumps against the dumpster, his life finally snuffed out.
“Thanks for your cooperation,” I say coldly as I wipe the blood from my blade on his shirt before vanishing into the night.