Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
TRISTAN
Aristotle was wrong… or so I thought.
“There is no great genius without a touch of madness.” I heard that a lot when I was at MIT, but it’s attributed to a man who died two thousand years ago and repeated by people who want to excuse their own brokenness.
My father is a genius. I was born one too.
And he is also mad. I never thought I was.
Figured I managed to not get that trait.
He’s obsessed with my mother. He would do anything for her, which is why I’m here to begin with. Am I my father? Why is that parallel only hitting me now?
I believed my theory until I understood what madness truly is.
Madness isn’t screaming in the streets or talking to people who aren’t there.
Madness is quiet. Patient. It’s taking extreme actions, like building a fortress in the woods across from the woman you can’t let go of.
Then filling it with screens, sensors, and the technology to watch her breathe while she sleeps.
Madness is creating an entire dating app, coding every line yourself, just to have a conversation she doesn’t know is with you.
Madness is this room. Glowing in the dark like a terrible episode of CSI.
The thermal imaging from the drones was easy, but it was the audio that was harder.
Until I noticed how many packages were going through the gates of Teddy’s estate each day.
I intercepted them to plant my devices. Then hacked the security cameras.
That wasn’t enough, though. It didn’t calm the beast inside of me.
So I began tracking her on her phone, her laptop, and the car Killian arranged for her.
It started as me saying I was going to do one small thing, then it escalated quickly, which most things do for me when it comes to Lily. Everything from my actions to my emotions become uncontrollable when she’s involved.
She’s in her bedroom now. Screen three shows her sitting on the edge of her bed, phone in her hands, staring at the message I sent through the made-up dating app two hours ago.
Me: Hey. I like the bio. Especially the bangs.
She hasn’t answered. I watch her pick up the phone, set it down, and pick it up again. The audio feed catches her sigh, the rustle of her moving on the mattress, the silence of indecision.
I got this patch of land a few days after they left. Forty acres of forest across from Teddy’s eastern side. I was close enough for line-of-sight surveillance and far enough to stay invisible to everyone else.
I purchased the land in a hurry, not thinking about the fact that there was nowhere to live on it.
Then I remembered a start-up, DropHouses: modular luxury housing for the ultra-private.
I was an early investor, back when I still made decisions for profit rather than obsession.
A few calls to the founder, an explanation that required no explanation, and the structure was delivered within the week.
My phone buzzes with a call. I ignore it. On screen three, Lily finally types something, then deletes it. Types again. Deletes again.
Take your time, I think. I have all of it now.
So I wait, simply watching her. Fuck, I’ve missed her. She’d become so essential to my everyday life. I messed this all up, and I don’t know how to fix it or where to begin.
I want her. I know that. Part of me believed that one day, we’d be more. Each time I’d have that thought, I’d beat myself up about it. Victor left her in my care, and I can’t stop thinking about what she tastes like and the sounds she’ll make when I bury my face between her thighs.
I see now that the outcome was inevitable for me. Lily is like water, soft and flexible, yet nothing can resist it or survive without it. She is a force of nature that cannot be stopped or changed. She flows all around you. You learn to swim or you drown.
She bites her lip, types, hesitates, then finally hits send. My phone lights up.
Lily: Thanks. Yours is... mysterious.
I stare at the words. I should be pleased. This is working exactly as I designed it to.
Instead, I want to throw the phone through the wall. Then march next door and spank her little ass. Doesn’t she know what psychos are out there? She watches all those creepy as fuck crime shows. At least my level of psychosis wants to keep her safe.
Two months and she’s already on a dating app. I run my hand down my face. We weren’t dating. I keep reminding myself of that little piece of information. Still, she thinks she’s talking to a stranger. Some other man who might make her laugh or smile. One she won’t want to run from.
My hands tighten on the armrests. The leather creaks.
I pull up the analytics to make sure the bots are working. All the profiles are fake. I made sure to put things in each I know she dislikes so she’ll scroll right past them.
But she’s still scrolling. Still looking.
I watch her thumb hover over my message. She opens my profile again and zooms in on the photo.
I type my response, delete it, and type again. I don’t have a clue about what I’m doing here. I’ve never flirted before.
Me: Mystery keeps you guessing. What are you doing Friday?
Too fast. Too eager. I delete it. I can’t really meet up with her, not yet.
Lily: Tell me something real.
I groan. Why is this so hard? I was never taught any of these skills at MIT.
I go back to watching the camera feed. She’s now sitting cross-legged on her bed, hair falling over one shoulder, smiling at something.
Not at me. At another profile. Another man.
I’ll kill him.
I could find him in thirty seconds, have his address in two minutes, and make him disappear before morning. The thought arrives fully formed, practical and completely insane. Then I remember none of them are real. I have fully lost my mind at this point.
Me: I think about you more than I should.
I stare at the words. Real. But I delete them. Type something else.
Me: Bangs are underrated. Most people don’t have the bone structure to pull them off.
Send.
She reads it. Her smile fades and shifts into something more complicated. Fuck me. Finally, she types back before she can second-guess herself.
Lily: Are you flirting with me or my hair?
I smile. I miss that mouth of hers.
Me: Both. The hair is a package deal with the person.
Cheesy as all hell, but she smiles, the real one that crinkles her eyes, her chin tilting slightly down. I could get used to these sorts of reactions from her. I like seeing her like this, without her guard up. A side she rarely showed me.
Lily: Smooth. How about you tell me more about yourself? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do on these things?
I pause. How far am I going to take this? The lie that has to hold.
Me: Security consulting.
True enough. She doesn’t know how true.
Lily: Like a private investigator?
Me: Like someone who doesn’t stop until he gets what he wants.
I hit send before I can delete it. When I read it back, I realize how creepy that sounds.
She stares at the message for a long time. Too long. Then finally she responds.
Lily: Nothing wrong with determination.
This is far past determination. This is obsession.
Me: I’ll keep that in mind.
She’s all but telling me to do this. There is nothing wrong with it.
I simply sit here and watch her. She stares at her phone for another minute before tossing it onto the bed and getting up and stretching.
She moves to the bathroom, the door following half closed.
How bad would it be if I put a camera in there?
Not to be creepy but for safety. The bathroom is statistically one of the most dangerous rooms in a home.
What if she falls? The place is too big for her to scream and anyone there to hear her.
I watch the shadows move back and forth on the floor, spilling out from the bathroom. She’s getting ready for bed. When I hear the shower turn on, I feel a surge of anxiety.
I force myself to breathe, to count, to remember that patience is a weapon I’ve always wielded better than anyone. It doesn’t work.
I’m like an addict, and I’ve let myself get too close now. It doesn’t help sate me; it only fuels it.
She’s right there. Two hundred yards through the forest, across the eastern wall, and up the service stairs to the second floor.
I mapped every step. I know how the staff moves around and when they settle in or leave.
Roland, the butler, helps make that easy, keeping the house running on a tight schedule.
I know the blind spots, the pressure plates Killian had installed.
Too bad for him; I hold the patent on those plates.
I know the lock type on the windows and that one of the housekeepers, Marge, likes to stand outside and smoke a few times a day, often forgetting to lock the side door when she goes back inside.
I know everything except how to stay away.
I stand, heading into my bedroom to change into black pants and a hoodie. I need to see her breathing, not just watch it on a screen. Only a few minutes, and then I’ll be better. I’ll be able to sleep.
The night air is colder than normal. I’m already calculating routes, bypass codes, and the small device in my pocket that will loop the hallway camera for ninety seconds.
Ninety seconds should be more than enough time.
As I jog through the trees, I recalculate how quickly I move to the distance in the east hallways, making sure I have enough time to get in.
Once I’m in her room, I’ll be able to set up her window so that I can come and go more easily while still being able to keep the window secure.
I can’t have another psycho trying to slip into her room.
The east wall is old stone, making it easy to climb.
I scale it without sound and drop to the ground.
I recheck my grid, and I get an alert from Marco, who is flying high above, letting me know that my predictions of where everyone will be inside the estate at this time are correct; heat signatures cleared.
I start moving toward the main house, my device already connecting to the security system, and I override it with the code I wrote myself. I don’t need to know its weaknesses; I’ll make them, and then I can close them back behind me.
It doesn’t take long before I’m inside.
I really need to talk to Killian about that, but for now I’m watching over the place so it’s secure. Her room is at the end of the corridor. I’m careful with my steps, making sure to go slowly to learn where the floor creaks and where it doesn’t, memorizing every step and sound.
When I make it to her door, I slip right in and lock it behind me. She hadn’t. I lean up against the closed double doors and simply breathe in the air that’s filled with her sweetness.
She’s in bed, turned away from me, hair spread across the pillow. The phone now sits on the nightstand. Her breathing is even, deep, and trusting. She looks so peaceful.
I should go. I should leave now, before I do something I can’t take back. Except I don’t. Those are little lies I tell myself so I don’t feel so bad, but I’m not sure I do. She ran; this is the consequence. Lily has turned me into this person.
I move around her room, getting a better look at everything.
Lily’s bedroom is cleaner here, but not by much.
Then I enter the bathroom and see where the real disaster is.
This mess should annoy me. I hate clutter and disorganization, but it makes me smile.
Lily swears when she cleans, she can no longer find anything.
Her shampoo sits on the edge of the tub, cap off, a small puddle dried beneath it.
I pick it up and bring it to my nose. Vanilla is her favorite.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I start organizing the bathroom sink, picking up her items from the floor and tossing them into a pile.
I wonder if she’ll notice. I can’t help the overwhelming urge I have to take care of her, even if only picking up a few items.
I return to her bedroom and sit in the chair by the window. Lily has always been a heavy sleeper. I watch her chest rise and fall. The small sound of her breaths. It’s calming. I have to fight the urge to lie down beside her over the blankets.
Instead, after an hour or so, I force myself to get up, but this time I check the closet. I spot a bag in the corner, the one I know she took from home. She hadn’t taken much of anything, which bothered me more than it should.
I crouch and open it. Only a few things inside. A pair of jeans, a worn paperback, and her charger. And stuffed at the bottom is a shirt. I pull it out. It’s one of my old college shirts I wear when I work out. The gray one with the MIT logo, soft from years of washing.
I unfold it carefully, smoothing the wrinkles with my palms. Then I re-fold it precisely, edges aligned, and set it on the island in the center of the closet. Not hidden anymore. Not stuffed away.
A silent message. A reminder that I’m never far. That I was here. That I’ll always be here.
I step back into her bedroom and cross to her nightstand. My hand hovers over the ribbon that she wore in her hair yesterday. I take it, wrapping it around my wrist under my sleeve, a secret binding.
I turn to leave, and she shifts in her sleep. Lily’s lips part, and she mumbles, my name slipping past her plump lips.
Before I can stop myself, I’m standing over her, and my hand slowly comes down to stroke her hair. I really have lost it… but I find I no longer fucking care.