Page 2 of I'm Watching You

The Guardian removed a machete from the black duffle bag and raised the blade high overhead. The edge was razor sharp, finely honed on a whetstone until the blade could slice paper.

Moonlight glinted off the blade before it came down inone slicing blow that severed the flesh and bone of Harold’s left hand.

Blood splattered onto Harold’s face and shirt as well as the Guardian’s jumpsuit and gloved hands. The blood looked brown in the moonlight as it oozed from the stump and pooled in the dry earth around Harold’s body.

Primal energy surged through the Guardian. For a moment, life had never felt sweeter.

Retribution is mine.

After wrapping the hand in a plastic zip-top bag, the Guardian shoved it into the duffle bag along with the machete, still dripping with blood.

Satisfied that no one had seen, the Guardian zipped the duffle bag closed and then jogged across the backyard, slipped though the privacy fence gate, and sprinted to the waiting van parked halfway down the block.

Opening the van’s front door tripped the dome light. Blinking against the brightness, the Guardian quickly got in and closed the door. Darkness shrouded the cab once again. For several seconds, the Guardian sat in the darkness scanning the homes around to make sure no one had seen. The homes remained dark.

Finally, satisfied that no one would intrude, the Guardian shifted his attention to the open flower box on the passenger seat. The box was filled with purple irises. Each individual stem had been capped with a vial of water to preserve freshness.

After removing Harold’s hand from the canvas duffle bag, the Guardian reverently wrapped it in green tissue and nestled it under the flowers.

The choice of irises was inspired. She would understand their meaning.

Friendship. Hope. Wisdom. Valor.

After replacing the lid back on the flower box, the Guardian tied the red silk ribbon around it into a precise bow, removed a prewritten card from the glove box and slipped it under the knot.

The Guardian switched on the ignition. The dashboard light washed over the box and the thick, bold handwriting on the card.

It read, ‘For Lindsay.’

Chapter Two

Monday, July 7, 8:10A.M.

Lindsay O’Neil was late for work. Desperately late. She was running so far behind because a power outage had silenced her alarm clock and she’d overslept by almost three hours.

She glanced down at her Jeep’s speedometer. It hovered just above thirty miles per hour, but she’d gladly have doubled that speed if Broad Street’s four lanes of westbound traffic hadn’t been so clogged with commuters.

Tension squeezed her chest. Normally, it took fifteen minutes for her to make the ten-mile trek from her apartment to the women’s shelter where she worked. But normally, she didn’t sleep as soundly as she had last night. Most nights dreams woke her frequently and she had no trouble rising early and leaving by fiveA.M.

Lindsay turned on the radio. She punched the ‘scan’ button several times before finally settling on a song she liked. The music and lyrics calmed her and enabled her to take a few deep breaths. Some of the tension released from her body.

For the last year and a half, Lindsay had worked as the director of Sanctuary Women’s Shelter. Her schedule was always jam-packed with counseling sessions andadministrative meetings, and most days she barely had time to eat.

And today’s schedule was going to be busier than most. In the last two and a half hours, Lindsay had missed the sevenA.M.group-counseling session that she held each Monday. The meeting was mandatory for all shelter residents. She’d also missed an eightA.M.conference call with the chairman of the shelter’s board of directors, Dana Miller, who expected weekly updates.

Missing the teleconference was a problem, but she could talk her way out of it. However, sleeping through the group session with her residents was inexcusable. The women who attended that meeting were all in abusive relationships. Many hadn’t worked in years, and most were more afraid of the unknown that lay ahead than they’d been when they’d lived with the threat of physical violence. Often Lindsay did little more than listen, dispense tissues, and offer hugs. What was important was that she was always there to bolster them up –no matter what.

And today she’d let them all down.

She flipped open her cell phone. She’d rushed out so quickly this morning, she’d not thought to call the office. However, the phone’s screen was blank. The battery was dead. Hadn’t she set it on the charger? ‘The power outage. Damn it.’

Lindsay stopped for a red light and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. Heat spiraled up from the road’s black asphalt. Even though she had the air-conditioning on full blast, the heat rose up through the floorboards.The Jeep’s engine fan came on and within seconds the motor hesitated and threatened to cut off.

‘Damn it,’ she muttered.

She’d been promising herself for months to take the Jeep in for a tune-up but kept putting it off. There never seemed to be enough time. Now the engine balked in the high temperature. She shut off the air conditioner and rolled down the window. Thick, heavy July air rushed into the car.

Without the strain of the air conditioner, the engine settled down.

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