Page 148 of Desperate People

The second I pull up the surveillance stream from my portable terminal, time stops.

There.

There she is.

My wife.

My Diamond Girl.

Stepping outside the fucking security perimeter, just for a breath of fresh air.

Just for a second.

She’s glowing, wrapped in that glittering tulle, her skin like spun light.

Sparkling like a goddamn gem.

And then he touches her.

That motherfucker.

Emerging from the tree line like a fucking ghost—how the hell did he bypass us?

I want answers, but they can wait.

I force myself to watch, a snarl spilling from my lips as I witness what he does next.

How he breaches the perimeter like the fucking cockroach he is.

A sedative cloth.

A chokehold.

The moment her body goes limp, I stop breathing.

Now, some people have the nerve to ask if I see differently out of my eyes because they’re two different colors.

Idiots.

No, I don’t see any fucking differently than you do.

Except for now.

Because now?

Red.

That’s all I see.

Not colors.

Not details.

Not distance, angles, or obstacles.

Just one fucking thing.

The man who stole my wife.

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