Page 114 of Fixation
With a scoff, I close the livestream. Working for Sergey teaches a man how to find anything, so it takes less than a minute to locate Werner Jade’s full name, business, and home address.
I slide the gear into drive and head downtown to handle it.
Tonight, the gloves, black gaiter, vial, and syringe in my glove compartment are going to be put to use.
Werner Jade won’t see another sunrise.
The fire escapein Werner’s building is sturdy. Doesn’t creak when I put one foot on top of the other. Doesn’t rattle.
No one hears me climbing it. This late at night, after waiting for hours in my car, there’s no one here to see me, either.
I’ve never killed anyone in SoHo before, but what I have discovered is this—as long as the man in a dark hoodie and a gaiter stays clear of their windows, they’d rather ignore my existence.
From behind the mask, I smirk as I go by the first floor. The second.
Here I am, on the third one. I’m at his window, looking into his home. At the man I saw online. The man who harassed Harper.
Shoulder-length brown hair. Blue eyes. The bridge of his nose is straight.
He watches TV in his flannel pajamas, entirely at ease.
Adrenaline sharpens me like a blade. My vision is clearer than it’s ever been. A sense of righteousness inflates my lungs.
This hit is as personal as they come. More personal than killing the delivery boy.
Harper’s the only thing I’ve ever felt deeper.
I leave my thoughts where they belong. In the recesses of my mind. I still can’t go in there. He’s up, and getting into a fight with him will end badly for me.
While I wait for him to fall asleep, I stalk Harper. The feed from home is a balm to my deranged soul.
Her friend left, and she’s back to work. Her workbench on the second floor is empty, but here she is, sitting around her dining table.
Back to sketching.
The jewelry she’s designing on the drawing pad is dark. While sketching some of the pieces, she presses the pencil harder on the paper. Gray shades turn to nearly black.
My own darkness reflected in them. I see that.
I’ve crawled under her skin.
I’m throbbing for her. So fucking proud of her.
More so when she isn’t throwing her sketches away. No, she turns the page and draws more.
My fascination nearly makes me forget about the task at hand.
I could watch her for the rest of my life.
Movement from Werner’s apartment halts everything.
His head is lolling to the side. He fell asleep on his leather couch, the remote in his hand.
How could he want a woman like Harper and be so casual about it?
How could he sleep peacefully, as if craving her is as dull as ordering takeout?
The thought infiltrates my head while I slide his window open and let myself in.
