Page 22 of He Sees You
Below, Sterling's house glows warm against the snow, lights in every window like they're trying to push back the darkness.
A futile effort.
The darkness is already inside, typing at a laptop, creating stories about men like me while the real thing climbs toward another monster who thinks he's the hunter.
Fifteen feet up, Roy shifts again, muttering something about his camera battery dying.
He has a backup in his bag—I can hear the plastic rattling as he searches for it.
The sound covers my final approach.
Twenty feet.
I can smell him now—stale cigarettes, cheap whiskey, the sour scent of a man who's been living rough.
There's something else too, something chemical and wrong.
Meth, maybe. Prison habits die hard.
I slip into the blind behind him like smoke.
Roy is focused on his viewfinder, watching Celeste stand and stretch at her desk.
His breathing quickens, finger on the shutter button, and that's when I strike.
The ridge of my hand connects with the precise point at the base of his skull.
Not hard enough to kill—death would be too merciful, too quick.
Just enough to drop him into unconsciousness.
His body goes limp, camera falling.
I catch it before it can clatter against the platform, setting it carefully aside.
No need to break it.
I want to see what he's seen, know exactly what violations he's committed with his lens.
Roy crumples forward, and I catch him too, lowering his body to the platform with the care of a lover, but this isn't love.
This is something purer.
This is justice. Protection. The removal of a cancer before it can metastasize.
I work quickly, binding his wrists with the rope I brought, then his ankles.
The platform is small, maybe eight by eight feet, but it's enough.
More than enough for what comes next.
I position him against the tree trunk, arms pulled back around it, secured with climbing knots that will only tighten if he struggles.
His backpack is a revelation of depravity.
Three worn copies of Celeste's books, stolen from the prison library based on the stamps.
The margins are filled with notes in pencil—crude drawings, sick fantasies, places where he's crossed out the hero's name and written "ROY" in block letters.
