Page 12 of The Silent Night Stalker
With that, I leave. There’s no point in staying. I’ll come back tomorrow night with my car and rummage through his garbage to find details about his life and who he is. I can’t wait to learn his name. Still, I’ll keep calling him ‘angel’ because he is. He’s precious. He’s beautifully in pain and broken.
Thefollowingeveningafterwork, I’m sitting on my legs in the dead grass and dried dirt in the backyard. Spread out on a sheet of plastic is my angel’s garbage. I go through his mail and pieces of paper, sifting through rotten food. My hands are covered in latex gloves to keep the waste off me and to not leave fingerprints behind.
I’d simply snagged the first garbage bag inside the can in the alley behind his house. I tossed it in the trunk of my car and drove home, making sure no one noticed me, although I’d been well covered from head to toe. If anyone saw me steal garbage, they wouldn’t be able to point me out, if they even cared.
The first envelope I lift is open and empty, but it has my angel’s name and address on it: Enzo Alvarez. It’s a strong name. I like it. It has a nice ring to it.
After wiping off some coffee grinds from a piece of paper, I look at the flyer. It’s bright lime green with a silhouetteof an MMA fighter on its logo. It’s an advertisement to join Vinny’s MMA gym. A discount for first-time members and a free demo for training. Call to schedule an appointment.
Does he work there? Or is he just a member?
I make a note of the location.
The rest of the trash is waste and junk mail, but at least I have his name and the name and address of the gym he attends. It’s all I need to learn more about this angel.
Now I’m done, I roll up the plastic sheet and toss it back into a fresh green garbage bag that matches his. I place it into the trunk of the car, drive back to his house, and dump the bag where I’d originally found it. I’m confident he won’t open the trash and see the plastic sheet inside the bag. Why would he? I’d already checked the trash pickup schedule, which is coming tomorrow, every Thursday.
I glance at his house and see that Enzo is home. There’s movement behind the curtains in what I assume to be his kitchen. I’m itching to help him tonight, so much so that my fingers curl and dig into my palms as I stare at his window. But I can’t do anything yet. Ithasto be on Christmas Eve—no other night. And I need to be fully prepared.
I can’t linger. Someone will see me, even if I’m covered head to toe, so I rush back to the car and pour sanitizer into my hands to clean them a bit. Then I grab the small binoculars from the glove box, lower myself into my seat, and watch his house. The front has the curtains drawn open, so I can easily see him moving about. What is he doing?
My angel is shirtless, exposing muscles upon muscles, with those tattoos decorating that one arm. I see for the first time that he has another large tattoo on the side of his torso. It’s a really pretty koi fish in a Japanese style I love. There is also a tattoo on one of his pecs. Does he plan to add more? His body is so beautiful.
My touch-starved mind tries to pull away and fantasize about him, but I shut it down. When this is over, I need to find someone for some relief. I never have before because I’m too awkward around people. They won’t like me, but maybe I’ll get lucky, even if it’s just for one night. Or I could pay someone, but I don’t want to waste money.
My skin practically aches to be touched and loved on. It’s been hurt so many times growing up. I can’t remember the last time I was hugged or just treated with kindness. Even in school, the kids were cruel or simply didn’t know I existed. I’ve been lonely my entire life. Invisible. Never seen. I’ve always been just a glance and a laugh, unless it was my stepfather. I always held his attention.
My angel’s movements are more energetic and confident than last night, making me question my assessment of him. He doesn’t appear to be as withdrawn. No, he’d clearly been in pain. That kind of deep, visceral pain doesn’t just go away. I can’t afford to let doubt corrupt me.
As if sensing me watching him, Enzo steps up to the living room window, holds the ends of each curtain to draw them close, but he pauses and stares out, looking and scanning. Does he know I’m here, watching him, caring about his pain? Are wethatconnected? I’d like to think so. He’s special like that. I justknowit. I can’t wait until he draws his last breath and sees me,reallysees me, as his savior and the one who cares about him the most. The people I help have been theonlyones to understand me. I’ll always love them for that.
I smile, and my heart beats pleasantly faster at the thought. That special moment makes all the risk and care I take worth it.
He finally yanks his curtains closed. They’re thick, so I can’t even see his shadow.
I don’t linger any longer. Neighbors might see me out here watching. It doesn’t matter that I switched out the plates on my car. It’s still a risk, so I turn on the ignition and drive home.
I can’t stay away from him and his beauty. Tomorrow, I’ll visit the gym. Maybe I can pretend to be a member so I can watch him fight.
And then, six days from now, his pain will finally end, and he’ll find his peace in heaven, where God will love him as much as I do.
Twodayslater,I’min my car across the street from the gym. I wanted to be here yesterday, but I was called into work to cover a shift for my co-worker, who had called in sick. I need the money, so I took it.
Enzo is outside, lighting up a smoke and pacing in front of the old brick building with a large window, agitated as he talks on the phone. Through the glass are the gym equipment and a boxing ring. He runs his fingers through that thick black hair and then tugs on it.
When the call ends, he looks sad again. His jaw is clenched with hurt and the struggle of trying to hide his pain. He oozes it. I feel his dark aura reverberate through me.
“I know it hurts, Angel. I hurt for you,” I whisper to him.
As if he can hear me, he suddenly stops his pacing and looks right in my direction. I quickly duck down in my seat and hold my breath, but my heart is threatening to tear through my chest, the sound pounding in my ears.
That’s twice now.
Are we tied closer together than I thought? How does he sense me all the time?
I’m confident he doesn’t really know I’m watching him, but he’s also intuitive and alert, which means I really need to be more careful.
I peep out the window, keeping my head down. It appears he’s gone inside, because I don’t see him anywhere, which is the perfect time to drive off.
