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Authors: Akil Victor

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BOOK: The Watcher
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He looked at her a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sad smile before turning to stride easily to the door.

Her emotions were jumbled as she reached for his back. “Hey, if you’re not up to driving, you can stay.”

He peered over his shoulder at her. “Nah, I'm good. It's only wine,” he said, stepping into the warm night.

Isabel stood at the closed door for a moment. Trying to fight the regret of not opening her mind to the possibility of something that could be great. She knew that Terrance was in her life for a reason and to deny any avenue they could explore would be a form of not living. And living, for her, had been one of the reasons she did anything worthwhile. Even becoming a cop. She hated regret. It left too much room for longing.

She moved to gather the wine and glasses when she thought she heard something thump behind her home. She walked to the door in the kitchen that led to the backyard. She peered through the window and saw nothing but darkness. She put the wine and glasses down and rushed to her room to retrieve her handgun out of the closet. Her intention, to head outside for a more thorough check. She made it to the closet, sliding her clothes apart to reveal a sliding panel leading to a safe before a gloved hand materialized in front of her face and forcefully snatched her from behind a moment before the world went black.

 

 

Terrance sat at the red light rehashing everything that had taken place during the entire day from start to finish. It was a habit formed during lock-up to ensure that he didn’t make the same mistakes twice.

His memory was scaling back in order when he replayed the conversation he and Isabel had before entering her home…. “Same night you were arrested…last victim…was chased and assaulted before the perp got away.”

Andrew Solomon popped in his head. That weirdo had no explanation or alibi for That night beyond jogging.
Who the fuck jogs with gloves on in California on a spring night?

He dialed Isabel’s number, immediately getting the voicemail before he made a U-turn after the light turned green.

Andrew Solomon had told him after their final sentencing that he was going to find him one day, follow him and kill him. At the time, Terrance laughed. In that moment, Solomon was no match for him physically and because they had two different criminal histories they would not be on the same prison yard. The last time he’d seen Solomon was judgement day, but he knew that he made it out of prison over a year ago the same as him.

He turned on her street. Wondering if it could wait after what they'd just experienced. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea if he just showed up again. He parked, waiting a minute before killing the engine. He had a nagging feeling and another thing he learned during lock-up was that he couldn’t sleep until whatever it was that was bothering him was sorted out.

He made it to her door, a second from knocking when he noticed the slightly open window to the right. He paused, replaying every detail of first arriving at and departing her house earlier. His IQ was 43 points above average and his memory came with total recall. The window was closed earlier and the light was on. Now it was off and the window was ajar. Had there not been a situation with the roses, he wouldn’t have reached for the door knob and finding it open, entered the house.

 

 

Isabel struggled against her restraints. More to test the ropes strength around her torso and the chair to her bound wrist.

Andrew Solomon sneered down at her frustration as he towered above her in the bedroom.

“So you’ve been sending me all of the gifts?”  she said, suppressing her anger, choosing her words carefully.

“I was hoping you'd like them,” he said, rolling over the handle of a pocket knife in his gloved hand.

She looked into his eyes, trying to read him. His irises were as grey as steel. Emotionless. She remembered the night of his arrest alongside Terrance. She had barely noticed him then and didn’t get a better look at him until the court proceedings. She remembered him pleading his innocence and sticking to the same bologna story about being out for a jog.

“I told you I was innocent,” he spoke, cutting into the direction of her thoughts.

“Of what?”

“Of fucking robbing a bank with that smug sonofabitch,” He exploded, pointing the blade at her.

“Okay,” she said calmly. “So you were delivering flowers that night?” She led.

His sneer returned as he bent down close to her face; out of the corner of her eye she saw Terrance appear in the doorway. “You’re the only one worthy of flowers,” Solomon said before Terrance ran into the room, dipping his shoulders a second before his body crashed into Solomon’s. The force driving him so hard into the dresser that it cracked apart with a clamor loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. They struggled against the wall near the bed, against the splintered dresser looking like two WWE wrestlers throwing blows while grappling one another. Terrance lifted him off of his feet and spun him around and down in a body slam at the same moment as Solomon’s blade arched. He let out aloud “Aaagh,” a second before they made hard and heavy contact with the carpet. The pocket knife loosed from Solomon’s grasp, landed a foot away from the side of the chair she was bound to.

She looked between the knife and Solomon who rose a beat faster than Terrance to straddle and rain blows on him, which he blocked with one arm as blood seeped out of the other. Seeing no other choice, Isabel rocked the chair, once, twice, three times before falling hard on her side in an attempt to reach the knife.

Terrance blocked another blow and using his body weight as momentum, flung himself to the side to toss Solomon off of him. It gave him a brief advantage to get up before Solomon was back at him, throwing punches and trying to gouge his eye out. Both men let out guttural grunts of exertion and exhaustion, knowing to stop fighting would mean death. Pressing away the pain as best as possible, Terrance landed a right-cross that staggered and bloodied Solomon’s mouth. He bared teeth drenched in blood and charged forward yelling expletives.

They Thundered into one another again like two lions fighting for kingship of the pride, tearing into each other mercilessly. The blood running down TW's arm from the deep wound put him at a disadvantage.

“FREEZE!” They heard in the background, not letting up a bit until, “Stop or I’ll shoot,” was added by Isabel who was in a shooter's stance with a 9 millimeter. There was still rope around her pajama'd waist, evidence of her escaping restraint.

Solomon held his arms and hands out between both of them before charging at Isa without warning.

The muzzle flashed fire instantly, the report within the room was loud enough to make their ears ring.

Solomon fell to his knees, looking from the wound in his chest to the emotionless expression of her face as she kept the firearm trained on him until he fell face first.

She glanced at Terrance, who stood breathing heavily while staring down at Solomon. She sat the gun on the bed and went to him, wrapping her trembling arms around him tightly, only letting up after hearing his painful intake.

She rushed into the nearby bathroom, grabbing her first-aid kit to dress the wound when they heard the relief of sirens. He looked nervously at her, and then lifeless form of Solomon, before she reached for his shoulder to say, “It's okay.”

 

 

They stood together on the porch, watching as the first series of flashing blue and red beakers on the ambulance and squad cars approached. She looked up at Terrance who stood stone-face towards the vehicles. She took a step closer and looped her arm through his, interlocking their fingers to hold his hand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Short Story end.

For the extended erotic version, contact the author via Facebook: Akil B. Victor or email:

[email protected]

BOOK: The Watcher
3.36Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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