He collapsed on his bed and shut his eyes, blocking out external sound. This day had been long and hard — and it wasn’t over yet. He needed sleep, but he wouldn’t get it. His back was tied in knots, and his neck felt like stone. Tension squeezed at his veins and arteries. His head still pounded.
Every Saturday he received a call from the person who had sent him on this tour to watch the Special One. In the past their conversations had been brief and veiled — there was a risk that others could be listening. He spoke of his work like he was just shooting the breeze, knowing the person on the other end of the line understood the meaning behind his chatter.
But now he no longer took the calls. Nor would he ever again. Things weren’t going exactly the way the sender had planned.
The scene of the Special One at the mall flashed repeatedly through his brain.
Such chances for her he’d taken — and she’d gone shopping. He pictured her tears as the crowd hemmed in, the fear on her face. Maybe she was a little too ungrateful. Maybe she’d deserved that.
And the lurid details he remembered of that crowd. Especially the close, pressed bodies …
He cycled his legs against the mattress, seeking comfort that couldn’t be found.
Face it — he never should have agreed to this mission. Sure, the sender’s money was good, but the ungratefulness of this girl. The sheer flaunting of herself — in front of the whole world.
He’d thought she was as superior as he. That she deserved him.
How wrong he was.