Where had his beautiful ballerina gone? He clutched the autographed picture of Sarah he kept on the kitchen table so they could have meals together. By now, he should have heard something from his source. He paid him good money to keep tabs on her. No news in a week since she’d left. Inexcusable.
He checked his watch and stood. Eighty-five seconds until eight o’clock. If he followed his rituals and kept to the routines, everything would be okay. The teakettle whistled on the hour, and he went to the counter to pour a cup. After he dipped his tea bag in the hot water exactly five times, he set the mug aside to steep and popped two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster oven. He’d never own a toaster. Crumbs collected in the bottom of them. This had a tray he could pull out and scrub clean after each use.
When the timer bell rang, he placed the toast on a plate large enough for both pieces to fit without hanging over the edge and peeled back the foil of an individual butter serving. Every Sunday, when he ate at the diner, he snuck them into a plastic bag in his pocket. Six each time, to last the week. Toast buttered, tea steeped, he sat in the one chair at the round kitchen table. He took small bites, wiping his mouth after each one with the folded napkin.
The muscles in his neck tensed. Nothing would be right until he found her, and he’d never stop until he did. She belonged with him.
Over a year ago, he’d gone to the ballet and discovered her. His soul mate. One night, after her performance, he’d given her a bouquet he’d arranged with perfect symmetry. The big smile on her face told him she recognized the difference in his flowers. A few weeks later, he waited in line for her to autograph a picture, and she brushed his hand as she gave the photo back, a sign she loved him.
She shouldn’t have left town. He’d warned her to stop listening to the police and her family. They’d probably told her not to take his calls and to fight him if he ever showed up. He fisted his hands and winced. A week since she’d stabbed him with a glass shard, and he still suffered.
When she came back, he’d have to punish her for hurting him and leaving. She’d pushed him to the point of losing control. The way he’d left her apartment in total chaos and disorder still haunted him. A film of cold sweat formed on his arms, drawing goose bumps.
His Sarah would never want to harm him. After he got her away from the people who influenced her, she’d be able to show him her love. Their life together would be magical. He’d work on the computer during the day, and she’d dance for him at night. Oh, how they would look forward to the weekends when they had tea and muffins together and talked about his job.
Unlike the kids who had bullied him growing up, Sarah appreciated his intelligence. That’s why she’d let the police set up the cameras. With his technical expertise, she knew he’d find a way around them. Stupid cops. He took a sip of tea and placed the mug back in the precise center of the coaster.
Even his own parents hadn’t understood him. When he’d hacked into the school’s system, instead of praising his talents, they’d punished him and taken away his laptop for weeks. As if that would stop him. He’d simply gone to the library and used the public computers. In short order, he’d compromised dear Dad’s work database. His father’s boss had reamed the old man out for losing “sensitive” client files. Sweet revenge.
After finishing the rest of his toast, Leonard took the empty plate to the sink. Rinse, wash, rinse. Dry, dry, dry. He placed the dish back in the cabinet. Even though he didn’t use the dishwasher, he ran the machine on high heat once a week and left the door cracked open to keep mold from growing.
Sarah would be impressed with his clean, organized living space. She deserved nothing but the best. Unlike Audrey. His mouth twisted. If only he’d found Sarah first. Audrey hadn’t been worthy of him. She’d left him no choice but to end her life when she’d soiled herself with another man. That wouldn’t happen with Sarah. His beautiful ballerina loved him and only him.
He crossed through the living room to his office where pictures of Sarah covered every inch of the walls. Pausing in front of one, he stroked a finger down her face. “Where did you go?”
He sat at his desk and clicked on a video of her dancing. Every day he watched it at the same time. He’d memorized the performance. Each movement precise, graceful, and impeccably timed. One-two-three, lift two-three, down two-three. Yet another thing that bound them together, both being perfectionists.
Upon her return, she’d dance only for him. He clenched his teeth. No partners lifting or touching her. No other men in her life.
He slid aside the closet door, opened his safe, and pulled out a picture. Audrey’s lifeless eyes stared at him from what was left of her face. She’d taken the first shot in the mouth, for kissing another man. What a mess. He’d been unprepared for so much blood and had to burn all the clothes he’d worn.
After tucking the photo back into the vault, he picked up his pistol. The cold, metal weapon weighed heavily in his hand. He’d only use the gun to get Sarah’s attention and force her to come back with him. Hard to tell how much influence her family still had on her. He wouldn’t need the gun once they were alone long enough for outsiders to stop interfering. Then, she’d admit her love for him. After she announced it to the world, people would accept that she wanted to be with him.
From the back of the safe, he pulled out a set of pointe shoe ribbons. Soft, silky, and tied in perfect slipknots, one to restrain each delicate wrist.
He’d never need to use them. Sarah loved him and would choose a life together.
His phone beeped, signaling a new email from his source, and his pulse skipped. He put the gun away, locked the safe, and returned to the computer.
At last, some news.