Brian had known there was something deeply troubling about the man—Ted had called him volatile and highly dangerous—but to think he’d been watching Her sent a shiver up Brian’s spine. How dare he! How dare he violate her privacy. How dare he see her most intimate moments. How dare he rig up a surveillance system to her apartment.
On-screen, Yuki performed her nightly ritual—her sultry dance—as Brian watched. Even in his current state—beat-up and hurting from the days spent at Ted’s—Brian grew incensed that some man, some dickhead stranger, was watching Her. Jesus, Ted’s Polaroids were tame in comparison. This guy, this flesh-formed parasite, was the worst of the worst. And yet, Brian couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. He felt a little excited. How could he not? Her didn’t just dance, she created art, and he’d gone without her artistic expression for almost a week. Damn it, she was art, and that piece-of-shit man, whose house he stood in, had taken advantage. He’d crossed the very boundaries of human decency. What had happened to the bald guy was child’s play compared to this. Brian’s hands clenched into fists. He had to get out of there and tell Her what was happening. He should never have held things back—should never have left the library with Ted in the first place. Matter of fact, he shouldn’t have even gone to the library. He should have taken Yuki and gone far, far away from this wretched town. He’d done nothing. But now he was doing something.
He had to protect Her.
Brian looked to the fifth screen, recognised it instantly: his own apartment. He felt sick.
Does that mean he saw me watching Her?
Brian clicked through to the shot of his hallway. So, the camera was attached to the same wall the open wardrobe lay against. Brian breathed slight relief. It would track him entering the wardrobe but once he was inside, nada.
His relief was short-lived when he turned back to the screen showing Her. The dance complete, she lay sprawled out on the bed, wearing a nightdress that left little to the imagination, and reading a paperback. Brian couldn’t make out the title.
This vile wretch of a human being had no right to do this to Her. No right at all. This was worse than anything Brian had imagined.
Brian checked for the knife in his back pocket, his fingers grazing the tip. He had to warn her, and fast. He knew what he’d done was wrong—peeping on Her—but this was different. This took things to another level.
Brian scanned the room for recording equipment, something he could destroy to protect him and Her, but came up empty. No matter. He could return to the house later, but for now he had to get to Her. He had to run back through the fields and to Pelagic Court.
He switched the lights off and made his way towards the back of the house. He wanted to leave the place as he’d found it—didn’t want to clue the man into him being there, into him knowing.
Violating bastard. Her is sacrosanct. Her is …
Brian stopped himself, knew how he’d wanted to finish it.
Her is mine.
Her is for me.
For a moment Brian wondered if he was no better than the man, but he brushed that thought aside. Of course he was better. He had feelings for Her and Her had feelings for him. They did things together. That’s what he’d promised her.
As he walked back through the house and into the kitchen, he paused at the smashed windowpane, looking towards the old wooden swing. He swore he could see something or someone sitting on the swing, rocking back-and-forth—his palms turned to water, his mouth to sand—but as he came closer, he realised that wasn’t right. His mind, the excitement of it all—the adrenaline—was playing tricks on him. There was nothing rocking on the old swing. Nothing at all.