29

 

The Knight scribbled in his notebook.

4:00 PM—Mark leaves campus.

Wait, except for Tuesdays. Then he leaves earlier. That’s right. It had been awhile since he’d tailed the guy. Mark went to rehab.

The Knight dropped his pen and paper on the seat next to him. Then arranged it more orderly and started his car and followed Mark from a distance.

Mark traveled along Riversdale and got on the freeway. The Knight stayed behind the van, ending up at Health Harbor in Warner’s Bay. Mark got out of his vehicle and wheeled inside.

Why even bother with the chair? The Knight snorted. Why not just walk inside?

Mark Graham wasn’t all he was cracked up to be. The Knight needed to produce evidence to present to Beth. Surely, she’d end her friendship with Mark and run to the Knight.

Even after the Knight had repeatedly warned her, Juanita refused to leave a man in a wheelchair. But no way he’d let Beth slip through his fingers. He had a chance to replay history and control the situation so things worked out according to his plan. Beth and Mark were mere puppets on his stage. And deep down, she wanted him to rescue her from Mark. The Knight would help her understand.

He got back in his car and stared at the outside of the physical therapy complex. Next week he’d be watching Mark again, only from the inside.

As he drove home, he passed the middle school. Beth had made no mention of his last note. Maybe she hadn’t seen it. Should he stop in and visit her room? Perhaps he could leave her a new note. Maybe even send a note directly to her apartment to ensure she received it. A rumble sounded in his stomach. No, he’d do it some other time.

He drove home and stumbled inside his apartment. Better make a sandwich. He walked to the fridge and removed meat, cheese, and mayo, and then headed to the table. He grabbed a loaf of bread from the table and built an impressive ham and Swiss. He opened his lips and lifted the sandwich to his mouth. His watch beeped. He slapped off the alarm and slammed down his snack.

Time to take his meds. Pills did help control the rage, when he decided to take them. He ignored his ham and Swiss and ran his fingers along the outside of the Sig Sauer handgun lying on his table.

Maybe he wanted to feel…something. That’s why he’d skipped his medicine every day the past week. Besides, who said he had a disorder? Society. And what did they know?