Predatory

You’ve dyed your hair. Did you think that would work? That it would somehow make you unrecognizable? And the glasses? There’s no mistaking the pop of your green irises. You’re not good at hiding. But I am.

You’ll never notice me sitting here, a few rows behind you on the evening train out of the city. I’m completely imperceptible.

Oh, but wait. You look over your shoulder for a moment. It’s the quickest of glances, but I see the panic. Maybe you have sensed my presence and I’ve underestimated you.

When the train reaches the end of the line I let the other passengers trickle out first. I’m patient.

We do the same old dance. You double back toward the station, making quick unexpected turns. Well, you think they’re unexpected. But I know the routine. Always one of three routes that all end in the same place.

I watch you walk through your front door. I imagine you sighing in relief as you bolt the lock behind you. Then I make my way to the vacant house on the corner. The master bedroom window of the two story colonial has perfect sight lines into your living room.

Through the binoculars I can see your profile as you sit on the sofa. You’ve turned the fireplace on even though it’s been a warm spring day. Is it to keep the dark memories away?

You thought moving to a new state where no one knew you would be enough. You were wrong.

I catch a hint of movement. You’re not alone. It’s him. A surge of anger courses through my veins. What you ever saw in him, I’ll never understand. It makes me question your judgment.

But I was prepared for this. Actually, I’ve been eagerly awaiting this moment. I set down the binoculars and pick up the rifle. I locate your head in the scope. I watch as he comes up behind you and puts his hands on your shoulders. He leans his head down next to yours. I’m sure he’s whispering some nonsense in your ear.

My finger is dancing at the trigger, but I wait. Remember, I’m patient. He straightens and I tilt the rifle until the lines are a bullseye on his temple. In the measure of a heartbeat, he’ll be out of the picture permanently.

Just as his hands move to your throat I squeeze the trigger. Glass shatters. His body falls out of sight. You’re screaming and clawing at the blood that’s splattered on your face.

I pick up my phone and click on your name while the undercover cops parked down the street bolt out of their vehicles toward your door.

Your voice rings in my ears, “Agent Driscoll? He’s here! He found me!”

“I know, Mia, I got him,” I say calmly. “You’re safe now.”

I hang up and exit the house to join the officers. One of them tips his hat toward me. "A clean kill. That sure was some sharp shooting, ma'am."