I’ve been slowly getting to know her over the past couple of weeks, talking with her during her camera time, just enjoying the anonymity of being able to watch with her consent. Which is a new experience for me. Whether anything she told me was the truth is immaterial; her body and eyes, the tilt of her mouth spoke of her truths.
The website, although fairly protected, wasn’t a match for my skills. I may not be as good as Eric Bannerman, but I’m no slouch in the hacker department. It wasn’t too difficult to trace the IP address, even if it was being bounced around the globe, the crossing pathways reminiscent of a young child’s drawing. Finding out that she lived just outside Flagstaff was a pleasant surprise, and I quickly made my way up here, enjoying the cooler temperatures and fresh air.
There’s no doubt in my mind that God is leading me where he needs me to be - stopping at a gas station to fill up the tank, I saw a notice pinned up in the window for cabin rentals that were conveniently only about a mile from Rebecca’s residence. A small cluster of ten cabins located in a clearing in the forest, it was the perfect place for privacy and the cheap rent was a definite bonus. Not that I’m struggling for funds. Besides managing to save most of my salary from my previous job, I also do odd hacking jobs here and there, so I have quite a tidy little nest egg for myself. It also helps that I’ve never been one to collect possessions and spend very little on myself.
I’ve driven past the property a couple of times, but it’s sitting so far back from the road that I can’t make it out. Frustration courses through me, but I’m not going to let something as inconsequential as a wall keep me out.
That’s why we have C-4.
***
As the character Inigo Montoya so eloquently stated: I hate wait. I can get down with a man dedicating his whole life to revenge though.
Parked in the shade of a scraggly tree in an abandoned parking lot at the edge of Sedona, I check the time on the dashboard for the three hundredth time, my knee bouncing in irritation as my anxiety ramps up. My contact is approaching forty minutes late, and I hate being kept waiting. I may be a relatively patient man—I did wait twelve years for Tessa, after all—but that was my choice. Sitting here out in the open like this puts me on edge. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment, I light one up, letting the smoke fill my lungs, the rush of nicotine soothing my nerves. It’s not a habit I partake in regularly, but everyone has their vices, and this one is mine.
You can get anything on the dark web.Anything. As long as you have the cash and the know-how, your desires can be fulfilled at the touch of a button. Luckily, there’s plenty of conspiracy theorists, doomsday preppers, and all-around idiots that hoard weapons like they will be taking a one-man stand against the might of the US military all on their own. Finding some local C-4 isn’t a problem.
Making sure they aren’t undercover federal agents is a whole different matter.
As is this asshole’s timekeeping abilities.
Deciding to give the guy one more hour to show up, I allow myself time to just think. Of the past. Of the future. Of the mistakes that I’ve made, that I’m determined not to repeat.
My mother had always drilled into me that perfection was next to godliness.Sit up straight, Trey. Pray harder, Trey. Kneel down and give thanks, Trey.
Mistakes were punished with a whip; my back carries so many scars that no undamaged flesh remains. My knees remember the agony of being forced to kneel for hours on grains of rice, my punishment for lying. The Bible—well, I know it backward and forward.
When I make mistakes, her voice rings out clearly all around me, as if she is still here, scolding me, reminding me of what a failure I am. No one told me that the dead could still haunt you. I thought shutting that bitch up for good would stop the never-ending criticism. Alas, it did not.
While my mother leaned on her religious beliefs, attending church most days, my father was a different breed altogether. He trained me in the art of stalking, of watching discreetly, of getting to know the target. Being an Unseen helped immensely in this endeavor, and still benefits me to this day.
It’s amazing what you can get away with when no one sees you.
Then, I would befriend the target. Bring them home. Girls, boys, it didn’t matter to him. The only rule was that they must be homeless, or poor, or without family to come looking.
I would be forced to hold them down as they struggled fiercely against my grasp. I learned quickly to keep my eyes closed tightly, to drown out the sounds of their cries and moans, the begging and pleas as my father grunted and groaned on top of them.
Saying no to my father wasn’t an option. The one time I had tried, I ended up in a coma for months.
Father worked as the custodian of a dilapidated apartment building. He made good use out of the furnace in the basement. It turned out to be a suitable burial ground for them as well.
I don’t often think back on those days. The pothole-strewn streets and boarded up storefronts, bored children kicking balls in overgrown abandoned parking lots, the crumbling houses. The overwhelming stench of decay and despair hanging like a thick mist, choking the life out of all that lived there. Including me.
That neighborhood was where I first discovered I was an Unseen, and once I escaped, I never turned back.
The sound of a car approaching brings me out of my thoughts, and I quickly don my mask and a pair of gloves. Rolling down my window halfway, I palm my .22, keeping it out of sight along my side as I wait. Keeping watch in the rear-view mirror, I wait for the shifty-looking white guy to make his way over to me. My brows lower at his decisively strange behavior. He’s ducking, looking around, backing up, moving forward.
Letting out a strong sigh, I press down on the horn, making him jump a foot into the air before he scuttles over to me.
Pale, watery blue eyes peek in at me under greasy, floppy hair. Fuck’s sake. Looks like I picked a fucking winner with this one.
“Unseen?” he mutters under his breath, the stench of it nearly enough to knock me over.
“Got what I asked for?” I reply, my patience wearing thin.
He nods emphatically, lifting his arm to show me the navy sports bag.
“Open it.”