DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the intellectual property to the respective author. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer (and Wicker Park). No copyright infringement is intended.

January 3, 2011

10:30 AM

North Avenue, Chicago, Illinois

"Do you see what I mean? I turn it on to take a picture and it turns back off. It keeps on happening. I can't even get my pictures out and blah, blah, blah."

I was listening. Well, maybe not. This was the fifth time she came in this week. A woman in her late sixties and technology challenged, I'd tried to fix the problem, but she didn't hear me. She would nod and promise to follow through, but go home and fuck shit up. It was getting exhausting, and in the last few minutes or so of her rambling, I'd suppressed, at least, fourteen yawns and five sighs.

It wasn't her fault. Some of it was, but not all of it. Monday's sucked.

The electronic store I worked for wasn't a Radio Shack or ran by some corporate asshole. It was small time, and owned by one family for over twenty plus years. It was eclectic, warm, and had an urban vibe to it. Unfortunately, in this day in age, people wanted everything new, and as a result the store was rarely busy. They had a good run for quite a number of years, and even continued to stay packed for several months after the Apple store opened up down the street. But things were catching up and they were finally losing steam.

I stuck around because cameras and photography was my passion. The quality products my boss provided couldn't be found in your average iPhone or iPad. Authenticity was key.

"Can you fix it?" She held out her piece of shit Kodak camera out me. You get what you pay for, but she didn't know the difference. It took digital pictures and was user friendly. That's all that mattered.

I rubbed the back of my neck and forced a smile. "Sure."

Leading the customer back to the counter, I overheard Esme, the co-owner of the store, grumbling. "Ugh, damn it! What is wrong with this thing?"

She wasn't tech savvy, not like me, but she did more than most and at least tried.

"You need some help there?"

She looked up at me with her brows bunched in frustration. "I can't seem to figure out why this thing doesn't have any sound."

I looked over at the 50 inch flat screen on my left, and the image displayed there knocked the fucking wind out of me. A woman with these wide brown eyes stared back. Everything in my world in that moment stopped. There was a brief moment of clarity, but masked with confusion from the lack of air entering my lungs. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. This woman, whoever she was, was fucking stunning and unbelievably beautiful. I found myself drawn to her. My feet with a mind of their own were moving me closer and closer to the television until my face was an inch from the screen.

Where did she come from?

I watched this home video in silence. The camera followed her around the apartment as she read and tended to the windowsill flowers. They were daisies. Why did I know that? Then she laughed. I smiled, only for it to turn into a pained grimace within the next second as my stomache tightened.

Fuck me. I needed to hear it.

Esme's voice slowly came back to me. Each time she called of my name was louder than the last. "Edward, hello? Anyone home?"

I broke my gaze from the screen and back over at Esme, a sudden heat of guilt flooding to my face. "I'll take this one, if you want."

She handed over the camcorder. "Are you sure?"

Giving the brown-eyed beauty another, resolute glance. I nodded. "Yeah, I got this."

"Okay then." She patted me on the back. "Knock yourself out, kid."

Sitting down in her seat, I started the video from the beginning and ran it on a loop.

January 12, 2011

12:17 PM

North Avenue, Chicago, Illinois

Nine days passed, and that woman with no voice but unforgettable eyes never left my thoughts. I'd watched those nine and a half minutes of footage over a thousand times. I knew the curve of her face so intimately. I saw it in my dreams every night. The freckles on her nose were my favorite. They stuck out like a sore thumb on her pale complexion. Then there was her hair, a thick, wavy reddish brown she'd worn to her shoulders.

Fuck, I watched that damn video way too many times. What was wrong with me? It wasn't healthy to be this fixated on a woman I'd never met. She wasn't real, in a way, and in the back of my mind, I knew this. But my denial was strong and I'd rationalized it with some bullshit about being passionate about my job.

Esme, eventually, had to intervene and take the project out of my hands when the problem wasn't being fixed. The camcorder's internal audio component was broken and had been sent out to the manufacturer for repair. It's been over a week and we were expecting it back today. The owner was called and she said she would be in today to pick it up.

Wednesdays were my day off, but I offered to come in and help out.

That was the story I was telling, but the truth was far more pathetic and creepy.

Luckily for me, they had a ton of work, but the day was moving by slowly. Picking up one of our newest items, I turned it on and began recording. I zoomed in on the aged buildings and random people walking on the street. It was pure and unadulterated voyeurism at its finest, and I watched through the lens as people went about their lives. You get the truth about someone when they don't think anyone was looking.

Roaming aimlessly, nothing really caught my eye, until she flitted into the frame.

It caught me by surprise and I pulled back from the camcorder and located her across the street with my own eyes. It took me a second to figure out what just happened. My mind was racing, and trying to keep up with the erratic pounding of my heart. Then it fucking hit me. She was real. The girl I'd been fucking obsessing over was within twenty feet of me.

She looked different somehow, and the distance irked me. I couldn't see the freckles on her nose.

I panicked then, bringing the camera back up to my eyes. I peered through the lens and zoomed in tight on her face. There were those freckles, and other things I hadn't noticed. Like the way she spoke with her hands or switched from foot to foot in an effort to stay warm. I even took note of her clothing, how off they were in color, but matched in a way that suited her.

I didn't know this woman, never even heard her voice, but everything she did enthralled me.

She smiled. I smiled with her. She laughed. I chuckled, as if I was in on the joke. And when she moved to clear a path for someone to get by, I stepped to the right to follow her.

I continued to watch her until she put her back to me and walked out of frame. Wait, what? Searching the streets up and down, I found her again, but she was leaving.

"Oh, shit!" I set the camcorder down and grabbed my jacket. I had two seconds to get my ass moving to catch up with her and I've already wasted half it.

"Edward? Hey! Where are you going?" Esme called after me as I dashed out of the store, nearly plowing down some innocent bystander.

I mumbled a half-assed apology and sprinted across the street. The woman with the red coat and yellow scarf led me through the city. She never saw me following her. I kept my distance, vaguely aware that I was stalking this woman. It was wrong, and I knew that, but I couldn't stop my pursuit. It was a compulsion, a need to know who she was. If anything, I was protecting her from the dangers of the city. Like a stalking body guard.

Okay, that was shit, and I conceded to the fact that I was fucking nuts. But she was safe. I would never hurt her.

So, with a semi-clear conscience, I followed close to keep her company. The bitter weather kept my face tucked tight into my chest, but my gaze never left her, and she never looked back.

The neighborhood was familiar to me. It was a mile away from Wicker Park and another mile from my apartment building. Why hadn't I seen her before last week? The city was massive, but surely I would've noticed her.

Maybe she just moved here. I didn't know. Everything before her was becoming a wasted blur.

When she reached her destination, I stopped in my tracks with surprise, but then everything fell into place. It all made sense.

Chicago Dance Academy.

A/N: We'll see if I can keep up with this posting schedule. Hope you're liking the story. Let me know. See ya soon.

As always, thank you, B! I love you.