WARNING: This story contains disturbing and sometimes violent material. If violence bothers you, please do not read this story.
Chapter 4
He sat in the dark car, parked just down from her house, and waited for her to come home from work. He knew her schedule - when she left in the morning, when she came home at night. He knew the route she took to get to work, what gym she belonged to, where she shopped for groceries. He had been watching her for months.
He knew the layout of her house, inside and out. He had been inside, several months ago. It was a routine install, one of several he would do in a normal workday. Nothing special. Until he saw the lock on the basement door.
He was intrigued at first, trying to figure out why she needed such a sophisticated locking system for a basement. And he was there to install a security camera, which increased his interest. What was she storing in the basement that she needed to keep anyone from getting in?
It was simple curiosity at that point. A mystery that needed solving. But when he finished the install, he took a few moments to wander around the house, looking at her pictures, touching her things. He saw the same face in several photographs and assumed it was her.
And he fell. Hard.
She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Long, dark brown hair. Matching eyes. Pale, almost translucent skin. Older than he was by several years, but he didn't care. There was something behind her eyes, something that spoke to him. Something that told him he had found a kindred spirit. He had to know more.
It was a while later that he asked himself the question that put everything in perspective and changed the course of his life: what was she storing in the basement that she needed to keep from getting out?
Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. "Trunk Boy," however, is all mine.