March 2017
Goethestrasse, Berlin, Germany
It had been easy to find her. Quinn knew how, of course, it was his line of work. And she wasn't exactly in hiding. Her name, email, so many other things were easily located, since she was now a private citizen.
The apartment across the street from Carrie's, well, that had been a little harder to get. There had been a 3 month lease, and the manager was holding it for someone else. But Quinn had literally years of danger pay that he hadn't had the heart to spend. Money solved that problem in a hurry.
He used one of his many aliases, and brought in a bunch of surveillance equipment in suitcases. He'd worn a pork-pie hat, kept his head down, and abandoned the sling. His arm was still sore, but he'd felt worse. He didn't want to be spotted, and hadn't caught sight of her yet, not even from a distance. But through his research, Quinn knew Carrie resided in apartment 4A. Fourth-floor walkup. He told himself that he only wanted to watch. That he wouldn't violate her privacy… too much. The easy view of her bed through the window curtains made him shudder, though, and the word "violate" rang through his head again, unbidden. He shook his head. If she appeared happy, he should not disturb her and disrupt her life. At least, that's what he told himself right now.
Underneath this tacit assumption, he felt a deeper current of desire – more than to just see her. He wanted to … he didn't know what. Just talk to her, maybe, he told himself. To clear the air, once and for all. Maybe for the last time.
He unpacked his belongings – so few, such sparse furnishings. But it would be comfortable enough for the month he would stay. He was used to worse. He showered, took a nap. Berlin seemed deathly quiet after the war zones he'd been living in. When he awoke, he got down to business.
Carrie's apartment was one floor down, and right across the street. It was a quiet, two way residential lane with lovely trees. But her windows gave him almost a perfect view into her balcony, her bedroom beyond – and the other window, which looked into the small living area.
He set up his long-range scope, and for the first time in many years, laid cross-hairs on someone he didn't intend to gather intel on, and later kill. Just to watch.
The tip of the scope was poked between the curtains, but he was confident it wasn't visible from her place. He felt a bit more at peace already, just knowing that during this month of quiet, he would probably get to see her. Even the sight of her would heal him. A window into her life, and up close, if he was careful. That is, once he'd tracked and documented her regular movements, and figured out how to tail her. He pictured himself, sipping coffee in a cafe, two tables away from Carrie, with his back turned. He smiled. Maybe it was madness, but this is how he wanted to spend his vacation. Anyway, it was nobody's fucking business but his own.
His stealthy observation paid off quickly. Late in the afternoon of the same day, he saw Carrie coming down the street. She had a warm knitted beret on, and an ankle-length wool coat. Brown leather boots. Her hair was the slightest bit shorter than he remembered. But she looked the same. Handbag slung over her shoulder, she hurried to the door of the building, and let herself in. His heart had been leaping like a gazelle in his chest ever since she came into view.
He watched the upstairs window, where he knew she'd enter the flat. A portly woman with short, curly brown hair walked into the field of view, and set a red-haired toddler down on the carpet, as Carrie unlocked the door, and came in. The child wobbled towards her. He could see Carrie's face very well in this view, through the powerful scope. Golden hair, as she whipped the hat off in the warmth. Beautiful, kissable white skin. She smiled at Franny, and he could see her mouth the words, "Hi, sweetie." His heart faltered, and his right hand clamped down on the scope. His left hand gripped his knee with menacing tightness.
As if she could hear him, he replied.
"Hi, Carrie." Softly, in the near darkness, to no one.