Chapter 2
MONDAY
"Why the fuck can't I get my latte with extra foam and before it gets cold? Is everyone in the office so God Damned stupid?" Bernice paced, agitated, back and forth the length of her dark blue office. Her heels clicked madly on the floor except for the portion of her traffic pattern when she crossed over the Persian rug. Her right hand periodically flew to the bridge of her nose to push her black-rimmed glasses back into place. In her left hand, she clutched the file of information on the Watcher.
The brunette bitch stopped mid-stride, crossed the room to her desk, and slammed the folder down on the mahogany surface. " Fuck this," she thought. She poked her head out the door and told her secretary that she was going to lunch. Bernice strode to the coat rack, ripped her calf-length blue coat off the post, and pulled it over her slim frame. She grabbed her purse off the chair on her way out, but was stopped in front of her desk by the faint call of the folder. She turned slightly to look at it. There it was, beckoning to her, taunting her, mocking her. She wanted to go to lunch alone, without the Watcher. No such luck. She let out a resigned sigh and picked it up. The folder was shoved violently under her arm as she left the office.
Bernice sat alone at an outdoor table of Au Bon Pain, in the shade of a small oak tree planted, against all odds, in the sidewalk. The folder's contents were spread out carefully around her plate, filling up every inch of open space on the table. The middle aged couple sitting at the little metal café table next to hers did not seem to pleased with the various photos of strangled girls covered in their own blood in clear view, but Bernice didn't care. She had never been one for tact.
As Bernice sat puzzled, her interest absorbed by the Watcher, she was unaware that she likewise held the Watcher's attention. He studied her intently from inside the restaurant through the huge plate glass window. He picked absent-mindedly at his blueberry muffin while she nibbled at her sandwich. After a few minutes of study, the dark-haired man lifted the camera that hung around his neck and snapped a picture of his subject.
"What are you photographing?" an elderly woman asked, looking towards the direction his camera was pointed.
"The tree," He replied, turning to face the white-haired woman. " I think its beautiful to find a bit of nature in this concrete jungle." He smiled warmly at the woman who nodded and smiled approvingly at him.
" Well you might as well take a picture now. Nothing out there lives very long." The woman observed cynically as she picked up her coffee and headed out the door.
" Indeed," the man said, his smile turning from warm to bitingly cold, " you're probably right."
MONDAY
"Why the fuck can't I get my latte with extra foam and before it gets cold? Is everyone in the office so God Damned stupid?" Bernice paced, agitated, back and forth the length of her dark blue office. Her heels clicked madly on the floor except for the portion of her traffic pattern when she crossed over the Persian rug. Her right hand periodically flew to the bridge of her nose to push her black-rimmed glasses back into place. In her left hand, she clutched the file of information on the Watcher.
The brunette bitch stopped mid-stride, crossed the room to her desk, and slammed the folder down on the mahogany surface. " Fuck this," she thought. She poked her head out the door and told her secretary that she was going to lunch. Bernice strode to the coat rack, ripped her calf-length blue coat off the post, and pulled it over her slim frame. She grabbed her purse off the chair on her way out, but was stopped in front of her desk by the faint call of the folder. She turned slightly to look at it. There it was, beckoning to her, taunting her, mocking her. She wanted to go to lunch alone, without the Watcher. No such luck. She let out a resigned sigh and picked it up. The folder was shoved violently under her arm as she left the office.
Bernice sat alone at an outdoor table of Au Bon Pain, in the shade of a small oak tree planted, against all odds, in the sidewalk. The folder's contents were spread out carefully around her plate, filling up every inch of open space on the table. The middle aged couple sitting at the little metal café table next to hers did not seem to pleased with the various photos of strangled girls covered in their own blood in clear view, but Bernice didn't care. She had never been one for tact.
As Bernice sat puzzled, her interest absorbed by the Watcher, she was unaware that she likewise held the Watcher's attention. He studied her intently from inside the restaurant through the huge plate glass window. He picked absent-mindedly at his blueberry muffin while she nibbled at her sandwich. After a few minutes of study, the dark-haired man lifted the camera that hung around his neck and snapped a picture of his subject.
"What are you photographing?" an elderly woman asked, looking towards the direction his camera was pointed.
"The tree," He replied, turning to face the white-haired woman. " I think its beautiful to find a bit of nature in this concrete jungle." He smiled warmly at the woman who nodded and smiled approvingly at him.
" Well you might as well take a picture now. Nothing out there lives very long." The woman observed cynically as she picked up her coffee and headed out the door.
" Indeed," the man said, his smile turning from warm to bitingly cold, " you're probably right."