-1Disclaimer I own very little, especially not CSI NY, wish I did though.
Notes Okay, I was wrong, THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER! A little bit more wrote itself, so one more chapter to go after this. Thank you for all the reviews, please add more! Always like to know what people think. Things get a little darker from hereon…
Watching - Chapter Two
The days are grey. I walk down the street to work, stepping carefully over the ice. Steam rises from the streets and mingles with the white breath of the city. I walk slowly, head down, words whisper to me. Someone knocks into me and I stumble. My purse drops onto the sidewalk. Someone apologises, bends down and picks it up, hands it to me. I look up then and it is him. Mac. Flushed and startled, I lose the words, can only stammer my thanks.
His face is kind. My fingers brush his as I take my purse. I want to say more to him, but then I see she is at his side and I am dumb. He smiles at me, but turns and walks away with her. They walk together, matching strides, faces turned towards each others. She puts one hand on his arm. The crowds push past me. I stand watching until they are out of sight. I feel as heavy as the leaden sky.
I reach the diner and pretend nothing is wrong. But it is wrong, all wrong. The day has died. Few bother to come in today so I can sit and think and write in the artificial light. The day ticks away. I know what I want to do and have to do. Black lines of words crawl over the pages. I have her name. I can hurt her. How? The words laugh softly and rustle. I draw black hearts on the paper. Broken hearts.
On the second Thursday of December I begin a new notebook. White pages, black ink. White sky, black buildings. Snow begins to tumble down. I stand by the door and feel the white petals fall on my hair, my hands, my face when I see him walking through the snow towards me. His head is down against the cold. My hands fall to my sides. I want to call out to him and ask him to come in, to leave the cold and snow but no words will leave my mouth. He walks past and I ache inside. My heart is black.
Christmas is gone. New Year is over. I work through the holidays. A few lonely souls come in to sit and stare through the windows while their days pass them by. I wait to see if he will come in, but he doesn't. Not yet.
On the second Saturday of January I walk past the Rockefeller Plaza at ten minutes past eight. My path is blocked by a policeman and a strip of yellow tape. A crowd has stopped to watch and I become part of it because he is behind the tape. A man lies face down and Mac bends over him examining and looking. He picks a knife up from the ground and drops it into a transparent bag. His coat swings open to show the gun he is carrying. His gun.
She stands behind Mac and takes photographs, points to things which he looks at. I realise it is twenty five minutes past eight. I start work at half past eight. It takes me three minutes to walk to work from here so I have to leave. Neither of them notice me.
When there is time I record what I saw earlier. All the things I saw. A gun, a knife, a body. Two detectives. The words on the paper wriggle into shapes and suggestions. When I reach my apartment after work, they dance about and sing in my ears. They show me things and tell me things. I pull the pages out of my notebook and lay white squares across the table. The squares stir in the draught until I trap them under a brass paperweight. It has a dull glow in the lamplight. The paper lies still beneath it.
It is a new day. The sunlight has washed through the sky and I gaze out and up through the windows. No one else is with me; the morning has only begun and I am early to work. Walking along, animated in talk and visible to me, I see the two people I am waiting for. They stop outside the door. He says something to her, she nods and they part. He walks back along the street while she pushes the door open and walks in.
After she orders two coffees from me, one black, one white, she takes a seat by the window and looks out of the window, fiddling with the sugar sachets on the table. I will straighten them later. I watch her, but she does not see me. She is waiting for him. I am waiting too.
She stands and pulls out her cell. Looks towards the door. No one is there. My hand closes around metal, safe and solid. Her back is towards me. She sighs and puts the phone back into her pocket. I am two steps behind her as she reaches into her pocket again.
Softly, I say her name, "Stella."
Sorry! Couldn't resist leaving it here, Chapter Three up very shortly, I promise. Please let me know what you think.