The Watcher

by Akil Victor

  “Nobody got a description?”

  “No, it was dark and the suspect wore dark or black clothing is all Maryann could gather.”

  TW parked in front of her house. A medium sized, pale yellow, single story home with a well-maintained lawn. He noticed Isabel's hesitation to leave the vehicle as he thought back on the night of his arrest. How that idiot Andrew Solomon had crashed into him at full speed, thus allowing then Detective Isabel Gonzalez to catch up to him before he could escape with $160,000 in cash he worked so hard to steal from the credit union.

  “Invite me in, Isa,” he suggested before adding, “at least until your nerves settle a bit,” sensing her hesitation.

  She nodded, exiting the van.

  Terrance thought that whoever or whatever that idiot Andrew Solomon was had gotten him arrested alongside Terrance for a crime he didn’t commit. Isa opened the door. No one believed Solomon’s story of being out for a jog in all black, including gloves, and just happening to end up near the scene of a bank robbery along with another suspect carrying a bag of cash. Terrance made no attempt to exonerate him. For one: not to incriminate himself, and two: Had it not been for running into that fool he would have possibly escaped. Solomon’s attempt to plead with him back then had only got him an ass whooping. That is, in addition to the same six year sentence that Terrance received.

  Isabel turned on the lights, revealing a cozy looking living room with an excessive amount of roses, and a pile of cushy teddy bears next to a stack of ten boxed chocolates.

  “Y'know, I almost hoped it was you who sent me all of these gifts,” she said, directing him to sit on the brown suede couch in front o the coffee table that held eight of the fourteen vases of various color roses spread around the living room.

  “It could be anybody,” he said.

  Skepticism was etched on her face as she nodded in the negative. “Would you like something to drink? I have water, milk, tea, and wine.”

  “Whatever you're having is fine.”

  “Red wine it is,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen to return a moment later with a large bottle and two glasses. Placing them on the remaining portion of the table. “Help yourself,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing into one of the home’s two bedrooms.

  He poured them both a glass, watching as she returned in a pair of royal blue, silk, pajamas that clung to every curve. His eyes lingered for a bit at the outline of ample breast under her top before he pulled his gaze away to hand her the glass of wine. She sat facing him Indian style on the couch with a small smile on her face before letting him know not to get any bright ideas.

  After their second glass, they shared laughs about the evening's events. Namely the Polish grandmother doing the robot to Justin Beiber's 'as long as you love me' song. That and the overweight aunt who insisted on dancing with Terrance and wouldn’t stop smacking him on the butt. In turn, Terrance reminded her of that same aunt's overweight husband who crept up on her to hug her from behind. Which startled her to the point where she yelped and tossed a tray of hors d’oeuvres in the air. Which he caught on camera by the way. She cackled, sliding a bit closer to slap him on the chest as they giggled like school children after a practical prank.

  “So,” she said as their laughter subsided, taking a sip from her third glass before asking, “How many places have you robbed?”

  He chuckled, “What the fuck,” he said playfully. “Are you suspecting me of something again?”

  “No,” she pushed him. “I'm just wondering.”

  “Asking me that, is like asking…how many women have I slept with.”

  She shrugged, “Okay, how many women have you slept with?”

  “Umm, let’s see, 38, 70, 296,” he looked skyward, holding up his fingers to count off to her widening eyes. “Like, 769, yep.”

  “Shut up,” she punched him in the arm lightly.

  “You hit me again and I’m going to kiss you.”

  She punched him again and tried to dash off the couch quickly when he grabbed her by the waist. She resisted, giggling, until his lips made contact with her cheek, once, then twice. She looked up at him, meeting the passion and desire in his eyes. He used a hand to smooth back her hair, to touch her cheek, raise her chin. She seen the need ad want etched on his handsome face and the protest she wanted to raise was lodged in her throat as his lips brushed hers sensuously before he pressed them on hers fully. Their lips melded together softly and tongues touched as he lifted her off the ground like she weighed nothing at all. She wrapped her legs around his waist letting out a small whimper as his hands squeezed and slightly spread apart her firm butt through the silk fabric of her pajamas.

  Reluctantly, she pulled back, her arms around his neck as she gazed down into his half-lidded eyes.

  “We can’t do this,” she whispered.

  He kissed her chin, letting his tongue trail along her jawline.

  “Terrance,” she hissed, “we can’t. Rachel.”

  “What about her?” He asked, letting his words vibrate against her neck.

  “She, uh, she's in love with you.”

  He met her eyes, “But it’s you I want. I always have. I only took the job, our partnership, to get close to you. To show you that there is more to me than what meets the eyes.”

  “I can’t,” she responded softly, still holding onto him.

  “What are you afraid of? I know we’re from two different worlds but my soul has been calling for you. Outside of success, you are the only thing I think of, and since I want to be successful with you, you own those thoughts as well. Do you think about me?”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “Tell me you don't feel this chemistry.”

  To this she looked at him, loosing her legs around his waist, allowing him to slowly slide her down; making sure that her pressed his generous length and thickness onto her softness before her feet touched the ground. “This is alcohol. I think we should…sober up.”

  He looked at her a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting into a sad smile before turning to stride easily to the door.

  Her emotions were jumbled as she reached for his back. “Hey, if you’re not up to driving, you can stay.”

  He peered over his shoulder at her. “Nah, I'm good. It's only wine,” he said, stepping into the warm night.

  Isabel stood at the closed door for a moment. Trying to fight the regret of not opening her mind to the possibility of something that could be great. She knew that Terrance was in her life for a reason and to deny any avenue they could explore would be a form of not living. And living, for her, had been one of the reasons she did anything worthwhile. Even becoming a cop. She hated regret. It left too much room for longing.

  She moved to gather the wine and glasses when she thought she heard something thump behind her home. She walked to the door in the kitchen that led to the backyard. She peered through the window and saw nothing but darkness. She put the wine and glasses down and rushed to her room to retrieve her handgun out of the closet. Her intention, to head outside for a more thorough check. She made it to the closet, sliding her clothes apart to reveal a sliding panel leading to a safe before a gloved hand materialized in front of her face and forcefully snatched her from behind a moment before the world went black.

  Terrance sat at the red light rehashing everything that had taken place during the entire day from start to finish. It was a habit formed during lock-up to ensure that he didn’t make the same mistakes twice.

  His memory was scaling back in order when he replayed the conversation he and Isabel had before entering her home…. “Same night you were arrested…last victim…was chased and assaulted before the perp got away.”

  Andrew Solomon popped in his head. That weirdo had no explanation or alibi for That night beyond jogging. Who the fuck jogs with gloves on in California on a spring night?

  He dialed Isabel’s number, immediately getting the voicemail before he made a U-turn after the light turned green.
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  Andrew Solomon had told him after their final sentencing that he was going to find him one day, follow him and kill him. At the time, Terrance laughed. In that moment, Solomon was no match for him physically and because they had two different criminal histories they would not be on the same prison yard. The last time he’d seen Solomon was judgement day, but he knew that he made it out of prison over a year ago the same as him.

  He turned on her street. Wondering if it could wait after what they'd just experienced. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea if he just showed up again. He parked, waiting a minute before killing the engine. He had a nagging feeling and another thing he learned during lock-up was that he couldn’t sleep until whatever it was that was bothering him was sorted out.

  He made it to her door, a second from knocking when he noticed the slightly open window to the right. He paused, replaying every detail of first arriving at and departing her house earlier. His IQ was 43 points above average and his memory came with total recall. The window was closed earlier and the light was on. Now it was off and the window was ajar. Had there not been a situation with the roses, he wouldn’t have reached for the door knob and finding it open, entered the house.

  Isabel struggled against her restraints. More to test the ropes strength around her torso and the chair to her bound wrist.

  Andrew Solomon sneered down at her frustration as he towered above her in the bedroom.

  “So you’ve been sending me all of the gifts?” she said, suppressing her anger, choosing her words carefully.

  “I was hoping you'd like them,” he said, rolling over the handle of a pocket knife in his gloved hand.

  She looked into his eyes, trying to read him. His irises were as grey as steel. Emotionless. She remembered the night of his arrest alongside Terrance. She had barely noticed him then and didn’t get a better look at him until the court proceedings. She remembered him pleading his innocence and sticking to the same bologna story about being out for a jog.

  “I told you I was innocent,” he spoke, cutting into the direction of her thoughts.

  “Of what?”

  “Of fucking robbing a bank with that smug sonofabitch,” He exploded, pointing the blade at her.

  “Okay,” she said calmly. “So you were delivering flowers that night?” She led.

  His sneer returned as he bent down close to her face; out of the corner of her eye she saw Terrance appear in the doorway. “You’re the only one worthy of flowers,” Solomon said before Terrance ran into the room, dipping his shoulders a second before his body crashed into Solomon’s. The force driving him so hard into the dresser that it cracked apart with a clamor loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. They struggled against the wall near the bed, against the splintered dresser looking like two WWE wrestlers throwing blows while grappling one another. Terrance lifted him off of his feet and spun him around and down in a body slam at the same moment as Solomon’s blade arched. He let out aloud “Aaagh,” a second before they made hard and heavy contact with the carpet. The pocket knife loosed from Solomon’s grasp, landed a foot away from the side of the chair she was bound to.

  She looked between the knife and Solomon who rose a beat faster than Terrance to straddle and rain blows on him, which he blocked with one arm as blood seeped out of the other. Seeing no other choice, Isabel rocked the chair, once, twice, three times before falling hard on her side in an attempt to reach the knife.

  Terrance blocked another blow and using his body weight as momentum, flung himself to the side to toss Solomon off of him. It gave him a brief advantage to get up before Solomon was back at him, throwing punches and trying to gouge his eye out. Both men let out guttural grunts of exertion and exhaustion, knowing to stop fighting would mean death. Pressing away the pain as best as possible, Terrance landed a right-cross that staggered and bloodied Solomon’s mouth. He bared teeth drenched in blood and charged forward yelling expletives.

  They Thundered into one another again like two lions fighting for kingship of the pride, tearing into each other mercilessly. The blood running down TW's arm from the deep wound put him at a disadvantage.

  “FREEZE!” They heard in the background, not letting up a bit until, “Stop or I’ll shoot,” was added by Isabel who was in a shooter's stance with a 9 millimeter. There was still rope around her pajama'd waist, evidence of her escaping restraint.

  Solomon held his arms and hands out between both of them before charging at Isa without warning.

  The muzzle flashed fire instantly, the report within the room was loud enough to make their ears ring.

  Solomon fell to his knees, looking from the wound in his chest to the emotionless expression of her face as she kept the firearm trained on him until he fell face first.

  She glanced at Terrance, who stood breathing heavily while staring down at Solomon. She sat the gun on the bed and went to him, wrapping her trembling arms around him tightly, only letting up after hearing his painful intake.

  She rushed into the nearby bathroom, grabbing her first-aid kit to dress the wound when they heard the relief of sirens. He looked nervously at her, and then lifeless form of Solomon, before she reached for his shoulder to say, “It's okay.”

  They stood together on the porch, watching as the first series of flashing blue and red beakers on the ambulance and squad cars approached. She looked up at Terrance who stood stone-face towards the vehicles. She took a step closer and looped her arm through his, interlocking their fingers to hold his hand.

  Short Story end.

  For the extended erotic version, contact the author via Facebook: Akil B. Victor or email:

  abvictor273@gmail.com