Critical Mass, Chapter 11: Obsession

Almost everyone, when it really comes down to it, is a creature of habit. Even the most spontaneous person: unemployed, single (especially single people), young, radical; even the most "free" person, when you look close enough, will follow some sort of trackable pattern. Some people are so habitual that the only thing that distinguishes one day from the next is the relative spontaneity of those they encounter.

In her case, however, it wasn't the where, it was the when that was eluding him. The others were easy; he would simply hang out in, or near, an underground club for a few consecutive nights, and out of the many prospects, each complete with its own unfolding drama, she would emerge. This time things were different. He couldn't rely on her being anywhere at any particular time, he only knew that on certain nights, she would show; taunting him. Flirting with him in her every movement; her every glance was an invitation. He watched her leave each time, and each time he better understood where she was coming from. The last time, he was stifled by a car blocking the view of his camera, but he had a hunch where she was going.

He crossed the street and b-lined for the intersection just down the street from the club. He could feel the bass tones pumping through his chest, slowly fading as he got further and further down the street. His heart started racing as he passed the small alley he frequented the other night; the chalk outline fading with the raindrops into an unidentifiable blemish reminding him that he was still alone. He let the long end of the yellow crime scene tape, still attached to the brick corner, slip out of his fingers like a beloved cat's soft tail as he passed the alley's edge, and turned his head, only briefly, catching the last glimpse of it whipping quietly back into the darkness to be forgotten altogether.

He had been so lost in emotion, with his attention diverted, that he didn't notice the dark shape in the black town car across the street slowly snuff the light from his cigarette, staring at him through a partially rolled up, rain speckled window. The man continued to watch only him, in spite of the small flurry of foot activity within the club's proximity that was making him blend nicely in his fedora and trenchcoat.

Stanton strolled, a little more purposefully, the rest of the way up the street and took a quick right at the intersection. He was sure she probably turned this way, as he never saw her up the main road from here, coming or going. The other man slowly opened his door and stepped out, shutting it behind him while continuing his stare toward the corner about 50 yards away.

Around the corner and about a half a block down the sidewalk, Stanton saw what he was looking for... a medium diameter drainage downspout, banded right to the brick wall every three feet with a small steel strap, the whole thing running from the roof, right into a drainage hole in the sidewalk. He had an uneasy feeling all of a sudden, so he made very quick work of attaching a remote cam neatly hidden close to the wall, along the three foot high band, pointed down the road toward the on-ramp.

If his hunch was correct, she was from up north, and was walking the girders underneath! He had heard of such a thing, but it would take someone of extreme conditioning and dexterity to pull it off for any prolonged hike! Were the hell else could she be going? The only thing past the overhead highway in this direction was an old abandoned grainery, knee deep in pigeon shit. A few people stayed there in the winter, but looking like her? With groomed hair and nice clothes? She wasn't topsider material either, but she was definitely doing better than that.

He smiled, pushing the small remote button on his keychain, activating the camera. Time would tell... His car, parked just clear of the back-road that led to the dumpster alley, was already unlocked, warmed up, and pointed back at the on-ramp for northbound. Just before he reached the top of the ramp, he stared hard into his rear-view mirror all the way back down the dark and deserted side street, focusing on the lit up corner, and gasped, actually feeling his heart skip a beat as he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a man emerge from the other street, and stop, looking right at him as he rounded the corner and sped north.

©2010 Gunnar C. Garisson, All Rights Reserved

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