Charade

Vic

I waited for light.

Any light.

Something to rip open the darkness and reveal the face of my watcher. Nothing came. When we did enter a well-lit suburb, I stayed back, following him on the other side of the street, close enough to watch but far enough to stay hidden. I couldn't see his face, so I watched his back, waiting for him to turn around or make a wrong turn to someplace darker, someplace where I could corner him.

Unfortunately, he didn't. Instead, the watcher charged forward, his stride seeming confident, but I saw the caution in his step. I watched the way he moved, studied his muscles and his joints and his hands. I wasn't as fortunate as Benjamin, who could simply feel what was happening. I had to look closely, analyse every movement; a task most people couldn't do.

The watcher's shoulders tensed. I ducked into somebody's well-kept garden before he could spot me, hiding behind a wall of trimmed pine trees. He knew I was here, hiding away. I could hear it in his voice.

"Hello?" He ventured.

Silence followed for the longest moment. I stayed perfectly still, back to the thick pines, breathing ever so quietly. I waited for his footsteps to echo through the quiet street as they retreated, but they didn't. I frowned. Why wasn't he moving?

From the safety of the pine, I turned, and finally laid eyes on the watcher's face – 

– and he was staring straight back at me.

© A.G. Trave