7. Wes

Chapter seven

Wes

“ W here is she?” My Ma asked as we frantically search for Siobhan.

With her being missing for 48 hours and the police now involved, fear is setting in. Shivvy would never not come home. I grab my jacket from the back of my Da’s car and start walking towards the wooded area of the park. Twigs snap under my boots and I make my way through the trees. I check all of our favorite spots to play hide and seek, hoping that she was just messing around.

“Shivvy,” I shout, praying she answers me.

All I hear is the wind rustling the surrounding leaves. As I draw nearer to the heart of the wooded area, my eyes scan my surroundings. Something feels off. Call it a sixth sense, but I can feel her. My feet carry me towards a pile of leaves and branches. I lean down to inspect them and determine someone purposefully made this pile. Panic spreads through me, my heartbeat so loud it’s thumping in my ears. I grasp the branches and start ripping the pile apart, tossing the leaves aside. A black tarp comes into view, my breathing ragged .

“No. No, no, NO.” I scream as I pull the tarp up and her red hair comes into view.

I know it’s Siobhan because of the clothes she is wearing. Not touching her, I pull out my phone and fall down to the ground. I hit my Da’s number and the phone dials. It feels like it rings forever, and his voice breaks through.

“Wes,” his voice full of concern, “you okay?”

“I-I found her, Da. Don’t-Don’t let Ma come, okay?” Tears well up in my eyes as I stare down at my baby sister’s body. Whoever did this to her treated her like she was nothing more than trash. Burying her in a shallow grave in her favorite park. What a sick fuck! I give my Da directions on how to get to the spot.

My Da and the police show up after what seems like eternity. I haven’t moved from in front of Shivvy. My Da drops to his knees next to me and lets out a howl of a cry, his eyes on my baby sister’s body. The police search the surrounding area. My Da throws his arms around me and his body shakes as he cries. As I hold on to him, rage fills me.

It takes the police another forty-eight hours to figure out who did it. Roger Anderssen, our neighbor.

The detective let it slip, and I overheard it, and I understand what needs to be done. What I need to do.

I approach my Da who is sitting in his armchair in the front room. His head is slung low, face buried in his hands. “He needs to die. He doesn’t get to rot in prison. Not when he killed Shivvy.” My father sits stunned, taking in the words that have left my mouth.

“Wes, we need to let the police do their job. We can’t take matters into our own hands.” He says. I know it conflicted my Da, saying those words. He feels the same way as I do.

My Ma emerges from the darkened hallway as I am about to argue with him. Her eyes swollen from crying, “Would you do it Wes? You’d kill him?”

I nod my head, “Yes, I would. I’d do anything for Shivvy.”

Two Months Later:

The past two months have been torture. Samuel Baker is still alive, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on him. I’ve been to Layne’s apartment every single night, watching her sleep and I’m desperate for release. In more ways that one. I’m wound so tight that I feel my nerves stretching to their breaking point.

Today starts the trial for Markus Bowen. I’m on leave while Davis is in court. I’m thoroughly regretting my decision to take this much time off. Unfortunately, I can’t constantly follow Layne around. Yeah, I guess I could, but I won’t. This morning I’ve decided that working out on the equipment near the edge of the warehouse property will be a good way to keep me occupied. With the salty sea breeze on my skin, I continue my pull ups. Counting rep after rep until I am exhausted, working out generates a flood of endorphins that temporarily eases the urges.

But that only works for so long.

After finishing up, I head back inside the loft to shower. Once clean, I sit in front of my computer, sifting through the information I have on Layne. From the age of seventeen, she’s been living alone. I can only imagine her fear of being alone in a big city at such a young age. I pull up photographs of eighteen year old Layne. Even broken and hurting, she was beautiful. I leave the files I have of her childhood untouched, I already know that CPS was involved. Mentally, I am teetering on the edge of a breakdown; I can feel myself teetering that edge. If I was to dive into her past now, I fear I’d lose myself.

Antsy, I snatch the keys to the car. I’m overwhelmed by my need to see her. I usually keep my stalking to the late night and early morning hours as I try to maintain some level of control over myself. During the daytime, I’ve always been working or it’s at places like concerts where it’s easier to blend into a crowd. Anxious that she might notice my presence before I’m ready to fully enter her life. Before she becomes the center of my world.

Let’s be real, she already is the center of my world.

San Francisco’s streets are always bustling with pedestrians and cars. I make the drive to Layne’s neighborhood. It’s a short ten-minute drive from where I live. I do a quick drive by the pizza joint, and I can hear the rhythmic beats of the music from the street. She’s home. It must be her day off. Reaching into my pocket for my cigarettes, I realize I’ve forgotten them. “Shit,” I mutter to myself as I continue driving down the road.

From the “research” I’ve done on Layne, I know she works at a little Indie music and bookstore. I thought she had a Monday shift, but it’s Monday today. Maybe she switched with a coworker? Why would she do that, though? I know she isn’t seeing anyone. Because of my consistent presence at her apartment every night, I have become acquainted with certain definite things. Besides being single, something ominous plagues her, which makes her withdraw from those around her.

After finding a spot a few blocks away, I park my GTO and lock it, then make my way back down toward her apartment. As I stroll along the street, I observe the various people around me, trying to mimic their movements and mannerisms, becoming just another face in the crowd. Upon spotting a cozy and inviting small cafe, I decide to step inside and get myself a cup of coffee to go, accompanied by a cinnamon raisin bagel. Grabbing a table outside the cafe as it has the perfect view of the pizza shop and the alley that leads to Layne’s apartment.

While savoring the bold aroma of the coffee, my phone suddenly rings. As I take out my phone, I see my Ma’s name displayed on the caller ID. I’ve been expecting her to call. She hadn’t called for her monthly check in and it was overdue .

I hit the accept button and say, “Ma, to what do I owe the pleasure on this fine Monday morning?”

I can hear her chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Ya cheeky bastard. It would be nice if you could call us now and then. Ya don’t have to wait until I call to check on you.” She huffs, sounding a bit upset.

“I’m sorry, Ma. I’ve been busy these past few months. The murder case and the girl I’ve been seeing have been keeping me preoccupied.” Well, it’s not a complete lie. Layne does keep me occupied at night. Breaking into her apartment and watching her sleep takes up a good portion of my time.

I smirk, knowing I’ll be in her apartment soon. My Ma chirps in my ear about all the things my Da and she have been doing on the east coast. It was a year later when they moved to Virginia after Siobhan’s tragic murder. I stayed behind, being twenty and in college for criminology. I didn’t want to leave. There was also the fact that my hobby needed to be here. This is where Siobhan is. Her grave is in Colma and I still visit her as often as I can.

“I was wondering when you were planning on coming to visit us,” she inquires. “It’s almost Thanksgiving. Should I expect you to be here?”

I know I need to go visit them. It’s been ages since I last saw them, and I miss them. I have until October’s end to win Layne’s love. If I know my Ma, she will want my girl there with me. Time to push this timeline of our meeting each other forward a great deal. I can do this. I already am obsessed with her, it’s the making her obsessed with me part that I’m worried about.

“Yes, Ma. I won’t miss Thanksgiving. Tonight, I’ll make the reservation for my ticket. Does that sound alright?” I hope this will satisfy her. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a call to confirm everything. Since I have the entire week off, we can take the time to discuss my visit.”

“Wes,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, “I just want to make sure you’re being careful, love. ”

Few know the truth about what I do in my spare time. My parents being two of those people, and I trust them completely. My uncle, Judge Robert Larimore, also knows what I do in my spare time. He does all he can to ensure that I am protected and even helps me with certain aspects of what I do. My education in criminology with a minor in forensics helps a great deal. I’m always furthering my knowledge, too. It was a risky move to becoming a district attorney investigator, but my reputation speaks for itself.

“Yes, I am. I promise, Ma.” I look over and spot Layne taking out the trash in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Ma, I love you and Da. I promise I’ll be there with you guys in a few weeks, but I’m gonna get going. My girl’s waiting for me.” I hate rushing off the phone with her, but I need to run back home before I come back for my little stalking excursion.

Once I’m back at my loft, I change into my jeans, black shirt, and hoodie. I remember to grab my cigarettes and lighter this time before I head back out. On the drive back, I light one up. I need the hit of nicotine to help relax my nerves. Back at my spot a few blocks away, I sit in the car and enjoy my cigarette. The smoke hangs around, engulfing me.

With Layne’s apartment in view, I wait until the window goes black. As much as I want to watch her dance around, I wait, but her lights stay on longer than normal tonight. I wonder what’s troubling my girl. Is she sad? Does she feel lonely? All things I can make go away. If she’s sad, I would make her laugh. If she’s lonely, I would be there to hold her.

“Fuck,” I mutter aloud, knowing she needs me just as much as I need her. Before she knows it, she won’t be able to imagine her life without me. I’ll give her everything she needs. The lights go out and I climb the fire escape. I give the widow a pull upwards and it opens.

With conflicting emotions, I cautiously climb through the window. It’s not safe for her to leave her window unlocked. Does she know what city she lives in? But if she locked her window, there would be no more nights of watching her sleep. The crisp and cool air tonight makes me hesitate, unsure whether to leave the window open for fear of being caught. Layne is already fast asleep in bed, with the empty vodka bottle sitting on the counter.

The thought of her suffering alone breaks my heart. A voice inside me begs me to wake her up and let her know I’m here for her. I decide not to do that. In the corner, I quietly sit with my forearms resting on my knees, captivated by the sight of her sleeping. As I listen to Layne’s deep breathing, I feel my tension melt away. Her momentary relief brings me solace.

I stand up, taking slow steps towards the bed. Standing right beside her as she slept, I can feel the waves of adrenaline in my body. The thought of being caught sends a shiver down my spine. She could wake and see me next to her. It’s a fucking rush I’ve never felt before. I hastily unzip my pants and seek satisfaction through vigorous strokes. Fuck this probably looks insane. With my eyes closed and my head tilted back, I trace a gentle path down her thigh with my fingers.

The feel of her skin is velvety soft, tempting me to explore it with more than just my hands. The cold air causes her nipples to harden beneath her shirt. My tongue wets my lips, desperate for a taste of her. I breathe out, stifling a moan as I’m nearing the point of orgasm. It takes everything in me to stop. I remove my hand from her thigh, bringing it up to her face to push a tendril behind her ear. She shifts slightly and I freeze.

I back away slowly, shoving my cock back in my pants. I hear her heavy breathing and immediately turn towards the window and leave. As I walk back to my car, I can feel a sense of determination building within me, confirming that it’s finally time. Time to meet Ma Petite Mort .

Up close and personal.