Page 64 of Holy Sinner

The sonofabitch took the photo from above us. The shot is panned out to show us in bed, asleep and tangled together. It’s a close up photo and whoever took it from the ceiling used a great lens to have zoomed in the way they did in such low light. I can see every curve of Kit perfectly, count the eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks, she’s there—we are there—in perfect high definition. A photo of this would normally be a prized possession for me, a look at what we are at rest, when the rest of the world truly does cease to exist because we aren’t there to witness it. I’ve thought about what the three of us look like together when we’re like this but seeing it now, it’s the last thing I want.

The move to Elysium was for nothing because they came with us. The members of the cast and crew picked have them in it. How else could they keep up with us? And they haven’t just been keeping up with us, have they? They’ve been one step ahead. When I woke up, Kit was gone. This photo is before that.

Maybe even before Jane went missing, too. There’s no way of knowing but jesus fucking christ. What the fuck am I doing? I’m slipping because I want to keep Kit happy. All the while I’m playing right into the game someone else already set in motion for us. I look at the closed door and a weight settles against my chest, weighing me down. I rub my fist against the heavy feeling and I settle into it.

I need this. I need to be calm, focused and sure of what to do next. I can’t give in to what Kit wants if I’m going to keep her safe. I flip the photo of us sleeping over and there scrawled on the back in black sharpie is a message.

“I see you. Do you see me?”

It’s a taunt. A dare.

Someone wants to throw it in our faces that they can go and be where they want without anyone seeing them. Without anyone noticing that they shouldn’t be there. It’s how Rafe and I carried out our murders. No one batted an eye at seeing us. Whoever is here has the same kind of power and that fucking pisses me off.

I’m at the top of the food chain. Fuck this cunt and their move to shake up the order of things. I’m going to rip their insides out, use it to choke them when I get my hands on the little fuck. I shove the photo into my back pocket and stride to the front door. When I open it, I almost hit Alana and Kit from where they are huddled up against the door.

“You lock this door. You don’t come out for any reason,” I tell them and point at the windows. “Pull the drapes on every window. Don’t go into the bedroom.”

“What? Why?” Kit looks scared. I hate that look on her face. My woman does not look that way ever, especially not when I’m around. I debate holding the truth from her, waiting until Rafe is back but Kit is too curious for her own good. Besides, right now she has a defiant streak I’ve never seen before. My good girl is going off the rails faster than I can read her and the truth is going to be the only way to keep hold of her.

“Someone is watching us,” I say and hold up the photos.

“Oh my fucking god,” Alana gasps and claps her hands over her mouth. Her reaction is normal. Horrified and worried. “Oh my god, are they here? Th-that fucking photo is of just now, they’re watching us now?” She stumbles to the side in a dash for the window the photo was taken from and pulls the curtains closed so hard that for a second I think she’s going to end up pulling the whole curtain rod down.

“Oh, fuck, I’ll go get the kitchen!” Alana runs off and it’s just Kit and I. Kit isn’t acting like Alana, she looks scared but there’s more there. She looks angry. Good. Anger I can take, it’s better than fear, but I hold up a hand when she opens her mouth to speak.

“You are not coming with me. You are staying right the fuck here.”

She crosses her arms but nods. “Fine.”

“You’re going to stay inside with Alana. I’m going to stay outside and anyone who so much as looks at the cabin is going on my list.”

“List? What list?” she asks. There’s a slam of the door and I know Alana is fucking around in our bedroom and I rub my temples. I told them to stay out of the room but nobody fucking listens to me.

“The list of fuckers I’m going to kill.” I walk out of the cabin before Kit can respond but I pause long enough to tell her, “Lock this door. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s me. Use the peephole. Have me say it’s me.”

“O-okay.”

I slam the door and wait a second until I hear the lock slide home before I start scanning the porch for clues our visitor might have been stupid enough to leave behind. There’s nothing. but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing around the sides of the cabin. I walk the perimeter of it and drop to my knees to make sure the foundation is solid and not a crawlspace. There’s nothing there but cement so at least I know the asshole isn’t going to come up from the floorboards.

I stop long enough in my search of the perimeter of the cabin to shoot Rafe a text. ‘Get to the cabin. We have to get the fuck out of here.’

Rafe should be on his way back from filming by now, and as stupid as he is, two heads are better than one when there’s a psychotic fuck on the loose and after our girlfriend. I take the photo out of my pocket again and stare at it. There’s something that I’m missing, but what?

There’s always a trail. Always something to notice.

Raindrops fall on the photo and trace the curve of Kit’s arm she has thrown over me. My eyes drink in the sight of Kit touching me, even now with where this photo came from I want to devour it. Moonlight slants across our faces, perfect lighting for the fucker that took it. But the longer I stare at it my eyes finally zero in on the soft blue light on my hand. The picture shows me on my back with an arm thrown above my head so my hand hangs off the edge of the bed just inches away from that blue light. I turn the photo to get a better look and realization hits me when I realize what the fuck I’m looking at.

The alarm clock.

The angle of the photo wasn’t meant to capture the alarm clock, not with how it’s partly out of the frame but whoever took the photo was so intent on capturing every little inch of us that they unintentionally included it to get my entire arm and hand. I squint and look at the numbers on the screen. They aren’t hard to make out with how clear the photo is, even if the angle is off.

The time on the clock reads 3:40 am. Just twenty minutes before I woke up. Kit vanished after this photo.

“It’s something,” I mutter. Now we know when the photo was taken, that gives me a true point of reference for last night.

I’m walking the length of the cabin again when I see a woman hurrying down the trail. Her head is down against the falling rain and she’s speed-walking so fast that she’s practically running. When she sees me she goes still and that makes me pay attention. She hesitates like she isn’t sure what to do but after a second shifting back and forth she raises a hand in greeting and comes straight for me.

“Grant, hey,” she calls out and I recognize her as the stylist that Kit’s friendly with. Alexia.

---