Page 54 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

Chapter Twenty

Jack

Ishouldn’t be doing this while I’m at the station. I know this. It’s not breaking rules or anything or grounds for termination. What firefighters do in the privacy of their bedrooms at the station once they go to bed is on them. As long as we are prepared to spring to action the minute the alarm goes off. But tonight has been extremely quiet, and I’m hoping that I can log onto my laptop undisturbed.

My fingers hover over the keyboard as I glance toward the door, half-expecting Chief to burst in, somehow knowing I’m going to log into the nanny cam and spy on the girl I’ve been stalking for years. But the hallway remains silent, save for the distant snores of my fellow firefighters.

With a deep breath, I type in the password and wait for the feed to load. The familiar layout of her bedroom appears on the screen, dimly lit by the glow of a computer left on. My heart races as I scan the room, searching for any sign of movement.

There she is. Curled up on the bed, fast asleep. Her long dark hair cascades over a pillow, and I can barely make out the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. I put my face closer to the screen, drinking in every detail.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m not completely delusional. But I can’t help myself. I’ve been watching her for so long, learning her routines, her habits. In a way, I feel like I know her better than anyone else in her life.

A creak in the hallway makes me jump. I quickly minimize the window, my pulse ringing in my ears. But it’s just the old building settling. I let out a shaky breath and return to the feed.

A voice in my head screams that this is wrong, that I’m crossing a line I can never come back from. But another part of me, a darker part, whispers that this is the closest I’ll ever get to her.

That I need this.

Chloe stirs in her sleep, and for a moment I’m afraid she’ll wake up. But she just rolls over, pulling a blanket tighter around herself. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Does she ever dream about me? The nice firefighter who bought her hot cocoa. Or does she dream of WinterWatcher, not knowing that we are the same person but offering her something completely different.

I know it. I see it.

Jack offers her light. WinterWatcher offers her dark. The question is, who is the real me?

I shake my head, trying to clear these thoughts. This has to stop. I need to close the laptop, delete the app, and forget about her. But as I try to bring myself to do the right thing, she mumbles something, rolls over and reaches for her phone. I freeze, captivated once again by this woman.

My hand hovers over the laptop, ready to close the window at a moment’s notice. But Chloe doesn’t wake fully. She fumbles for her phone, squinting at the bright screen before dropping it back onto the nightstand. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

The soft glow of her phone illuminates her face for a brief moment, and I’m struck again by her beauty. The curve of her cheek, the slight pout of her lips as she drifts back to sleep. I’ve memorized every detail but seeing her like this never fails to take my breath away.

I glance at the clock. It’s well past midnight now. I should try to get some sleep in case we get a call. But I can’t tear myself away from the screen. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself. Just a little longer.

Suddenly, Chloe sits up in bed, fully awake now. My heart races as I watch her get out of bed and head over to her computer.

Is she going to log on? To chat with WinterWatcher? The thought both delights and terrifies me.

I’m not prepared for this. I haven’t planned what to say, how to act. But as her fingers move across the keyboard, I find myself reaching for my own. Ready to become the persona she knows online, to step into that dark world we’ve created together.

My phone buzzes with a notification. I glance down at my phone, my body tensing. It’s a message from Chloe to WinterWatcher.

Are you there?she types. I can’t sleep and was hoping you’d be awake. Actually, I have no idea where you even live. It could be midday where you are.

I type back, I live in New York. Maybe it’s dangerous sharing that fact about me, but the words come out before I can truly process the ramifications.

Really? Me too.

Part of me wants to backpedal, to lie and say I’m actually in California or Europe. But another part, the part that’s been yearning for a real connection, pushes me forward.

What a coincidence, I type back. Small world, huh?

I watch her smile on the screen, her face illuminated by the soft glow of her computer. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a gesture I’ve seen her do countless times before.

Very small, she replies. What part of New York?

Manhattan, I type. It’s vague enough, I reason. More than a million people live in Manhattan.

I work there.Her excitement is obvious, even through the screen. We could have passed each other on the street and never known it.

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