Page 13 of Pose for Me

Chapter 10

Rayne

Ijoltawake,heartpounding, disoriented. Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across my bedroom. It takes a moment for my foggy brain to catch up. I'm in my apartment, not the studio. Luna's warm weight presses against my legs, her furry body curled atop the sheet covering my naked form.

Frowning, I mutter to myself, "I could've sworn I locked that door..."

My eyes narrow as I study Luna. How did they get past her? She's a terror with strangers.

Reaching for my phone, I notice it's plugged in. A considerate touch that sends a chill down my spine. The time makes me groan, 6:17 AM.

"Shit," I hiss, sitting up abruptly. "I'm so behind."

Luna gives an indignant meow as she's jostled from her perch.

"Oh, stop being dramatic," I tell her, throwing off the sheets. "That's my job today."

As I stumble towards the shower, my mind races through my packed schedule. Edit the farewell breast shoot. Client pickup. Drinks with Kahlee. And somehow, I need to clean the studio after... everything.

The hot water does little to ease the tension in my shoulders. I can't shake the way my heart races at the memory of what happened. But I push it down, lock it away. I have a business to run.

"No days off for the self-employed," I remind my reflection as I get dressed, carefully choosing clothes that don't accentuate my curves.

In the kitchen, I grab a quick bite before dealing with Luna's dramatic pleas for breakfast.

"You'd think I never feed you," I mutter, pouring kibble into her bowl.

As she eats, I pause, my hand resting on the doorknob leading downstairs. My studio awaits, likely still bearing evidence of last night's unexpected events. I take a deep breath, steeling myself.

I descend the stairs, each step echoing in the silence. At the bottom, I pause, listening intently. The studio is eerily quiet, the music that was playing last night now silent. My heart rate quickens as I approach the larger bedroom set.

Stepping inside, I freeze, my eyes widening in disbelief. "What the..."

The room is immaculate. The bed is stripped bare, no trace of last night's activities visible. My clothes, which I distinctly remember being scattered on the floor, have vanished. The lights are all off, and the tripods are neatly packed away.

A wave of panic washes over me as I realize the cameras are missing. "No, no, no," I mutter, frantically searching the studio. After several frantic minutes, I spot them in my office lined up perfectly on my desk, exactly as I would have arranged them after a normal shoot.

My mind reels. How did they know? It can't be a coincidence, can it? The precision, the attention to detail – it's unsettling.

Sitting next to the cameras, the bundle of cash, complete with its shiny gold pin. It gleams as though mocking me, like‘here is an extra something for letting us ruin you for other men’.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion and unease.Focus, Rayne, you have work to do.

Grabbing my other keys from a drawer, I head towards the basement and connected parking garage. As I descend the second flight of stairs, the feeling of being watched fades away. This is the one area I know prying eyes can’t see or get into.

It doesn't take long to run my errand and I'm back in my studio again by 8 am. I work through moving the data from last night's shoot from the storage cards and into the large server I have for storing client images. I don't look at them, the memory of the night before is far too fresh to bring myself to look at them.

Instead, while the computer is processing the data, I start on editing a different set of images. The photoshoot from the other day, the one where they were saying farewell to her breasts. I take a moment to admire the set again and the beautiful purple lingerie. It's a guilty pleasure of mine that I love lingerie even though I don't wear it often. When I do, I feel sexy, but they don't make sexy lingerie that is ideal for the way I have to constantly move around when I'm photographing someone.

The shoot for this couple wasn't an erotic shoot and was a little more posed than candid, but the images still looked amazing. I spend several hours working through most of the selected images, until my eyes are strained from looking so closely at my computer screen. There are also so many tiny edits in a photoshoot–little stray strands of hair in the wrong place, random pieces of string from lingerie, a tag that's suddenly showing on the best images, temporary blemishes from nerves. I have lost count of the number of times I've had to edit out a hair band around a wrist that was forgotten.

I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The tedious work is necessary, but it takes a toll. My mind starts to wander, drifting back to the events of last night. The thrill, the rush, the mind blowing pleasure. A small smile tugs at my lips.

A notification chimes on my computer and I click on it, noticing I missed one from the previous morning as well. Both have my heart racing as I bring up the news articles about the new murder victims. There is still a frustrating lack of detail in both articles, but somehow the police have been able to contain the details of two more murders without anything being leaked to the press. The only new details I garner from the articles is that they are being investigated by two detectives who specialize in serial killers. It's the first time the words "serial killer" have been used and a shiver goes through me, my body tingling slightly. I'm beyond fascinated.

In the article from today, it simply says that when approached for comment, one of the detectives, a Detective Maddox, said they are completely focused on finding the person responsible.

Closing down the articles, I return to the editing, but my mind keeps drifting back to the murders. I take a break and head upstairs for lunch and Luna snuggles, though she seems highly offended that it's only me, causing me to frown at her again. Her behavior has been odd lately, and I can't shake the feeling that something is off.

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