Another meow.
Oh. Fred was her cat. My jealousy deflated, and I unclenched my hands from where they had a death grip on the arms of my computer chair. Wow, okay. This knee-jerk rage was new. And probably not a good thing. I’d have to keep an eye on it. I might not want to hurt Aly or her cat, but the thought of another guy in there with her had sent me straight to kill-him-with-knives.
My speakers went quiet, and I sat straining my ears as I waited for some sign that Aly was, I don’t know, okay? Or pissed? Or scared? Anything, really. Not seeing her was a problem after all the nights I’d watched her through the hospital’s cameras this week. She wore every emotion on her face, and I’d spent my sleepless hours learning each one.
Finally, she walked back into view carrying Fred in one arm and a dining room chair in the other, sporting a look of sheer determination. She set Fred on her bed and shut the bedroom door, bracing the chair beneath the knob and barricading herself inside.
I wouldn’t be canceling that anonymous purchase after all if a chair was what she resorted to in order to protect herself. She needed all the home defense equipment I’d bought her. Why didn’t she already have it? Her neighborhood had a relatively low crime rate compared to other parts of the city, and she could clearly defend herself, but hadn’t I just proven how easy it was for someone truly determined to break into her house?
I knew it wasn’t about money. Her mother’s life insurance policy had paid for nursing school and most of the downpayment on her home, and she made a respectable income thanks to her salary and all the overtime she pulled at the hospital. Had she merely grown complacent?
Maybe I’d done her a favor by breaking in and showing her the error of her ways.
I grimaced. Yikes. No to any more thoughts like that. I was obviously trying to rationalize what I’d done and lessen my guilt over it, which I shouldn’t, because if Google had taught me anything tonight, it was that I’d royally fucked up.
That revelation was confirmed when Aly strode to her dresser and swapped her gun for the wine she’d left there earlier, chugging it like a beer at a frat party. The glass shook in her fingers as she set it back down, and I cringed. Because, fuck. Her fear turned me on. I’d been avoiding acknowledging how aroused I was, but the way my dick strained against my gym shorts as Aly visibly trembled was impossible to ignore.
Okay, so I didn’t want to hurt her, but I did want to scare her. Potentially troubling but far from the worst-case scenario. And really, didn’t that confirm something I’d already known about myself? For fuck’s sake, I regularly covered my chest in stage blood and held a butcher knife while sitting in the dark and staring into a camera like I just got done slaughtering an entire family.
I got off on all the comments from people telling me they were both turned on and slightly terrified by my content. Those comments stirred something inside me, making me feel powerful, feral, and dangerous, like the world was mine for the taking. The fact that there were so many others into my specific kinks also normalized my desires. I didn’t feel wrong for liking mask play or like I toed the line of dangerous territory that skirted too close to what my dad had done.
This felt like it was all for me. And that’s why I wanted Aly to be all for me. Not just because she was a beautiful woman with a mask kink who regularly propositioned my alter ego, but because, technically, she’d stalked me first. Or she’d tried to if the search history I’d discovered when I hacked into her laptop was anything to go by.
How do I find someone from social media?
Who is the faceless man from TikTok?
The faceless man’s other social media accounts.
Is there AI software to find people based on their tattoos?
See? She’d started it. And yes, I was aware that argument wouldn’t hold up in a court of law, but this was the hill I chose to die on – the belief that Aly was a little fucked up too. Just enough that she might hesitate before reporting me. And if I were really lucky, enough to play along with all the things I had planned for her.
My attention returned to the video feed as she scooped her phone up and sat on the edge of her bed. The camera I’d installed was a genius little device. It mimicked her phone charger, with a working USB port and everything. While the blank white space above it looked innocuous enough, it was actually a film screen with a wide-angle camera hidden behind it that was damn near imperceptible without a specialty device detector. I’d swapped her charger out for it right before leaving, checking on my phone to see if it was up and running before I slipped into the night and triggered another blackout to hide my escape.
I tapped a few buttons and zoomed in on Aly’s phone. She was on my social media page, probably getting ready to either block me or read me the riot act through a DM.
“I knew it,” she said as she scrolled. “Bed. Couch. Wall.”
I started to frown before I realized she was talking about the backgrounds in my videos. I filmed them all in my bedroom while Tyler was either fast asleep or out of the apartment, and those were the three locations I used. Until Aly’s bedroom. Had she noticed the difference?
She ran a hand over her face and turned to look at Fred, who sat by her side purring so loud I could hear it over the speakers. “So, he’s probably not a serial killer who uses the app to lure his victims.”
I reared back. Was that what she’d thought? Fuck. That was the absolute last thing I wanted. How did I fix this? I was half tempted to send her a DM explaining myself, but how would that work? Hey, Aly, it’s me, the man who broke into your house. I was just watching you through the camera I hid in your room, and I wanted to let you know that you are correct. I am not, in fact, a serial killer.
Jesus Christ.
I knew I should have argued with my therapist when she said it was time to wean me off the anti-psychotics. Clearly, they’d been necessary if one of the first things I did once they were out of my system was start stalking someone.
I lifted my hand and was about to kill the video feed when Aly turned on her bed and finally looked at the mask. My finger hovered over the button as her expression shifted into something I hadn’t seen before. Her eyes fluttered half shut, and she bit her full bottom lip in a way that had me leaning forward in my chair. A pretty flush stained her cheeks pink. Was she about to cry?
She glanced sideways at her cat. “Only one way to find out.”
Before I could zoom back in on what she was doing, she tapped something out on her phone, fingers flying over the screen before hitting a final key. A swoosh sound followed, like she’d just sent an email or a text.
My phone chimed on my desk.
I froze.
Oh, shit. Had she DM’d me?
Carefully, like it might rear up and bite me, I lifted my phone. A notification flashed across it, reading, “User aly.aly.oxen.free would like to send you a message.” My heart pounded against my ribs as I unlocked the screen and opened her message.
This might sound completely insane, but did you break into my house tonight, film a video in my bedroom, and leave a mask behind?
Fuck. How did I respond? If I said yes, it could eventually get held against me in a court of law. If I said no, I’d be gaslighting her. Was there some way to play it cool? Answer her question with a question that neither confirmed nor denied her suspicions?
What would you do if I said yes? I asked. There. That seemed safe enough.