I STALK HER | JENLISA

ONE

LISA
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
***

It never gets old, the distress a woman has when she thinks she is alone but can sense a shift in the atmosphere around her.

The shadows fluctuating, creeping along with her movements.

Echoes, ever so slight in the wake of her footsteps.

You can’t fake something as pure as fear - it’s what makes it so beautiful to watch.

Can you feel me?

The distress is tangible in the air around them; if you’re close enough, you can taste it in the height of their terror.

The roaring of their own heartbeat thundering loud enough to disable their own hearing.

Da dum…da dum…da dum…

Pores oozing with trepidation, saturating their skin in sweat.

The tiny hairs on the back of their neck lift, and pebbles rise on the flesh.

It’s mesmerizing.

Bringing them close to the edge of madness.

It’s like chasing a high, It’s so fucking delectable and my drug of choice.

Can you feel me?

I move with purpose, sticking to the darkness, allowing my shoes to alert Woyoung, my mouse, of my presence but not see me if she looks over her shoulder.

Hunter and prey. Cat and …

Da dum…da dum…da dum…

Her heels click clack faster, gaining speed as she walks towards the elevator from the car she parked sixty feet away in the dimly lit parking lot.

Tut tut.

I know what time she arrives at work, you could set your watch by her, and I do.

She makes it so easy.

Her routine is her enemy.

Without even knowing, she gives me all the power. Everything I need to follow, watch, take if the need demands.

I can hear it now, her heavy pants as the terror takes route, stiffening her joints, the anxiety stirring inside her like a storm brewing, threatening to devour her in its chaos.

Da dum…da dum…da dum…

You can’t calm fear once it has planted itself inside, like roots twisting around the bones, embedding its poison into the bloodstream, it consumes.

That’s what makes it so damn special.

So damn alluring.

If you’re pursuing someone else’s fear, you don’t have to face your own…

There’s a tremble in her hands now as she waits for the elevator, anxiously.

Finally the doors ding and open.

She hurries inside, almost tripping on the skirt that’s one size too small for her larger size.

Her finger bashes at the number panel, trying to input the floor number repeatedly, her eyes scanning the empty space expanding out before her.

Ding.

Metal doors begin to close, and that’s when I strike. Coming from behind the pillar, I shove my hand in at the last minute, forcing the doors to slide back open.

Da dum…da dum…da dum…

Her gasp is audible, followed by a rewarding little squeal. Startled eyes, wide and frantic, search my face.