“What is your story, Jacob?”
CHAPTER 5
Remi
I tried talking myself out of this numerous times. Even now, as the waves push against my ankles, I keep telling myself to turn around and go back. I don't listen, of course. Instead, I just pretend that all I'm doing is taking a nice, leisurely walk along the beach . . . in the direction of Jacob's house.
Actually, now that I think about it, it may not even be his place. He could have just been swimming in the water in front of it, in his underwear, by complete coincidence.
“That's so true,” I mumble, trying to fool myself.
Even so, I continue walking in the shallow water in the direction of the shack and keep my eyes focused solely on the water. If someone were to be looking through those cameras, it would appear like I'm simply enjoying a walk in the water and sunshine.
When I'm practically in front of the shack and next to the dock, I have no choice but to stop walking. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, I turn my head to look around the area as if I have no idea where I've ended up.
From a quick sweep of the area, I can see remnants of a bonfire on the beach. There's another camera on the wall of the house facing the beach . . .facingme. And on the other side of the house is a driveway, which is empty – there is no pick-up truck in sight, thank goodness – and a little shed.
Attached to the end of the dock beside me is a boat, and I can't help but wonder if it's his as well. Yes, even though I said it may not have been his place. I'm almost certain it is.
Before I can talk myself out of it – oh, who am I kidding, I wouldn't be able to stop myself if I wanted to – I step out of the water and make my way onto the wooden dock. It looks old but still in good condition.
I start creeping along the wooden structure, treading lightly and quietly as if I'm not actually being filmed in broad daylight on the cameras – again – looking a lot like Edgar, the little old man with his cane the way I'm hunched over.
There doesn't seem to be any signs that say 'trespassing' or 'private property' around. That means fair game, right? Public property?
With that thought in mind, I stand up straighter and continue walking like a normal person down toward the boat.
Graceis written in bold letters along the side of the boat.I wonder if he named it or was it already named when he got it?
After taking another look back toward his house and seeing no signs of life, and no truck, I decide to step onto the boat. This is probably a bad idea. I know thisisn't public property.
It still doesn't seem to stop me, though.
Nets, fishing rods, reels, buckets, and other fishing gear are neatly stored around the, uh, whatever the boat's main area is called. Obviously, it's primarily a fishing boat rather than a luxurious, cruising-around-on-the-water-and-relaxing type of boat.
I do one lap of the area above before descending down the narrow stairs that lead into the cabin – I know that name at least.
Lucky for me, the door at the bottom of the stairs is open. Slowly, I step into the little room and release a long steady breath, trying to slow down my heavily beating heart. Besides the guilt, there is a certain thrill about what I'm doing right now.
This is new for me; entering someone else's property to snoop. And I blame my obsession with certain podcasts lately.
I thought about becoming a private investigator at one point but then thought better of it. It would require a lot more schooling, plus it's not something my father would have ever approved of. Not that he approves of what I've done now by leaving.
Turning back to my current illegal activities, I notice there's not a whole lot of stuff down here as I look around; a small bed that is neatly made sits on one side, while the other side has drawers and shelves with a small TV attached to it, and a . . . what is that? A PS3? Kind of old school.
There's also a map of the coast and a couple of old-looking photos on the wall. I take a step closer to get a better look, immediately recognizing Jacob and his beautiful eyes in the photos.
He's younger-looking and definitely not as muscular and rough around the edges as he is now – that's probably from prison. He looks like he's at that in-between stage where he no longer looks like a teenager but is not quite a man.
In one photo, he's standing with an older man and woman in front of some furniture store. I'm going to assume they're his parents since they share similar features.
I wonder if he still talks to them at all?
Did they visit him in prison?
What must they think of him now?
The other picture is of him and four other guys around the same age. They're all laughing, and Jacob is pretending to punch the guy next to him. He looks so happy and carefree.
