Hazel
You said you turned the cameras off.
Dexter
I did.
Dexter
But I may have also set an alert for when you leave the house.
My jaw drops. The audacity of it is incredible. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s stalking me. I half expect to get a formal notice in the mail.
Dear Ms. Halloway,
I am writing to inform you that you are now the obsession of a certified stalker. I will be tracking your movements and invading your privacy for the foreseeable future.
With love and fixation,
Your friendly neighborhood sociopath
I growl at my phone and shove it in my pocket because I don’t have time to deal with Flynn right now, not when Wright needs me.
I get in my gran’s old Buick and balance my phone on the dashboard with the map set to Wright’s location.
She’s down in the center of the city so I have to park a few streets away. It’s almost midnight by the time I arrive, and I regret not bringing a jacket. And pepper spray and maybe a taser. This part of the city is shady as hell and I’m pretty sure the guy leaning through the window of the car parked a few spaces away is buying drugs.
My internal dialogue right now is a constant stream of scolding Wright. I hate that she does this vigilante act, but I know nothing I can say will stop her. Most of the time we like to pretend she doesn’t spend her nights in bars scouting for men who like to use their fists more than their words. I let her and Olivia get on with it and I live in blissful denial. Unless I get a 911. Then I drop everything and drive into the seediest part of the city because Wright is the other half of my soul and I would do anything for her. So, I slip my house keys between my knuckles and cross the street.
Olivia’s directions take me to an alley between a dive bar and a block of apartments that has more graffiti than brickwork. Only there’s no sign of Wright.
Hazel
I’m here but I can’t find her.
Olivia
She wants you to promise not to laugh.
I frown, my frustration only growing.
Hazel
Olivia, where is she?!
Olivia
Look up.
The alley is more shadow than light, but I use my phone to peer up the gap between the two buildings and break the promise I didn’t make immediately.
“It’s not funny!” Wright says. Except she says it from where she’s hanging by her backpack, from a fire escape. Her legs wiggle in the air.
“Oh, it’s a little funny,” I say through my laughter.
“Will you just get up here and help?”
Still laughing, I climb up the fire escape, my steps on the metal stairs echoing in the dark alley. “How did you even do this?” I ask as I crouch down on the platform and inspect where the handle at the top of her backpack is hooked over a jagged bit of metal.
