Page 5 of ’Til You Break

Movement.

A single word should not fill me with so much joy. Especially not one so innocuous. It could mean anything. Yet, it manages to quell the thrill, excitement and depravity Hannah’s arrival lit inside me.

Because that single word means it’s time.

That tonight’s the night.

Heads will roll if they must, but questions will be answered.

“You’ll have to excuse me, Hannah, I have an important meeting with some potential clients, who want to invest in my cybersecurity services. Please, make yourself at home.”

I exit with the same enthusiasm Hannah showed on first entering my home, almost sprinting from her room to my office.

Inside, I rush over to my desk and snap my six-monitor set-up to life. They open with eighteen live camera feeds, all focused on the same street. Two capture a single front door.

The piece of shit I’m watching rarely leaves his house, so this is a monumental occasion. It’s the first clear shot I’ve had of him in far too long. I stare at my screen for so long my eyes start to hurt, and then I finally get a glimpse of him. He is old, decrepit, and wearing a tartan sweater and a flat cap like some old British lord. I last saw him over a week ago and that wasn’t anything to write home about, either. He had pulled the blinds open instead of his maid, and peered through the windows at someone passing on the street.

Could’ve made a move then. Could’ve made one any time in between. But patience is a virtue I must hold onto closely in these matters. One wrong slip will send ripples out to the rest. That would be fine, if I wanted them to know I’m coming, but it would be a terrible mistake when I was trying to draw them out.

I track him through the surveillance cameras for two blocks. He ambles along with an awfully cheery disposition, despite his limp. I don’t worry when he vanishes from the last monitor. After all, security and surveillance are my claim to fame, and were long before the tech products made it so much easier.

So survey I will. Through a trusted friend in this venture, if I must.

In almost orgasmic glee, I slide open the top drawer of my desk and pull out a silver M1911. I tuck it into my belt cautiously, then pull my shirt over it. Hannah could’ve drifted from her bedroom, and I don’t want her seeing anything she shouldn’t.

And as I once more crush the overbearing urge to salivate over her, I leave my home in a hurry.

It looks as if all my prayers have been answered, all at once.

Chapter Three

Hannah

Vik’s home hums a tune of emptiness.

It’s a ghastly sound that I’ve rarely experienced before, living in an apartment block in the heart of the city. Without music filling the air, from two doors down, or the sound of overhead neighbors clomping around their living room, there’s little to stop the bone-chilling silence.

I fear quiet most of all. When everything falls silent, there’s nothing to stop my thoughts from returning to the mistakes I’ve made. Before long, the nightmares of my past are there too, refusing to stay buried. Every time I shut my eyes, images of that horrible night flash across my mind as if I were seeing them afresh. I hear my parents screaming, tires screeching, and the sound of sirens far out in the distance.

If I focus hard enough, I can still see his face. Bloody and bruised, and drifting in and out of lucidity.

“Fuck,” I grumble and jump off the bed. I’ve been sitting around for an hour, maybe closer to two, figuring out where I go from here.

Obviously, it isn’t going well.

When I make my way out of the room, I’m confronted by the full length of Vik’s house. Our rooms are at opposite ends of the building, and I actually have to squint to even see his bedroom door, at the furthest end, down the long corridor.

I find it interesting that he chose length over verticality. In my head, I’ve always pictured billionaire tech types living in skyscrapers that mimic their office buildings instead of this stretched-out dwelling. Yet, somehow, the place suits Vik much better than one of those ever could.

He’s been reclusive since the day we met. When we were younger he rarely left his bedroom, other than to go to school or the gym. Now his home reflects that same personality perfectly.

Even with so much space, he’s locked himself in the furthest corner where no one can reach him. All the space for guests is in an entirely separate section of the building. He can live his own private life, while the rest of the world carries on around him.

I don’t know if it makes me happy to see he hasn’t changed, or if I feel sorry for him. I know the pain and anguish he must be living in. His strange relationship with people started long before our parents got married. I heard stories, over the years, about what happened to his mom, but no one ever told me the full tale, seeing as I was a kid and all.

All I managed to learn is that his mother died and Vik found her body. I couldn’t tell you where my stepdad was at the time, but I can’t imagine how anyone could be normal after seeing something like that.

“Vik?” I call, reaching the end of the hallway. I don’t want to startle him if he’s in the living room. The lack of response means I must be alone.