Page 49 of The Sniper
Not now, PTSD.Not fucking now.
It doesn’t always make sense when I get triggered, but seeing her so anxious, the way she’s looking at me, it's triggering.
“I need some water.”I stand, stride out of the office and down the hall.
Leaning on the kitchen counter as I down a glass of water, I stare out at the yard and draw in long breaths.
Fuck.
I feel it pass and let out a long sigh.That was close.It could have been way worse if a true panic attack had kicked in.
I turn and stare at the empty doorway.
I can’tnotreturn, and it’s a reminder of how everyday situations can be triggering.I need to get in there and help her.That’s my job.
Tiffany needs me.
“Okay, let’s do this.”I say when I return and focus on the mail, doing what needs to be done and not her big doe eyes.
One after the other, I rip the envelopes Tiffany won’t go near open.They are sick, but nothing out of the normal for this day and age.
Until one stops me in my tracks.
The envelope is plain, the address typed as if it was put through a typewriter.The note is also typed, and at the bottom, the sender has attached a Polaroid photo.
A photo of a pair of peach-colored panties.
Fury plows through me as I read the note.
Tiffany baby,
I loved your video with the new lip gloss this week.Seeing your lips shine like that gives me a good visual of your mouth around my dick.Do you like the taste of dick?
You didn’t show up at the park last week, and that means more punishments for you.I guess you like punishment, as we are up to twenty-five now.I can’t wait to smack your cute bottom.
Jesus fucking Christ.
This guy is lucky he didn’t put a return address, or I’d be grabbing my keys and heading there now to shove my gun in his face.
It continues.
It was me who broke into your home.I came for you.Are these your panties, baby?
Your love,
Messy-Bob463
Jesus fucking Christ.You are a dead man, Messy-Bob463.
I know for a fact that the color of the panties missing was not shared with the media or public.Which means Messy-Bob463 is either grasping at straws or guilty.
I second guess myself for a moment on the color.
“The panties,” my voice is rough as I glance at Tiffany.“They were peach colored, right?”
She nods, fear draining her face.“Can I see?”
I blow out my breath, wanting to protect her.
