Page 23 of Hidden

I know exactly what I'm looking for.

A beautiful flower that is a vibrant purple-violet color, and long-stemmed. I take six and find the paper on the counter. I wrap them the way I've watched Autumn do enough times to not worry about getting it wrong.

Alderton is even darker when I get back, and I wait outside a while longer. I need to make sure she’s fully sleeping before I move.

I stand at the entrance to the building, looking as the badge reader blinks its slow green blink. The corridor beyond the glass is empty. I hacked into the building when I first found out Sadie lived here and got a key card made. It wasn’t hard. It took me less than half a day.

Walking up the stairs to Sadie’s floor, I stand by the door and think about what I’m about to do. I don’t dwell on that thought because I know I’m going to do it anyway.

I take my phone out, I already knew she had an alarm system, it’s a poor system. Anyone who knows about hacking can break into it within two minutes and that’s without even trying. I get into the system, turn it off and then scan my card on the reader. The door gives way with a soft click that sounds louder than it should in the dead quiet of the night. I pause on the threshold, listening. Nothing. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of that ugly wall clock. My pulse steadies.

I walk past the kitchen counter and place the flowers on there, then walk to the bedroom, and there she is, sleeping beauty.

I move as if I belong here, gliding through her space the way a shadow slips under a door.

Her laptop is on the small desk in the corner of the room. The screen is dark, but I know it’s not powered off. No one ever shuts it down properly. That’s careless, she needs to do better.

I pull on thin black gloves and lift the lid. The screen glows to life, too bright. I quickly lower the brightness and look behind me to see if she’s still sleeping.

I plug in the small USB drive I brought with me. I load a custom little backdoor access I wrote myself; it’s nothing flashy, just enough to give me persistent access. I’ll have camera control, keystroke logging, and full file mirroring. From now on, every search, every late-night message, every deleted draft… I’ll see it all. I watch the progress bar fill, my heart beating steady and slow.

I look behind me at Sadie again, she’s curled on her side under that thin blue comforter, with one bare leg kicked out. I fist my hands hard to stop myself from touching her.

Moonlight cuts across her face. Her lips are parted just slightly. She looks so innocent. Vulnerable. Perfect. I watch for a moment longer, counting her breaths, and memorizing the rise and fall of her chest.

I’ve been watching her for sixty precious seconds. That’s all I allow myself tonight.

The USB finishes with a tiny click. I close the laptop lid gently, exactly as I found it, and wipe the desk with my gloves just in case. Then I slip into the kitchen.

I look around for something to put the flowers in, opening the few cupboards she has and smile when I see a vase. I set the vase down on the counter, right where she’ll see it first thing when she wakes up. They’re violets, a deep purple, which are almost black at the edges. They look as delicate as a bruise. I don’t leave a note, not yet.

I stand back and admire my work. The flowers look almost alive in the pale glow of a night light I left on. A little gift for her.

Sleep well, Sadie.

I lock the door behind me the same way I came in, silently. The hardest part of that was not being able to touch her. I’m this crazy over her and I’ve not touched her, not kissed her, not fucking spoken to her, and all I want is her.

This is going to be a fun game. I smile at the thought.

Six

Sadie

I silence the alarm before the second pulse and sit on the edge of the bed and look at the time. Six forty-five. Oh, drinking was not a good idea last night, not when I knew practice was this morning.

Why would I do it? I make a mental note to myself, don’t drink when you have practice. Already I know this is not going to happen again.

“It’s going to be a long day,” I say out loud as I get up. I put my hair into a messy bun, put my hoodie on.

Rubbing my eyes, I leave my room, I need to wake up and having a shower is the best way to do that. Looking around as I walk toward the bathroom, I stop and take a few steps back.

I tilt my head to the side, glancing around the room, thinking it might give some answers, but I know it won't. I don't live with anyone.

I look at the counter, but mostly at the violet flowers. There are six stems, maybe six, gathered into a tight bunch and placed in a vase in the middle of my kitchen counter. The color is extraordinary, deep and saturated, somewhere between purple and blue, they look fake rather than fresh.

The room is exactly as I left it last night, but I still take a look around to make sure I’m not still a little tipsy.

No, my cereal bowl is still in the sink. My camera bag is on the chair. The hoodie I wore yesterday draped over the back of the sofa. Everything is where it should be. Except for the flowers.