All’s Well that Ends Well

He saw her as she entered the coffee shop, spotting her in his peripheral vision. He raised his head slightly and locked onto her. Narrowing his eyes he made up his mind and smiled.

She saw him even before she entered, caching sight of him through the plate glass window. As she pushed through the door she stole another glance and before the door had even closed behind her, she had made her decision.

She sensed him looking, his eyes following her as she approached the counter. Then, as she prepared to leave, she saw him doing likewise. Any remaining doubt disappeared as she went into auto-pilot. She even held the door open for him, an implicit instruction to follow.

He slid into her slipstream as she left coffee in hand. She even held the door open for him, inviting him through. It was a sign, a sign that she wanted him to follow her. It was so obvious.

He followed at a discrete distance, all the time keeping her in his sights. He liked the chase, the pursuit, but it wasn’t his favourite part. That came later. This was just a means to an end.

She knew he was there. She could sense him, knew his type, knew he would follow, knew he would not be able to resist. Knowing this gave her no satisfaction. In fact, it disappointed her. Men were so predictable.

This was too easy. A change of tack was needed. He crossed the road, drew alongside and finally overtook her. As he passed he noticed she was looking away from him, but he saw her face reflected in the glass shop fronts.

All’s Well that Ends Well

She saw him reflected in the glass shop fronts, on the other side of the road now. Momentarily confused she made up her mind again and took up the pursuit. Was the hunted becoming the hunter? No, she was always the hunter.

He made up his mind, he was going to take her home. If there was a connection between them, then she would follow him. It was that simple.

She followed him right up to the front door that she had seen him go through. An ordinary front door of an ordinary house in an ordinary road. She stood at the door, her hand in her pocket, her grip tightening around the knife with a nervousness she always felt at this moment. Then she knocked on the door.

He heard the knock and smiled. So, there was a connection. He’d known it. He opened the door and stood aside. Entering the hall she climbed the stairs. At the top she caught her breath. Gloves. Women’s gloves. Row after row of different coloured pairs of women’s gloves. On display, like trophies.

He followed her up the stairs and watched as she studied the display. Then, as she turned towards him, he saw her smile. Then he saw the knife.

Looking at each other, both knew...this was not going to end well.