Page 12

12

REMY

I sit in my trailer, watching through the security feed as Eden stirs on the chair. Her eyes flutter open, confusion clouding her features as she takes in her new surroundings. The concrete walls of the on-site storage container’s hidden room are now covered in her obsession—every photo she took of me pinned up like a shrine to her stalking.

She stumbles to her feet, those perfect breasts bouncing, still totally naked, aside from her little lace panties. She reaches out to touch one of the photos. Her fingers trace over an image of me working shirtless at the carnival. I notice her breath catch as she realizes how much of her collection I’ve discovered.

The journal entries are the most revealing. I highlighted the passages where she described watching me sleep, her late-night visits to my trailer, and the times she followed me into town. Her handwriting grows more frenzied in the recent entries, matching her escalating obsession.

Ten minutes pass as I let her absorb the extent to which her fixation has been exposed. Time to make my entrance.

I unlock the heavy door, the sound making her spin around. She reaches up to cover her milky white breasts and hard nipples. Cute but a little late for modesty.

“Good morning, little stalker.” I close the door behind me, enjoying how she backs away until she hits the wall. “I thought you might appreciate the decor. Your work deserves to be displayed properly.”

“How long was I out?” Her voice is thick with an undertone of excitement she can’t quite hide.

“Long enough for me to learn all about you, Eden.” I step closer, watching her pulse jump at her throat. “Every dark, dirty fantasy. Every twisted daydream you conjure in that warped mind of yours.” I reach past her to tap one of her journal entries. “You’ve been a very thorough observer. Now it’s my turn to watch you.”

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, caught between fear and arousal. I can see it in her eyes—the thrill of finally being caught, of having her obsession acknowledged. She’s where she’s always wanted to be, even if she won’t admit it.

I trace my finger down her flushed cheek. “Did you think I didn’t notice? The way you’d linger at the carnival after hours? The gift you left in my trailer?”

Eden’s eyes widen. “You knew?”

“From the first day.” I lean closer, inhaling her scent. “I watched you take photos from behind the Ferris wheel. Saw you follow me into town.” Her face flushes a deep shade of red at that revelation. “You’re not as subtle as you think, beautiful.”

I pull her podcast microphone from my bag and set it on the small table. “Now, we have a problem to solve. People will start looking for you.” I plug in the equipment. “So you’re going to record a new episode of Shadow Stories. Tell your listeners you’re taking a break to follow a lead out of state.”

“And if I refuse?”

I grip her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Then I release all the evidence of your stalking to the cops. The photos. The journal entries detailing your obsession with death. Those letters from inmates.” I smile as understanding dawns in her eyes. “Your career would be over. Who’d trust a true crime podcaster with such dark proclivities?”

She reaches for the microphone.

I press record and nod for her to begin.

“Welcome back to Shadow Stories,” she starts, her professional voice slightly wavering. “I’m your host, Eden Love, and I have some exciting news...”

I lean against the wall, watching Eden record her podcast message. Her voice carries that polished tone she’s perfected over years of broadcasting, though I catch the slight tremor beneath her words. Professional even in captivity—it’s impressive.

My body tenses as she drops the arm covering her tits. She glances up at me between sentences, back arched and those green eyes flashing with an ounce of fear. Still, it’s underlined by her obsessive desire. She knows what she’s doing because each look she gives me makes my cock stiffen in my jeans.

She grips the microphone with white-knuckled force, but her delivery stays smooth. The control she maintains only makes me want to break it more. I shift my stance, trying to ease the growing tension in my body.

“And I’ll be back with new episodes once I complete my investigation,” she finishes.

Beautiful. The way her chest rises with each breath. How her fingers fidget with the mic cord. The slight flush that creeps up her neck.

I’ve watched her for weeks, learning her patterns as she studied mine. But having her here, trapped and vulnerable, knowing every twisted fantasy she’s written about me in those journals—it’s better than I imagined.

The power dynamics have shifted. My prey has become my captive, and the thrill of finally having her at my mercy courses through me. She’s mine now like she’s wanted to be since that first day she saw me.

I push off from the wall and approach her slowly, savoring how she tenses at my proximity. “Good girl,” I murmur, reaching past her to stop the recording. “You did exactly as you were told.”

I can feel the heat radiating from her body and smell the light floral scent of her shampoo; having her this close is intoxicating.

A flash of frustration crosses her features.

“Do you call all your girls that?” Eden’s voice carries a sharp edge. “Including the one I saw in your chat log on your computer?”

A smirk tugs at my lips. Her jealousy is delicious, so transparent in her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. “What if I do?”

She tries to mask her reaction but is not very good at it. Eden is jealous. The chat logs with “Baby Girl” mean nothing. They’re just another lonely soul seeking connection through a screen, trading fantasies in the dark, cold hours. We’ve never met, but Eden doesn’t need to know that.

“You went through my private messages,” I remind her, stepping closer. “Broke into my trailer and snooped through my computer.” I tap her chin. “That’s bold for someone who claims to be just a podcaster doing research.”

Her nostrils flare. “I was investigating.”

“Is that what you call stalking these days?” I circle her, enjoying how she tracks my movement. “Tell me, Eden, did you like what you read in those messages? Did it keep you up at night imagining it?”

A flush creeps up her neck, but she lifts her chin defiantly. “I was being thorough.”

“Thoroughly obsessed,” I correct her. The messages sit forgotten in my chat box, meaningless compared to the living, breathing manifestation of desire standing before me. Eden’s jealousy only proves how deep her fixation runs.

I pick up her journal from the metal table. Its leather is worn and filled with her obsessive thoughts. Each page documents her descent into fixation with meticulous detail. My fingers trace over her hurried writing, feeling the indentations where she pressed too hard in excitement.

“You know what fascinates me most about this?” I hold the journal, watching her eyes track it like a lifeline. “How you started so clinical, analyzing carnival patterns and disappearances. But then—” I flip through the pages, “—it becomes all about me. Every entry, every observation, every dark little fantasy.”

The way she shrinks into the chair, trying to distance herself from her written confessions, makes my blood sing. Such delicious shame mixed with that undeniable hunger in her eyes.

“Tell me, Eden, do you document all your podcast interviewees so thoroughly?” I step closer. “Or am I special?”

Her silence speaks volumes. I can almost hear her heart racing, seeing the internal war between her professional facade and her ravenous need to continue her chosen path. Perfect.

“You’ve spent weeks studying me, learning my patterns.” I tap the journal against my palm. “Now it’s my turn. I will take you apart piece by piece until I understand every dark corner of your mind.”

The shiver that runs through her body isn’t from fear—no, this is wanton anticipation. She’s been waiting for this moment, even if she won’t admit it. All those hours watching from the shadows, collecting pieces of my life, fantasizing about being caught.

I lean in close, breathing in her scent. “I’m going to break down every wall you’ve built, little stalker. Strip away every pretense until there’s nothing left but your obsession.” My fingers grip the journal tighter. “And when I’m done, you’ll never even think about fixating on anyone else.”