Page 9 of Peripheral Vision (Tethered in Darkness Duet #1)

Chapter

Five

FLETCHER

I stand apart from the crowd, leaning against a tree as more and more people flow in, settling into their seats or around them.

One seat in the front row remains empty.

Some of the uniformed men and women I recognize, some I don’t.

My eyes roam to the road where several onlookers stand, including Dylan, as they await the coach that will escort her father’s remains.

It doesn’t take long. Those who have previously found their positions at the burial site stand and make room to accommodate the procession, which will be guiding the casket to its appropriate position.

The chaplain guides the procession, followed by Dylan and the other members of the funeral, before the casket is set down and the flag is secured.

Everybody finds their seats once more as the service begins.

Often, my eyes drift to where she sits, stone-faced as though she would rather be anywhere else.

She sits that way through the cannon fire, as she stands for the honors, the rifle volley, and taps.

She stares through it all, only offering a small nod and thanks of appreciation as she’s handed the folded-up flag.

She continues on that way long after everyone has departed.

Everyone except for myself. I was happy to notice that she at least wore the outfit exactly as I laid it out for her.

That she wasn’t swayed by the fact someone had been following her.

That I had been following her. It fills me with a despotic need to own her.

To make all of my thoughts, her thoughts, and make her think she came up with them.

I could approach her, hell, maybe I should—I definitely want to.

It would be the right thing to do but I can’t bring myself to move.

It feels like there are too many miles and too many years between us since we’ve seen each other.

That, and the question of whether she would recognize me hangs in the air.

Would she figure out that it was me in her house the other night?

I want her to put the pieces together eventually, but it doesn’t feel right to do it while she is in such a vulnerable state.

Just as I am about to walk away and make my leave, she stands up, turning in my direction.

We make eye contact, and she pauses before a flicker of recognition sparks in her gaze.

She opens her mouth as though she is about to say something and starts to approach me, but I pull out my phone and act as though I’m speaking to someone before turning and walking away from her.

It makes me feel like a real piece of shit too, when all I want is to alleviate her discontent.

When she obviously needs someone to commiserate with.

Knowing Dylan, or the Dylan of the past anyway, she puts on a brave face but it’s always covering up the string of emotions she keeps hidden under that facade. She has no one to take care of her now.

I continue walking without looking behind me, before pulling my phone away from my ear and making an actual phone call.

Over the last few days I noticed that Dylan has slowly been moving things out of her house.

At first I thought it was just her rearranging, but then I saw moving boxes through the camera I installed in her bedroom the night we ran into each other while I was in her house.

A surge of irritation hits me, and I feel the color rise through my neck when I consider the fact that the effort I put in to install said camera will have gone to waste.

Especially seeing as I will have to do it again when I figure out where her new address is, which is what I’m doing now.

“Jeffries.”

“Hey, Jeffries, it’s Fletcher. I need you to do something for me. You got a minute?”

“Depends. What’s in it for me?” I hear the sound of his keyboard in the background as he works.

“I don’t rat your ass out to the agency for doing under the table checks.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t have to do under the table checks if you didn’t guilt trip me into them.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have such an easily acquiescent personality, and I wouldn’t take advantage of you,” I retort.

“Yeah, yeah. What do you want, Fletch?”

“Give me everything you’ve got on Dylan Keller. I want everything from her demos, to what she had for breakfast this morning. And no, I don’t have her birthday, but for reference, she’s Jack Keller's kid. Got it? I want it by the end of the day.”

“Jack Keller? Isn’t he your buddy from the SEALS that just died? Actually, his funeral was today. Did you go? Why do you want me looking into his daughter?” He rambles off the questions without taking a breath between them.

“Jeffries?”

“Yeah, Fletch?”

“Just get it done.” I hang up the phone before he has a chance to rattle off any other questions.

He knows we’re on a no questions asked basis, as is usual in our line of work.

But occasionally he gets carried away if I don’t tighten the reins quickly enough.

I keep walking, my boots crunching softly against the gravel path as I make my way away from the funeral site.

I can’t shake the image of her, the way she sat so still, so distant from everything happening around her.

Her face—expressionless, but with eyes that spoke volumes—stays in my mind like a ghost I can’t exorcise.

She’s never been one for outward emotion, but today I saw something in her I didn’t expect.

Not just the grief, but something deeper.

A kind of resignation. Like she’s already bracing for the storm that’s coming.

Not knowing that storm is me. It reminds me of the last time I saw her like this.

Back then it was a different storm—a quieter one, but no less destructive.

The way her shoulders hunched, like she was trying to fold herself smaller, to disappear into the background. It’s the same look she had that day…

The late afternoon sun bathes the park in warm amber light, but it does nothing to soften the tension I’m feeling as I watch Dylan sitting alone by the swings.

She isn’t running with the other kids or trying to climb the jungle gym like she usually did.

Instead, her small frame seems to fold in on itself, her hands gripping the chains of the swing as she kicks idly at the dirt.

I came to get her at Jack’s request, her dad and my best friend, because he was busy.

Seeing her like this, dim and distant, instead of with the bright spark she normally carries, stirs something deep in my chest. I approach her quietly, dropping into a crouch beside her.

“You know, most people actually use the swings for swinging,” I tease, hoping to coax a smile from her.

She only glances up at me out of the corner of her eyes but says nothing.

I tilt my head, studying her. She has a scrape on her knee; the blood is dried and caked against torn denim, and she has a cut on the corner of her lips with wood chips in her hair. She’s pale and her lips are pressed into a tight line. “Hey, what's going on?”

“Nothing.”

That single word is so small and defensive that it makes my chest tighten. “That doesn’t look like nothing, what happened?”

She shakes her head and hunches her shoulders as if trying to shrink away from me.

“Dylan, talk to me. Please.” I drop my voice into something steadier.

“It doesn’t matter,” she exhales on a shaky breath.

I shift closer, resting a hand on the swing’s chain. “It matters to me. You don’t have to carry stuff like this on your own, you know. I’m always here for you. ”

Her head lifts up, and for the first time since I came over here, she meets my eyes fully.

There is something in her gaze that startles me—not just the tears threatening to spill, but a raw vulnerability that she’s too young to carry.

“It was Justin,” she whispers finally. “He said… he said that I’m annoying and weird and that no one wants me around.

Then he pushed me, and I fell into the corner of the platform on the slides.

” Her voice breaks, and she quickly wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

A quiet storm builds in my chest then, and I have to force myself to stay calm so I won’t scare her. “That little punk. Does this happen a lot?”

She hesitates at first, then nods.

I exhale slowly, the weight of her words settling over me.

“Dylan, listen to me. You’re not annoying, nor are you weird, and anyone who says that is just wrong.

Because despite what he says, I want you around.

You mean the world to me, and to your dad.

Don’t let the opinion of an insecure twerp get to your head. ”

She shrugs, avoiding my gaze again. “You’re just saying that.”

But that’s the thing, I never say things I don’t mean. “You’re worth protecting, you don’t deserve this.”

Something flickers in her expression—something once again, that feels too big for a ten-year-old, and it strikes me like a wave. “Next time he tries anything, you tell me. I don’t care if it’s a push or a mean word. Promise me.”

Her brow furrows. “You can’t just ? —”

“I can, and I will. You’re stuck with me, Dylan. I’ll handle it.”

If only she knew how true that statement remains, even now.

I grip my phone tighter, feeling that surge of possessiveness flare again, that desire to own her—to be the one to peel back those layers she’s spent years carefully stacking around herself.

She won’t be able to hide forever. Not from me.

Not when I’m this close. The thought of Jeffries getting me the intel on Dylan eases some of the pressure building in my chest. It won’t be long before I know everything there is to know about her: where she’s been, where she’s going, who she’s talking to, what she’s thinking.

Every little detail, like puzzle pieces clicking together, until I finally understand her completely .

The phone call with Jeffries had been quick…

efficient. He knows what I want, and he knows there’s no room for hesitation or delay.

In this line of work, the less you ask, the better.

I don’t need anyone getting too curious.

Jeffries has always been reliable, even if he does enjoy throwing around his opinions when I don’t ask for them.

But I’m not in the mood for chatter today.

I slide the phone back into my pocket and glance over my shoulder, a sharp, involuntary movement.

The cemetery is a long way behind me now, but I can still see it in my mind—the scattering of mourners, the flutter of flags, the muted sorrow in the air.

And her. Dylan. She’s still there, I imagine. Alone, after everyone else has left.

The thought unsettles me in a way I can’t quite define.

It’s not just the fact that she’s alone, it’s that I know she won’t be for long.

I’ll make sure of that. I’m already in her world, whether she likes it or not.

And soon, she’ll realize it. I cut through the trees lining the edge of the cemetery, stepping into the shadow of a nearby building.

My fingers graze the surface of my phone again, half tempted to check if Jeffries has already started digging through Dylan’s past.

The screen flickers on, but before I can even unlock it, a soft vibration pulses through the phone, signaling a message. I swipe to read it.

I’ve got her. - J.

The smile that curls my lips is involuntary. A cold, self-satisfied grin. Jeffries doesn’t waste time.

I tap my phone’s screen again, quickly composing a response:

Good. Get everything. I need it all by tonight.

Another vibration.

Understood. She’s been on the move a lot lately. Changing addresses, I think.

That’s no surprise to me, considering I’ve witnessed her efforts in person, but that isn’t information that needs to be shared.

I let the phone drop back into my pocket.

The thoughts swirling in my mind feel sharper now, clearer.

This isn’t just about getting close to her anymore.

It’s not just about finding out where she’s been or what she’s been up to.

It’s about making sure she understands. I walk past the familiar street corners, the shadows growing longer as the sun begins to set.

The city is always alive, but it feels quieter now, less forgiving—like it’s holding its breath.

Dylan’s life is about to get much smaller and I will be at the center of it, whether she realizes it or not.

I may not be able to talk to her yet, I may have to bide my time still, but my little muse has no idea that she’s already captured in my frame while I’m still in her peripheral vision.