Page 39 of The Rose and the Hound (Ashes and Roses #2)
My Zahra was gone. She had been so grateful to me for helping seal her records, but that didn’t give me a free pass.
I don’t think she was angry anymore. She was just moving on, which hurt just as much.
But me ... I didn’t move on. I couldn’t move on.
I continued to stalk her. I sat outside her building, taking easy jobs like good ol’ cheating Mr. Harrod, who freely flaunted his infidelity and therefore took only five minutes of my day.
The way the man carried on out in the open could get him charged for public indecency.
My Rose continued to bloom. Her stride was confident, her smile genuine, and her beauty radiant.
She continued to jog and was socializing a lot more than she ever did before.
Gloria joined her on some of her jogs, but appeared to be a reluctant exercise partner, frequently stopping to point out bars and cafes.
Each time, Rose would laugh and grab her arm to drag her back on course.
Once Rose’s building was secure, I set my sights on the other threats in her life.
Loretta was out on bond, unlikely to face any real time, so she definitely needed some kind of silencing.
It wasn’t hard. She frequented seedy establishments, which mostly had “broken” cameras, if any cameras at all.
A completely genuine threat in a dark parking lot was all it took to see real fear in her eyes.
Yes. I was unhinged and she could see that.
Like recognizes like. I had no moral boundaries when it came to Rose.
A few weeks after our meeting, she moved three states away.
It wasn’t far enough for me, but she knew I’d be watching. I’d always be watching.
I continued to send gifts to Rose. Her panties had been stolen, and we were no longer on good enough terms for me to send her more underwear. Instead, I sent her shorty pajamas with a rose print. She was still my Rose, even if I couldn’t be her Hound. She would always be my Rose ... my Zahra.
Brett tried to cheer me up but eventually surrendered to the reality that I was beyond help. He even accepted that I was stalking her, seeing that I’d never hurt her. I was just an interested party.
Seeing Rose bloom gave me true happiness, but I knew I’d probably never feel her warmth in my life.
I’d watch her thrive from the sidelines, never able to inhale her scent or touch her petal-soft skin.
Some actions can’t be taken back, but we can atone for them.
Rose taught me that, and it was a lesson I had to learn eventually.
I packed up my desk after work, ready to take my usual place outside Rose’s building.
My days there were numbered. The highly competent super had noticed me there and had begun giving me suspicious looks.
Last night, she snapped a photo of my car.
That damned super was a mixed blessing. I trudged to my car, pondering how I could “watch” Rose after the super pushed me out of my usual spot.
A flash of red caught my eye. My entire windscreen was covered in art.
Well, I guess it was supposed to be art.
Instead, it was a badly drawn bloodhound.
The ears were too short, and the legs too long, but I could see the intent.
It was drawn in what looked like window chalk.
My little vandal was thoughtful enough to put a pack of glass wipes on the bonnet.
I smiled. My smile grew and grew as I realized what this meant.
I had a stalker. A stalker who called me the Hound.
The driver’s window also had a crude drawing on it.
A rose in full bloom. How could she ever expect me to wipe these terrible drawings off my car?
She really was a truly awful artist. I hoped whatever tattoo she got that day was drawn by the artist, not her.
But her art was the most beautiful I’d ever seen in my life.
I photographed the work from every possible angle before I wiped it off.
As much as I wanted to leave the pictures there, I had to be able to see through my window so I could drive to see my Zahra.
I sat in the car, looking through the clear window.
No, I couldn’t just show up. We were back to our little game, and I wouldn’t waste this opportunity.
I headed off in the direction of the mall. Surely they did engravings on the spot.