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“You like the view,” I say. “Good. Keep looking. You still don’t get to come in.”

“I like watching you hard while you look for me. Don’t pretend you’re not. That towel is not hiding much. I can see your cock. When I get in there, it goes in my mouth. Deep enough to choke me. Spit running down you. Go upstairs. Use the stairs. I can see you. The back of you. That ass I have watched walk out of rooms in those tight pants. I’m going to put my face between your legs. I’m going to put my tongue in you until you hold the rail. Stay quiet. Shake. I could have come inside already. I didn’t. I need you to last.”

I take the stairs. I need to check the top floor. I hate that I am still doing what he says. The main bedroom is dark until I turn on a small light. The bed is wide and white. The window here is bigger than the one downstairs. I stand beside it, not in front of it. I will not give him another photo.

“You stayed out of the window. Smart. Not fucking smart enough. Get on that bed. On your back. Open the towel. Knees up. I’m going to hold you the fuck down by the hips and suck your cock until you grab my hood and forget this house is yours. I’m going to make you come down my throat. Then I’m going to keep you hard and sit on your cock and ride you until the bed slams the wall. You’re going to say please. Men like you don’t say please. You will. You’ll say please while I use you. You’ll say please while I fuck myself on your cock and you can’t do a damn thing about it.”

I check the closet. Empty. I check the balcony door. Locked. I look down into the same trees. Nothing but dark.

“Come to the glass,” the voice whispers. “Let me see you. Let me see your cock.”

“No.”

“Then I will talk until you do. I want to fuck you in your shower next. The black stone. The hot water. I want you under that water with my glove on your cock and my other hand in your mouth. I want you to come on the stone. I want to lick it off. I want you to watch me do it. Then I want you to put me on the floor and fuck me like you hate me. Hard. Deep. Nothing between us. I want you to come inside me at that window. Look at your town while you do it. You don’t own anything tonight. I do. I own you. You haven’t said yes yet. You will.”

It is after midnight. The clock by the bed says Wednesday. I am still in a towel. I am still on this call. My body is tense and hard. I hate that. My thumb sits on the red button. I almost hang up. I do not. The voice is doing something to me I do not have a name for. It scares the hell out of me. It makes me angry. It also makes my cock throb in the towel, and that is what stops me. I keep the phone at my ear and I hate myself for it.

“Who are you?”

“Who am I? I am the reason they die when they look at you too long. I am the reason your work will not save you. I am the reason those pretty boys who leave their doors open don’t get to keep you. You don’t look at me yet. You will. Halloween is coming, Mr. Preswood. I’m going to have you pretty. Shaking. On your back in that bed with my mouth on your cock and my name in your throat. Mine?”

A tap.

“Pretty when you bleed. You will be. Not tonight. Tonight I want you in one piece. When I fuck you the first time, I want you alive. I want you to feel every inch of it.”

The line dies.

I stand in the dark with the towel and the whiskey still in my mouth and no one in the room I can hit.

The phone lights up once more.

Unknown: Go to bed. Take the towel off. Sleep naked. Leave the window open a little. I want the smell of you when I come back. Dream of my mouth on your cock. Dream of me licking you slow, then taking you deep, then not letting you come until you shake. When you wake up hard, that is me. Don’t touch yourself. Don’t wrap your hand around it. Don’t stroke it in that bed. That cock is mine now.

I read it. My hand goes to the knot of the towel. I almost undo it. I almost take myself in my hand because the text is still on the screen and my cock is already aching. I stop. I leave the towel on.

I do not leave the window open.

I lie down on top of the covers with the phone face down on my chest and my hands where I can see them.

Sleep does not come easy.

Outside, the trees hold still, and I cannot tell which one of them is still watching.

4

Lauren Brooks

Wednesday, October 29th. Late.

I should have gone home hours ago.

Floor thirty-seven is quiet. The glass offices are dark except mine. Last night I told Rhys I would lock this floor. That was before they found Noah Brennan naked and dead in the file room. That was before the police shut nineteen and sent everyone else home.

I came in anyway. The work still has to get done. I do not want to look like I am thinking about a dead man with a jacket over him.

The afternoon was worse than the morning. The firm tried to work like nothing had happened. It did not work. People spoke in low voices by the copier. Willa’s desk had flowers on it that no one had ordered for a funeral yet. Ivy kept looking at the lifts like she expected the police to come back. Kit asked if I had eaten. I said yes and did not eat.

I saw Rhys twice.