I want to fall apart all over again, but I know this is no place for it. I must be strong if I'm going to get through this. If my kids are going to get through this. I think about the envelope on the counter. The cops probably have it. Will it implicate me even further? I want to ask Creed, but I don't want to get him into trouble.
Chapter 19
Anonymous
Growing up, my mother used to drop the odd pearl of wisdom. “Knowledge is power,Anon," she'd tell me. She knew all there was to know about things that made a minuscule amount of sense. Like how to please a man. Knowing what he wanted and how he wanted it sexually was as good as finding the Holy Grail, according to her. Which was why she was Rob's whore. She liked to call herself his girlfriend, his woman, but she was a deluded fucker, my Billy.
Still, I couldn't dispute that knowledge opens doors that otherwise remain closed to most. I have always been hungry for information, still am. When most teenagers were socializing and building a reputation they would inevitably tarnish, I stood in the shadows observing. The side lines were my playing field. I wasn't a loner, not by any means; I blended in. Nobody cares for the average Jane. She's as good as invisible if she wants to be. And, I have always prided myself on that. My very own superpower.
Dr. Finch lives on a cul-de-sac on a quiet street in Tynemouth
The refurbished Victorian houses with their period features that line the street scream wealth and privilege. Old money.
He's a routine guy, wakes up at five am every morning and kisses a sleeping Mrs. Finch on the cheek. I know this because I've been watching them for a week, and their bedroom is located on the first floor. It's an odd location, but ideal for Mrs. Finch, who has early arthritis in the knees. She moans about it to her neighbor, the chatty Latina that makes my eye twitch with her too good looks, cheery attitude, and sing-song Spanish.
More often than not, the couple leaves their curtains open. A yellow glow from a bathroom or closet offers me a sight of them.
She’s an orderly sort of woman, mid-fifties like her husband. Mrs. Finch reminds me of a headmistress. Tight knot at the nape of her neck, bland grey or brown pinstripe skirts with a stark white blouse tucked into it. You know the sort.
They don't have a security system. None of the houses in neighborhoods like this do. They don't even lock their doors. There is nothing to keep out. Nobody to be afraid of. Again, I have tested this camped out in the nearby park, watching.
Anyway, back to Finch. He changes out of his flannel PJs, into grey sweats that don’t suit him, his belly hanging over the hem. Slipping into trainers with neon reflectors on the sides, he opens then closes their bedroom door without a look back.
He steps out of the house precisely fifteen minutes later, pops his headphones on his head, and starts a slow jog down the tree-lined street humming to whatever he's listening to. I jog a bit slower than he does, blending in with my surroundings.
Dr. Finch makes a right down Priory Lane and catches up with his jogging buddy, the way he does every morning. They're pleased to see each other, as always, picking up the pace, their trainers pounding the asphalt. They fall into easy conversation, and every so often, Dr. Finch will break out into a fit of laughter at something his rather dashing companion says. I enjoy these exchanges because they show me a different side of Finch. A side I quite like.
They run through the wrought iron gates of a small park off Priory around five-thirty, it's still quiet out, only a handful of joggers in the street, most of them women, who tend to prefer the road to the secluded path of the park. I wait a few minutes, catching my breath. I'm in pretty good shape. One has to be, with myinterests. I stroll along the path, small puffs of air vapor forming when I exhale in the cold morning. I veer left and walk down a short side path I know leads to a clump of trees, it's far enough away from the main trail to give someone seeking discretion, exactly that.
I ignore the grunts and heavy breathing, the whispers I don’t quite make out, and settle in a position that will give my camera enough light. Finch has the young man pinned against the tree, his mouth attacking him savagely. Sheer desperation and carnal need ooze off the doctor. The man is a couple of inches shorter than Finch, who has to bend slightly, his hands gripping his partner's face.
Etienne is young enough to be Finch's kid. I take a good shot of the young man. His head thrown back in ecstasy as Finch slips a hand into his pants, pulling them down roughly, displaying strong muscular thighs. Finch drops to his knees, taking all of Etienne's impressive length in his mouth. I cock my head. This is actually quite a turn-on. Finch stands, claiming the younger man's mouth again. Etienne turns around, pressing against the tree, adjusting so he's bent at the waist. Finch's hands roam the contours of Etienne's body, squeezing his tight ass. Knowledge is indeed power, Mother. I know what pleases Finch, I know what he desires, I know what he's afraid of. As I watch him pound into the young man, cursing and releasing all the pent-up need and anger, he feels for having to hide this side of himself, I smile. You will prove to be very useful, Dr. Finch. You have something I don't have, and I am going to get it. I snap more pictures.
* * *
The coffee shop is modern,brightly lit, and has the perfect view of the river. The outside tables are full. I don't mind preferring a less conspicuous table. Tables outside are for the attention seekers, people who don't want to be overlooked. Tables at the back are for the weirdos, people with something to hide. Their weight problems, their indiscretions, or insecurities. I am none of those things. I blend in well enough.
Taylor Finch approaches my table, and I smile up at her. "Can I get you a refill?" she asks, not meeting my eyes. She seems to be doodling on the notepad.
"Yeah, sure. And maybe one of those lemon and poppy seed muffins." I say kindly. Up close, she is as pretty as a picture with her pouty lips and azure eyes, dark hair swept up into a messy bun. She has that stoniness her mother possesses but looks a lot like her father.
“Sure.” She replenishes my coffee and saunters away from me over to another table where a man my age sits, his head buried in a newspaper. She has to clear her throat to get his attention.
I'm sitting in a corner, punching away at my keys. I'm not working on anything in particular, just indexing my thoughts and observations over the last two days. It took some work getting time off for these months, but flashing my tits to the asshole I work for, to get him off my ass, was a small price to pay. I know he'll expect more than that, and the dry humps I give him will only tide me over for so long. But I can't think of that right now. I will do whatever it takes, even if that means letting him fuck me.
A man at the counter grabs my attention.
"Well, I'll be damned," I whisper. He signals for the waitress to come over.
Etienne Loops works here too. What are the chances? It’s a couple of blocks away from the plush high-rise Finch consults from. And with Finch’s daughter.
Etienne runs a finger through his dusty blonde curls. He doesn't wear a net-like any of the other waiters, so I assume he is management. Special is what he is. Entitled. He's even more gorgeous up close. I see what the good doctor sees in him. The waitress rounds the counter and stands at the till ringing up something. Etienne pushes up behind her, his crotch to her back. She looks around the store. Her face flushes. I bow my head, pretending to work on my laptop. I see his hands grip her waist, and she looks up at him, and I see the desire in the pinks of her cheeks. She should be more selective in her choice of men.
She slips away from him, swatting him with her dish towel and prepares what I assume is my muffin. She brings it over, and I smile at her. “He’s gorgeous, your boyfriend.’
She clears her throat. "You saw that, huh?"
"Oh, to be young and in love." I lean forward. "How long have you two love birds been together?"
