I wanted answers.
I just didn’t think they’d come in the form of a stalker I now can’t get out of my head.
My gaze once again finds the camera sitting in the same spot on my desk as the last time I stared at it, only this time, I can’t resist the pull towards it. I push the file on Ian Ross away and grab the camera.
For a moment, I fiddle with the device, trying to figure out how to get the memory card out. Once I get it free, I open my laptop and slip the SD card into the reader on the side, not wanting to risk any chance of the photos making their way onto the company server by using the desktop.
When the folder pops up, I click on it to open it, then click on the first thumbnail.
Why the hell am I doing this?
I stab the arrow key to change the picture, using more force with each push of the key as photos of myself flash across the screen.
It’s so much worse this time compared to the small display screen I saw them on the first time. I still don’t know why Grace was taking these photos, and it frustrates the shit out of me. Maybe Easton is right in the idea of her working for someone. Ian Ross? How else would she have known about him? I never actually asked herhowshe knew anything. I was so focused on who she was naming rather than her connection to him.
Photos keep flashing on the screen, and I rip my hand away.
That’s enough.
I’m about to slam the laptop shut when the photo on the screen catches my eye. Because it’snotme.
No older than five or six, a girl fills the image—a bright yellow flower clutched in her small hands. Her hair is only a couple of shades lighter than Grace’s, but it’s her bright smile as she looks down at the flower like it’s the most precious treasure that sends a warm light through my chest.
If it wasn’t for the brown eyes, I might have thought it was Grace, but beyond first glance, the similarities end. Still, I can’t help but imagine her like this, carefree and happy, innocently unaware of a darker world.
I press the arrow key again, and the next image is almost identical to the first—the out-of-focus tree in the background, the yellow flower. Except this time, the girl is directing her smile towards someone out of the shot. Even though she’s not facing the camera, her absolute joy shines through the photograph.
But the warmth disappears when the next photo is another one of me. This time, instead of stopping, I continue flicking through them.
I don’t know how many I go through until I come across another one that doesn’t belong.
The ones of you don’t belong.
I should be worried with how quickly I dismiss the thought, but every remaining scrap of energy is focussed on the screen in front of me.
How did I miss these?
Instead of the bright happiness of the other photos, trees cast shadows while the sky glooms with graphite tones and patches of blue trying to peek through the clouds. A lone park bench sits to the left, and I can almost put myself there, in that moment, watching the rolling storm come and go. Only I can’t help but feel like I’m not alone on that bench. The vision of Grace with her dark hair tangled across white sheets, framing her face, flashes back to the forefront of my mind.
That’s when I see it.
A splash of colour.
A ray of light trying to break through the shadows.
The rainbow is only partially visible, hidden mostly behind the thick haze of clouds, but it’s there—a veiled brightness fighting to be seen, to be free of the darkness imprisoning it.
My attention shifts away from the unwanted images, focusing solely on hunting for the hidden gems buried within. And every time I find one, another crack forms in the ice surrounding my heart.
“Mr. Reed?”
I slam the lid of the laptop down, moving so fast I’m barely aware of what I’m doing.
Lauren gives me a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. I knocked and called out, but there was no answer…” She pauses, then her eyes widen, and she scrunches up her nose. “Were you watching porn?”
“What? No, I wasn’t fucking watching porn,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Lauren blows out a relieved breath.