Telescope Moment

This story is rated PG-13 by my standards, for sexual references and the suggestion of violence.

Breathe. Turn and adjust focus. Nothing. 

Breathe. Pan across. Ah, there! The blond with her kid at the kitchen table. Doing homework. 

A worthless pursuit, watching them. A tall chest of drawers sat by the side of the entrance, obscuring from view the bottom two-thirds of the door. Who places a wardrobe next to the front door? Nothing worthwhile to see here. If she were to move the wardrobe, however—but he thought of the child and shook his head. No. Kids complicated things.

Breathe. Pan down. First floor. The slats of his blinds rustled as he panned the scope across the windows of the first floor apartments of the building opposite his. 

His hands trembled and his breath caught in his throat. 

That one. 

The careless brunette was getting ready for work. He could see in through her open bedroom window, her curtains parted just enough for the view. Her hair was sopping wet (fresh from the shower). Her naked back was turned to him. He felt a warmth begin in his stomach and spread to his groin. 

Breathe. He struggled to get his breathing back to normal as he watched her dress. She turned slightly when she put on her bra and he caught a glimpse of her breasts. He shuddered. He grunted angrily when she moved away from the window. He wanted to see if she would turn around when she put on her panties. So far, he'd yet to have a glimpse of that treasure. 

His frustration was made complete when she stepped back in viewing range a short while later, fully dressed. His erection subsided. He sighed, and contemplated how much she looked like that other one, the girl from that complex he'd lived in across town...he couldn't remember the name, that was so long ago and he moved around a lot. The frequent moves were necessary, of course. He couldn't take a chance on being caught. He'd nearly screwed up with that nurse who had worked at the hospital. But she'd been a lowly candy-striper. Far below the notice of a top-gun surgeon. He was one of few people the police never bothered to question. He'd been very lucky that time.

His excitement increased again as she disappeared in the direction of the living room. Trembling, he panned the telescope in that direction, following her movements to the door. She opened the door and began to exit, then stopped, locking the door from inside before closing it

He cursed under his breath and turned away from the telescope. He thought for sure she was going to slip again.

She'd been careless once before and he'd not caught it. He'd caught her reaction, though, coming from her bedroom one morning to discover she hadn't even chained the door, let alone locked it. He cursed himself time and again for not being more observant with that one. He could have completed his work and moved on. 

Still, she'd been careless once. She might be again. And so he watched. And waited. He kept a small bag of tools ready: rolls of duct tape, several pairs of latex gloves, a sharp knife, a sharper scalpel, a syringe, and a bottle of a certain tranquilizer to knock out and, eventually...after an indeterminate amount of fun...to kill. If only she would make the same mistake twice. Until then, he would bide his time. He had become very good at that over the years. 

Yes, the brunette from 610 might very well be The One, thought the man sitting in front of his window in unit 524. 

He turned his attention back to the telescope. 

If not her, then—

Breathe. Pan across. Adjust focus.