Or was it all random chance that we happened to be there at the same time, some twisted fate of the dark irony gods?
Seated on a metal bench, I pull my bucket hat down low over my eyes as I stare at my phone, glancing up periodically to watch the building across the street. I’ve stalked this spot before. When I accepted the revenge job for Addisyn Meyer, this is where I started, outside a pizzeria across from her townhouse.
The scent of fresh dough and marinara packs the air, transporting me back two years ago to when I was a woman who targeted strangers. For money. For thrill.
To keep Alex in the dark, I never returned to my loft. After the incident with Ericson, I was already off the grid, using a burner phone and avoiding Wi-Fi. I’ve been laying low since then, only paying with cash, so it wasn’t difficult to find a cheap hotel and hole up for a couple days.
Then I started devising a strategy to find him.
What I know: Alex is targeting my revenge marks. What I can assume: if he’s working down my list, selecting psychopaths with the highest tally, the ones I rated most deserving of revenge, then it’s a logical leap he’ll want Addisyn.
Initially, I thought Alex would skip this name on the list considering she’s a woman. But then, he had no reservations about abducting and torturing me, did he? Some ashamed and obviously twisted part of me might even be jealous at the thought of him with her. Which is insane. It’s hard to follow your instinct when that instinct is muddled.
Taking charge and getting into the mindset of the woman I once was, I got updates on Addisyn’s whereabouts. Her job. Her love interests and friends (or lack thereof). Her family. I slipped into my old skin and tried it out, made alterations, and began watching her, waiting for the moment Alex might show his face.
Really, it’s difficult to stalk two people at once.
You’re constantly distracted, anxious, aware of everyone around you, and everything feels suspicious. Because, while I’m trying to catch Alex stalking Addisyn, there’s the chance he’ll catch me.
But then something curious happened over the past forty-eight hours. After I immersed myself in a familiar routine, pretending to be my old self sparked a hunger for the chase. Instead of fearing the adrenaline, dreading any heightened emotions that might be triggered, I let the rush consume and guide me.
Before, I skirted a dangerous line in order to penetrate my unfeeling shell.
Now, I feel everything.
The nervous flutter of my heart when I get too close to the mark. The euphoric buzz when I discover a detail they try to keep hidden. Even the anxious desperation to complete the job.
If I’m being honest, it’s tantalizing…and addictive.
I could never understand why people took such reckless chances only to get caught. Like most of my clients, their husbands slept with a coworker knowing they’d likely be discovered, risking their marriage and careers.
I’m beginning to relate on a level that was impossible before. I can even fathom why people cheat—why they’re drawn to the danger. Why they seek it out, repeatedly, despite the threat of ruining their life.
I can even comprehend why Addisyn Meyer is the way she is. Why, two years ago, she fucked-over her best friend by literally fucking that friend’s fiancé. Oh, this wasn’t Addisyn’s only affront, or else she wouldn’t have made it to a top placement on my list. That sin just happened to be the tipping point for Mia, my client at the time, who sought me out after suffering Addisyn’s abuse since high school.
Addisyn was a serial stealer. All women know the type. At least, most of my women clients had a “friend” like this, or knew a woman they worked with that fit the profile.
As a narcissistic psychopath, one that viewed herself as the center of the universe and coveted everyone’s success as her own, Addisyn was a terror. Attractive, yes, but she weaponized her looks, targeting and preying on powerful men.
She tore families apart. Destroyed careers. She was a homewrecker from hell.
And she fed off of the lives she ruined.
She gets off on inflicting pain. Not so much physical suffering; she prefers the psychological variety. She craves breaking people mentally, leaving them hopeless. Only when her victim is absolutely wrecked, is she satisfied enough to move on.
But she had a special place for Mia in her rotten heart. Whatever Mia had, Addisyn wanted for herself. She was so good at her manipulation, gaslighting her friend for years, making her believe the ridiculous lie of: “Well, aren’t you happy I showed you who he really was before you married him?”
Sounds ridiculous, even to me back then. I didn’t understand how anyone could fall for such blatant bullshit. But…feelings, emotions. Those damn complicated matters of the heart that refuse to allow us to listen to our brain.
No one wants to believe the people in their lives are truly malicious.
That was my client, until Addisyn took the game too far, and Mia’s distraught, cheating ex-fiancé took his own life over the sordid affair.
For Mia, hurt turned into pain, and pain became anger. Anger mutated into seething hatred.
By the time she hired me, she wanted Addisyn disfigured.
Of course, back then, I had firm rules in place that stated no killing or maiming. So we agreed on the next best punishment for a narcissist like Addisyn.
Across the street, the townhouse door opens, and I watch my mark exit the building.
I wait for her to reach the crosswalk, taking inventory of every shop window, corner and alley where a stalker could emerge, before I pick up my coffee cup and start trailing Addisyn.
I keep my distance, staying almost a block behind her as she navigates the sidewalk toward her destination. She used to have a high-paying career as an interior decorator. One of the avenues she used to hunt and seduce married men. After I demolished her reputation with a well-tailored revenge scheme, she now lives a low-key life as an assistant at a dog kennel.
Not physically disfigured as my client had wanted, but a disfigured life can be just as effective. When Addisyn’s name is Googled, a swath of websites pop up. Every time a background check is run on her, a fabricated report is delivered of the gritty details of the lives she’s ruined. An in-depth catalog of the people on her personal hit-list. The medical report of her extensive list of sexually transmitted diseases. Instead of felonies and misdemeanors, I created a report tailored to Addisyn, a disturbing and uncomfortable read for any employer, colored with vibrant images of her in various compromising positions—the very images she kept on her phone to blackmail her victims.
And for the cherry on top, I programed a bot that, no matter how many times she pays to have the information removed, or changes her name, is coded to her social security number.
It’s hard enough for her to get a decent job, but in today’s society, where everyone lives online, Addisyn finds it near impossible to even get a date, never mind seduce anyone’s man.
Maybe one day she’ll opt to change her identity altogether, but for now, she’s accepted her humble place in this world as a troll.
As I reflect inward, trying to analyze my feelings for Addisyn and what I did to her, I wonder if I should have some remorse for taking the revenge scheme to the extreme and never giving her a chance at redemption. But all I feel is satisfaction that, even two years later, she’s still paying her dues.
I made sure to cover my tracks, making it difficult for anyone to link me to her profiles and background reports—but there’s always someone better. And if she winds up murdered, she’ll become part of an investigation that could potentially lead right to me.