Page 4 of Caught in His Sights
Grit from sleep sticks in my lashes and burns like grains of sand stuck under my eyelids. I rub them as I peer blearily toward the closed curtains. Light shines around the edges, so I didn’t miss the whole day, but the clock on the wall says it was a near thing.
“Dammit.” I massage my sore neck and glare up at the pictures of Caleb surrounding me. “You’re supposed to remind me to stop passing out at my desk.”
He stares back in reproach.
“Yeah, yeah, this is all my fault.” I’d been hellbent on tracking down new leads, cross-referencing stories that were never updated, versus those of people who are still missing.
It all felt very important in the dead of night, but now I wonder why I even bother. Do I really think one of these Omegas will lead me to Dylan? Would the cops even believe me if I took them my stack of forum posts and maps that show a pattern?
My back protests as I sweep everything into the folder on my desk and close it. I stop obsessing over this and throw it away, but if I toss it now, I’ll just dig it out of the trash later.
That’s what always happens.
With a wince of discomfort, I stand and stretch my back. The desire to stumble over to my bedroom and fall into bed, to sleep the rest of the day away, tempts me. But necessity turns me toward the bathroom instead.
In the shower, the warm water cascading over my body soothes my stiff muscles, and I let out a soft sigh. I need to stop doing this to myself, but my mind at two in the morning becomes a cruel spiral of accusation and guilt.
If I had health insurance, I could talk to a therapist about all this and get on some meds to help me sleep. But I don’t earn enough to pay for it out of pocket, and freelancers don’t get healthcare included, no matter how many stories the news sites publish.
I linger under the hot spray, letting it cascade over my ears and block out my thoughts.
Only when I’m toweling off do I remember the buzz from my phone that woke me.
I walk out of the bathroom naked to grab my cell from my desk and check the screen to see an out-for-delivery notification. My package will arrive within the next hour.
Now, that’s a nice way to distract my mind and exhaust my body.
No longer interested in going back to sleep, I dress and slip on my nape guard. The cold plate of metal settles against the back of my neck, and I pull up my collar to hide it. The safety measure won’t save me from being attacked, but it will at least protect me from an unwanted Mark.
Grabbing my wallet from the table by the door, I double-check my locks before heading out.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows on the sidewalk as I step out of my apartment building. The air holds a chill, but not enough to go back for my jacket. The convenience store is only a block away, which makes it the perfect distance to pop out and grab dinner. If I had to drive anywhere, I’d lose my parking spot and be forced to walk farther to reach home.
As I approach the store’s entrance, glass crunches under my sneakers. The window in front is boarded up again.
The recurring vandalism fills me with frustration. The owner has been talking about retiring soon, and none of his kids want to take over because of how downhill the neighborhood has gone.
A buzzer echoes through the store as I push open the door.
“Hey, Oliver!” Lucy, a Beta who lives in my building, waves from an aisle over. “Eggs are on sale for half off.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” I don’t like eggs, but the bargain is too good to ignore. I’ll just mix them into other things for added protein.
I head to the refrigerated section, grabbing a carton along with a pre-made meal for something quick and easy to microwave tonight. A loaf of bread and some pasta go into my basket, too, in preparation for holing up for my Heat in a couple of days.
“Can you believe this?” says a feminine voice as I head toward the front.
A tall, Alpha woman stands by a display near the entrance, shaking her head.
Curious, I follow her gaze to a flier pinned to the corkboard beside the door. A new missing person poster covers the dozen beneath it, the face of a young Omega man staring out.
A numb sensation sweeps over me as I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the information, capturing the man’s name and contact number.
“It keeps getting worse,” the Alpha woman says, not looking at me. “What’s happening to this city?”
“Nothing good.” With a nod to her, I walk up to the cashier and place my items on the counter.
“Hey, Oliver,” Mr. Parks, the older man who owns the store, greets me with a tired smile. “You find everything you need?”