Obsessed Future
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The first thing I noticed was that the room had been cleaned. The bed, which usually looked like a battlefield after one of my messes—a battle between sheets and blankets with me as the victor every time—was neatly made up in white cotton sheets.
There were no dirty clothes on top or underneath it; they’d all disappeared into some magical laundry machine somewhere. My laptop sat open next to an empty glass coffee table, but there wasn’t any sign of food anywhere except for two plates sitting side by side at opposite ends of the couch.
One held what appeared to be scrambled eggs and bacon while another contained something resembling oatmeal topped with fruit. Both smelled delicious, so much better than anything I could have cooked even if I hadn’t just spent three hours doing nothing more strenuous than reading through old emails from my mom’s account (which she never used anymore).
I stood in front of the window looking out over the cityscape below before turning around slowly to take everything else in: the bookshelves lining both walls behind me, the desk where I always worked when not holed away inside my own head…and then there was the view itself.
It took a few seconds longer this time because instead of staring straight ahead, I turned slightly toward the right until I found her standing against the wall beside the door wearing only black lace panties and a matching bra.
She smiled brightly at seeing me finally notice her and walked forward to meet me halfway across the room. Her hair fell down past her shoulders in soft waves and she wore makeup again today, though still very little compared to how often we went out together now.
We kissed gently, our lips barely touching each other, and then she pulled back enough to look at me. “Hi,” she said quietly.
“Hey.” I tried to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it yet. Instead, I reached out and ran my fingers along the curve of her jawline, feeling the smoothness beneath them. Then I leaned forward and pressed my forehead against hers. “You’re here early…”
She nodded once. “Yeah, sorry about that. But you know how hard it is to get ready without being able to see yourself?”
That sounded familiar. I chuckled softly and shook my head, pulling back to gaze at her face again. “No, actually—”
Her eyes widened suddenly and she stepped backward quickly, nearly tripping over herself in the process. When she regained balance, however, she didn’t move away from me. In fact, she kept moving closer until we were almost nose-to-nose.
Our foreheads touched lightly, and then she spoke directly into my ear. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered urgently.
My heart skipped several beats in response to those words alone, but I managed to keep calm long enough to nod firmly. “Okay.”
For a moment, neither of us moved. Not really. Just sort of stayed frozen in place, locked in the same position. And then she did something unexpected. Something completely out of character. She put her hands on either side of my face and brought her mouth close enough to mine that our noses brushed.
Almost immediately, I felt her tongue slide out to touch the tip of my nose, and then she drew back abruptly.
“What are you doing?” I asked breathlessly.
Instead of answering, she backed off farther, holding onto my arms tightly as she stared intently into my eyes. After a second, I realized why she’d done that: to make sure I knew exactly who was talking to whom.
For someone whose brain seemed to work entirely differently than anyone else’s ever since we met, she certainly understood human nature well enough. Or maybe it was just instinctual behavior for her? Either way, I appreciated the gesture.
Finally, she let go of my arms and stepped back. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away,” she apologized sheepishly. “It must seem weird to you.”
I laughed weakly. “Not at all. You can do whatever you want whenever you feel like it.”
She grinned widely. “Thanks! So, uh, breakfast?”
I followed her lead and picked up the plate of eggs and bacon, taking a seat on the edge of the couch facing her. As soon as I started eating, however, she grabbed the remote control lying nearby and switched the TV to a news channel.
A reporter in a suit was speaking rapidly into the camera, his voice echoing loudly throughout the apartment. “We’ve got breaking news coming out of New York City tonight. According to sources within the NYPD, authorities believe that the serial killer known as ‘the Faceless Man’ has struck again.
Witnesses claim that he attacked a woman walking home late last night near the intersection of West 125th Street and Broadway. They also report hearing screams, gunshots, and what sounds like a man screaming in pain. Police responded immediately, but the suspect escaped before they arrived on the scene
.” The screen cut to another shot of an empty street with police cars parked haphazardly alongside it while the anchor continued reading from the teleprompter. “…The victim remains unidentified at this point, but witnesses describe her as Caucasian, approximately thirty years old, five feet six inches tall, weighing one hundred twenty pounds, and having brown hair and hazel eyes.
Anyone with information regarding this case should contact their local precinct or dial 911. This is a developing story; stay tuned for more details.”
As soon as the broadcast ended, I set aside my food and looked at Emma curiously. “Why did you turn the TV on?”
She shrugged. “Just curious… I don’t usually watch the news unless there’s some kind of emergency going on.”
I snorted. “Well, if you wanted to hear about the latest crime spree happening right outside your door, you could have turned the volume down instead of turning it off altogether!”
Emma rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, please. It wasn’t that loud.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” I took a bite of egg and chewed slowly, savoring its rich flavor. “So, um, where does this leave things between us now?”
She smiled slightly. “With everything still the same, obviously. We’ll be together every day after school, and we can hang out anytime during the weekend. Unless you need me to come to pick you up somewhere first thing tomorrow morning, that is.”
I frowned thoughtfully. “Actually, no. That won’t be necessary. I already told Mr. Jones yesterday afternoon that I wouldn’t miss class today because of the incident.”
“Really?” Her smile grew wider. “You’re not mad?”
“Of course, I am,” I replied flatly. “But I know how much trouble I caused by being here when I shouldn’t have been. If I had any other choice, though, I would definitely take it.”
“Good. Because I think you made the right decision, too.” She reached across the coffee table toward me, grabbing hold of my hand and squeezing gently. “And besides, I’m glad you decided to stick around.”
That caught me off guard. I didn’t expect to see such genuine emotion in her expression, especially given the fact that she hadn’t even said anything yet. But once again, I found myself smiling broadly. “Me, too. Thanks.”
After a few seconds, she released my hand and sat back against the sofa cushions. Then she glanced over at the television again, watching silently as a new segment began playing onscreen featuring two policemen standing next to each other in front of a yellow tape barrier.
One of them spoke into the microphone attached to his shoulder. “This is Officer Smith reporting live from the scene of the most recent murder. Authorities have identified the victim as a young female college student named Jane Doe.
At this time, our investigation suggests that the perpetrator may be the same person responsible for the murders of three women in Manhattan last week…”
My stomach churned uncomfortably as I watched the rest of the report unfold before my eyes. When it finally came to an end, Emma sighed softly and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the coffee table. “Wow,” she whispered. “What a mess.”
I nodded somberly. “Yeah. What are the chances that the guy who killed those girls will try to kill someone else? And what makes him keep killing people anyway?”
“He doesn’t really care whether he gets caught or not, apparently. He just wants to make sure everyone knows exactly what he looks like so nobody mistakes him for anyone else ever again.”
“Then why hasn’t anybody recognized him yet?”
“Because he keeps changing his appearance. Apparently, whoever hired him knew all about that, which is probably why they chose him for the job in the first place.”
I grimaced. “Sounds like somebody very smart.”
“Or maybe he’s working alone. Maybe the only reason he needs help is that he isn’t capable of doing something himself.”
“Maybe.” My mind drifted away from the conversation momentarily, thinking back to the way I’d seen the Faceless Man move earlier that evening. There was certainly nothing humanlike about his movements—not even remotely close.
In fact, I couldn’t imagine that anybody with normal vision could’ve mistaken him for another living creature. Not without seeing him do it firsthand, anyway. So then, if he wasn’t trying to disguise himself, what purpose did it serve? Why bother making his body look different than everybody else’s?
It occurred to me that perhaps the answer might lie within the words spoken by the man inside the car. Perhaps the Faceless Man wasn’t actually looking to hide his identity; rather, he simply wanted to avoid drawing attention to it. After all, if he were truly concerned about being discovered, he could easily change his face whenever he pleased.
The problem was that, according to the information provided by the police, the killer always seemed to choose victims based on their physical characteristics. As long as he kept choosing targets whose faces matched his own, however, there was no guarantee that he would remain undetected forever. Eventually, one of these days, someone was bound to notice him. Or worse: recognize him.
The more I considered this possibility, the less sense it made. It felt almost as though the Faceless Man had intentionally chosen to conceal his true nature, but why would he want to go through all of that effort? Even if he was afraid of getting caught someday, surely he must realize that hiding his real self would ultimately accomplish little.
All it meant was that he needed to find some other way to ensure that nobody noticed him.
In order to achieve that goal, he would need a better plan. A strategy designed specifically to prevent others from recognizing him. Something far more effective than merely altering his features.
As soon as this thought crossed my mind, I realized that I already knew precisely where to start looking.
***
By the time we finished dinner, darkness had fallen outside. We spent the remainder of the night sitting together on the couch, talking quietly while watching TV. By the time the sun rose the following morning, Emma and I both agreed that it was time to leave.
We packed up everything except for our clothes, leaving behind the rest of our belongings. Once we were ready to depart, I took out my cell phone and called a cab company located nearby. While waiting for the taxi to arrive, I asked Emma how she planned to get home.
She told me that she usually walked, although she also occasionally used public transportation when necessary.
When the driver arrived, I paid the fare and helped Emma climb into the backseat. Then I climbed in after her and closed the door.
Before pulling away, the cabbie turned around and looked at us curiously. His gaze lingered on Emma for several moments longer than usual, until eventually he shook his head and drove off.
Afterward, I sat silently beside Emma as the taxi headed toward the city center. Our destination was a small apartment building near the harbor. This particular area of town was known for its high concentration of tourists since it served as the main hub for most of the major attractions along the waterfront.
Most of the buildings here were old, dating back nearly two hundred years. They weren’t particularly tall, either, nor did any of them have much character beyond basic functionality. Still, despite their lack of aesthetic appeal, many of these structures still managed to stand proudly against the backdrop of the ocean.
Their age-old presence lent an air of history to the entire neighborhood, lending it a certain charm that you wouldn’t necessarily expect to see anywhere else.
Once we reached the end of the street, I got out of the car and waited patiently for Emma to exit before heading over to meet her. When she finally appeared, I opened the passenger side door and held it open for her.
She smiled politely, thanked me, and stepped down onto the sidewalk. Just as she started walking away, however, I stopped her.
“Emma?”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced quickly in my direction.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Thank you again for coming tonight.”
For a moment, I watched her expression carefully. Her cheeks flushed ever so faintly, and I wondered whether or not she understood exactly what I was referring to. But whatever doubts I may have harbored vanished immediately when I saw the smile that spread across her lips.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Holmes.”
Then she continued on her way, disappearing into the crowd.
I stood alone on the curb, staring after her with a faint grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. For a brief instant, I couldn’t help wondering just who this woman really was. And then, without warning, I found myself laughing aloud.
The End