The Voice - Part Twelve

(warning: contains non-consensual sex)

Lester was a patient man. In the pale light of dawn, he stood across the street from "Fantasy Hotline" and watched as the women began to leave work. This time, he was clever. There's no point in looking for her, he reminded himself. Listen for her. And so he closed his eyes, leaning back against the sooty brick and listened.

The swing and the clang of the metal doors preceded clusters of voices. They were hard to separate from one another. At first he thought it was a hopeless task. Accents and lilts bloomed and faded in his mind as the women emerged. Perhaps Sonia just wasn't very chatty when she wasn't working?

Then there were two. Two voices alone. Lester's heart almost stopped beating.

"Fry up?"

"Not this morning, Sandra. I'm feeling run over. I just want to get home and climb into bed."

His eyes flew open. It was her - Sonia. His Sonia.

"Well, see you tonight!"

"Yes, see you!"

She smiled and turned and began walking down the lane. Not towards the station, but in the opposite direction, towards Highbury.

He couldn't lose her now, but he didn't want to scare her either. Giving her a little head-start, he followed her at a discrete distance.

She walked at a brisk pace, her printed skirt fluttering around her bare legs in the early-morning air. She was so beautiful, so graceful. Just as he'd imagined her: small, delicate, but long-limbed. Her hair was cut quite short, like a pixie. Lester could almost imagine tiny points on the tips of her ears. She swung her arms as she walked. The pale yellow blouse was rolled up at the sleeves, and a little too large for her frame.

As he followed her, his heart swelled. This was his Sonia - this, this beautiful creature. She stopped in front of a maisonette on Milner Square, number 84, pulled her keys out of her shoulder bag, and let herself in.

Lester waited a moment and then climbed up the front steps to the house. His eyes scanned the panel of buttons beside the door: flat number 1, M. Michaels; flat 2, D.R. Vitelli; and flat 3, J.S. Brumley.

Quickly, he stepped back down onto the pavement and looked up. A light went on in the top-floor windows.

"Hello, Miss Brumley," whispered Lester.

 

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