1.

He woke up in the dark soaked with sweat. The book sat on his chest. He pushed himself to sit, rubbing at his eyes. He checked his phone. Merissa hadn’t responded and it was late. He got up from bed, his shoulders aching, his mouth dry, tongue a fat weight inside. He shuffled through the dark, flicking on the bathroom light, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot a bit and he could feel the dull pang of an oncoming headache. Jesus ,what a fucked up nap that was.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to bring himself back. He left the bathroom and as he walked through the hall he made sure to flip all the lights on. He squinted against the brightness as he switched the living room light on. His drink was still sitting where he left it, and he uncapped it and chugged some, his throat rejuvenated. He came to the couch, dropped onto it and turned the television on. He found a channel that was showing something vaguely interesting, but mostly he just wanted the sound.

As he was finishing waking up, the door opened and Merissa came in, carrying a box of pizza. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, holding the box out. “We’re running ragged at the gallery trying to get ready for the new exhibit. I figured I’d pick up dinner on the way home.”

“Good idea,” Raimi said, grateful for her presence. He took the box from her while she sat her things down. “You’re just in time, anyway. Just woke up from a nap. You think the showing is gonna go well?”

She nodded. “The new artist has some really wonderful pieces. We’ve just got a lot of busywork to do.”

He watched her go back to the bedroom. He stood, brought out a couple plates and poured her a glass of water. When she came back he had set everything up and she smiled. “Such a gentleman,” she kissed him on the cheek as she joined him on the couch. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drinking the view of her in. He stroked her hair. There was something about the shade of tawny brown her hair was that he found gorgeous. She watched his face and there was love for him in her eyes and he felt desperate then.

“I love you, Merissa.”

“I love you too,” she held his hand, studying him. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’ve seemed kinda frazzled since last night.”

He nodded. “I’m alright. I think... it’s just all the excitement from the article, maybe. I don’t know. The future’s just been weighing on my mind.”

“Like how?”

“Well, like us. What our future’s going to be like, all that sort of stuff,” he said. “And it just made me really... realize how much I love you, Mare. I think I must be the luckiest guy in the world, sometimes.”

“You think so?” she asked, and kissed his hand. “I feel that way all the time. You’re a pretty special guy.”

“I don’t think I’d be that special without you,” he said. “Listen, if this article does well, what do you say we move somewhere? Anywhere you want. It’s time we got ourselves a real house and all that. Settle down.”

“I think I would like that very much,” she said. There was a sparkle in her eyes and it made his heart tremble. She fell into his arms, holding him. “But can we eat first? I’m starving.”

They laughed and dug into their meal, eating together, safe in each other’s company.

2.

The next morning Raimi woke with a startling clarity. The bed was empty and the air in the room was crisp. The morning light made the room a soft blue. He took in one deep breath. Exhaled it through his nostrils. The past couple of days had felt like a nightmare he had only just broken free from, and there was a stirring sensation inside him. It felt like things had clicked into place all at once, and now he was back, baby. He pulled free from bed and put himself together, clothing, grooming. He waited in the kitchen for coffee to brew and drank it in pleasurable silence, staring out the window, looking down at the car ridden streets of the city.

He checked the weather and decided what he was wearing was fine. He came down his apartment stairs, out on to the stoop, and began heading up the street. There was a little coffee shop he liked. Even in the mornings it was dark and dank and smelled wonderfully like fresh brew and cigarette smoke. He had picked most of his targets from there. He loved to order a cup, slide into a corner table and watch.

Watch the man in the suit who always comes in at the same time, every morning, checking his wrist watch every minute while waiting in line like he hadn’t made the choice to come get coffee here. Or the man who comes with a book and reads for one hour, who puts his book aside to finish what coffee he has left and sometimes, he pulls out his wallet and looks at something tucked inside with a sad fondness so visible in the eyes it’s unnerving in it’s bald sincerity.

Yes, and today he would do plenty of watching. The coffee shop was a squat little dark building with steps that led down to the door and he tugged on it, enveloping himself in the atmosphere of it all. He sidled into line and he kept his eyes to himself. He couldn’t begin yet, not until he was seated. The Stalking Game was as much a ritual as a sport, and breaking the rites was sacrosanct. He came to the counter. The server girl was cute and she took his order with a smile and soon enough the cup was in his hand and he was in his seat.

Despite how early it was the place was reasonably full. Solitary people in a haze of steam and caffeine, unwitting actors auditioning for his stage. To the average person it might all seem mundane, but Raimi knew differently. Real life could be just as tragic or victorious as any play, any movie. A woman who finally meets the man of her dreams, swept off her feet by his dazzling charm and wit. It was every romance movie, and Raimi had seen it time and again, only it had been real. No scripting, no cameras, just the whimsy of chance and human need.

He wasn’t sure what the other players felt like, but he had always felt an admiration for his targets. For him, they were the hero of a story. To learn their faults, their wants and needs, was compelling. Comparable in every way to the TV epics people were always chattering about. Yet it seemed to be a privileged few who got the potential of the game. The most bingeable show of all time. He took a sip of coffee.

It must be the social niceties. It was called The Stalking Game, but most players despised being called stalkers. Everyone was a hypocrite. In front of the watchful eye of The Other (that being everyone else around them), they conformed to the expectations given to them. But when alone, isolated, that’s when the mask slips away. It was all a big sham.

Raimi watched a young man, probably in his mid-twenties, come inside. He was unkempt, and he walked with his eyes to the floor, his shoulders slumped. He was caged off and he fumbled his way through ordering, enamored maybe with the cute barista, and then he sequestered himself off to a table, face aglow with phone light.

People were trapped in a way that Raimi had spent his whole life avoiding. It was a soul corroding cycle of climbing up the food chain until you finally retired by the time you were dying. He could think of no worse fate than a nine-to-five, wasting away only to make just enough money to provide for his family.

How deep had this guy already fallen down the hole? Raimi could see it now: a story of a deep struggle with angst, a coming of age story. He leaned forward in his seat. The guy was hunched over his phone, scrolling listlessly with one finger. Did he have a girlfriend? Raimi thought maybe, but not likely. He didn’t quite have that swagger men in a good relationship carry. Single and working a job that barely paid for himself. Coffee was his one luxury.

Raimi knew this was his new target.

He pulled out his phone, jotting a few notes down. The target dressed like he was single, too. A sloppy jacket, unzipped, over a plain black t-shirt, jeans that seemed on their last leg, shoes that were following suit. He glanced up from his notes, and the guy was looking up from his phone too, doing a little observing himself, eyeing the patrons of the little shop.

The kid got up, ready to leave. Raimi liked to give them a few minutes head start before he followed. After the door shut behind the target, he allowed himself the time to finish off his coffee, gulping it down in a few big swallows. It was still warm enough it hurt a little, but he didn’t like wasting and he had business to attend. He walked back out into the world, squinting against the harsh light of day. He could see the target crossing the street up ahead, and began to tail him. He wouldn’t cross the street unless he had too. The target was always looking over his shoulder or at people that passed him. Raimi was sure that in another life the target would have made an excellent player in The Stalking Game.

They walked until the target turned left. Raimi crossed the street after him. They maneuvered their way through people and finally the target turned inside a hobby shop. Raimi paused. Possible place of employment. Either way it marked the target as a nerd. It was the kind of store that sold comics and board games. He took a moment to puff on his e-cig and then he went inside.

3.

The hobby shop was a quiet place and it smelled quite clean, the scent of fresh book. It was lightly staffed and there were few people inside, each quietly browsing RPG books or looking over binders of trading cards. The target was nowhere in sight so Raimi, after giving a nod to the man behind the counter, began to walk through the aisles and shelves. He pretended to look at what was being offered, but he had no real interest. He had a hobby already, and he was in the middle of it. Toward the back of the place was a door that lead to a gaming room, but it was empty when he peeked inside.

As he flipped through some wargame manual the target reappeared, looking a bit more presentable. He went behind the counter. So he did work here. Raimi added it to his notes and began drifting back towards the front of the store. There was a large glass case that held a ton of dice sets. He didn’t have a use for these but he needed something to take to the counter with him. He picked a set whose colors he liked and walked up to the target, who looked up from whatever he was doing. “Hey,” the target said. He sounded normal- voice not too low, not too high- and he swiped the dice under the price scanner, punching things into the register. “Find everything alright?”

“I did,” Raimi said. The target wore no name tag. Raimi reached back and slipped his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a ten. “I guess I don’t come here too often, but I’ve never seen you working here before. You new?”

“Oh, kinda,” the target said. He took the bill, punched more keys on the register. “I’ve been working here...” his eyes flicked up, to the left, as he calculated. “Two months or so? I just moved here.”

“How do you like Chicago so far?” Raimi asked. The target handed him his change and the dice set.

“It’s alright,” the target shrugged. “I needed a change of scenery. I wouldn’t call where I used to live ’country’ but it was pretty close. Wanted to try somewhere more urban, I guess.”

“Sure, you’ve got to broaden your horizons,” Raimi nodded. He extended a hand out. The target looked at his hand for a second, then shook. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I’m Mark.”

“Brian,” the target (Brian) said. “You have a good day.”

“Hey, you too,” Raimi nodded. Mission accomplished. He pocketed the change and the dice. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

“Thanks, man.”

Raimi left the store. He walked for a few minutes before stopping to add to his notes. It was admirable. The kid had the right idea, pushing himself out of his comfort zone. But he wouldn’t find answers here, not in this city. It was going to chew him up and spit him out. Most big cities weren’t kind. They were impersonal and alluring in the way a pretty girl was.

For now, his time with Brian was over. He would come back around five in the afternoon. The target might be done with work by then and Raimi could finish the rest of his leg work. The game prep was the most laborious part of the game. But all the possibilities, the nuggets of new information, were tantalizing enough he didn’t mind.

He chucked his wallet, keys, and dice onto the counter top upon his return, kicking his shoes off. He went to his room, shutting the door behind him and dropping into his desk chair. His laptop booted up and first he checked his email. His editor had finished their touches on his new article. He read through it. The suggestions were all good, and he went to work on it. For a few hours he let his brain get engrossed in the process. He was sure he wouldn’t need to change much more. It was nearly crystallized into perfection.

He vaped, resetting his thought process, switching off the journalist part of his brain. It felt good to slip into that role. It worked a different part of his mind than anything else. It was like going to the gym, the satisfaction of lifting something heavy. And he was good at it. Better at photography, something he had a knack for. More praise went to the pictures attached to his stories than the story itself. He was fine with that. Something about working behind a camera felt natural. All he could say was that he had an eye for it. He turned his attention back to the computer, opening The Stalking Game.

He had a private message waiting for him, but he elected to ignore it until he had checked the last thread he posted. If the message had something to say about what had happened, then it was unimportant. Probably a hater. He clicked on his thread and skipped to the latest posts.

ONEEYEOPEN43 posted at 9:43 AM...

jesus wtf?? you shouldve called the police... letting a murder happen like that could get u in jail.

^predator^ posted at 9:45 AM...

He would’ve had a lot to explain if he did that, dumbass. And it would’ve broken Rule 2. IMO he did the right thing. IDK what kind of game you think this is, but it seems like you’d be better off doing something else if you can’t handle something like this.

ONEEYEOPEN43 posted at 9:46 AM...

dude idgaf about the rules in the case of something like this. someone died and he couldve stopped it. you cant really be saying you care more about the sanctity of the game over someones life??

ThoseWhoWander posted at 9:50 AM...

I think predator is right. Nothing like this has happened to a player before, but this is the precedent we should be following. You really have to examine your shit if this is getting your panties in a bunch. You’re part of a community focused around stalking people lol...

ONEEYEOPEN43 posted at 9:51 AM...

dude i dont care. this is fucked beyond belief. If this is the kind of thing youve got to do for the game count me out.

Big Boss posted at 9:52 AM...

stop posting lol

More or less they were on his side. That was nice to see. He didn’t need the other players in the game to approve of him, but they were his tribe. Not even Merissa would get it. He glanced again at the lit up DM icon. It was probably that ONEEYEOPEN guy flaming him. He’d wait on checking that.

He glanced at his phone, found nothing from Merissa, and chucked it back onto the bed. It was a cool little state of the art piece of tech given to him as a gift by Stiles Nash, Silicon Valley wunderkind and the first major interview he’d scored for his website. Despite that he didn’t care for it much. If it wasn’t a message from Merissa, it was irrelevant.

He stood. Stretched. He had plenty of time to kill before he had to go back out and shadow the target again. How would he waste it, he wondered? He snatched the book he’d been reading and shuffled out to the living room, turning the TV on and setting the volume low for some background buzzing.

Soon enough, Brian. Soon enough.