Chapter 2

The static in the phone grew sharper and sharper, and the younger me was still shouting,

"Maurice, tell me what you mean!"

I pulled the phone out and smashed it against the stone pillar beside me with everything I had.

The screen shattered, black parts scattering across the ground.

The call cut off completely.

I stared at the wreck of the phone until the last thread of static died, and only then did I loosen my clenched hand.

"That recording was spliced together."

I lifted my head and let one corner of my mouth curl.

"There's plenty of stuff like that online. A few old clips and anyone can make one."

The last flicker of doubt on Isabel's face slowly faded.

"Why would you do all this?"

"Money." I patted the pocket holding the two hundred dollars.

"I won't pretend otherwise. After I wrecked my leg I couldn't find work, so I ran up some gambling debts."

"I heard you married well. I figured I'd dress up the past into a story and see if I could squeeze out a little more."

Isabel stared at me, nothing left in her eyes but disgust.

"Maurice, how did you rot into something like this? You make me sick."

I lowered my eyes. "You're right."

The hotel manager came out through the doors at a quick pace, his face uneasy.

"Mr. Fox, that man you had security check on. We have the results."

"He didn't show up for the first time today."

Leon turned his head. "Meaning what?"

The manager held the tablet out in front of Isabel and Leon.

In the footage, I appeared around the edges of the hotel three days running.

Sometimes standing in the parking lot, sometimes crouched by the staff entrance.

In the last clip, I was holding up an old phone, aimed at the nameplate on the bridal suite door.

The murmuring among the guests around us swelled at once.

"This isn't just about money, he's been stalking her, hasn't he?"

"He even filmed the suite. Who knows what he's after?"

Someone had already raised a phone, and Leon glanced over.

"Please, everyone, go back inside. I'll give you all an explanation for today."

A kitchen hand pushed his way up next to the manager.

"I know him. He picks up odd jobs down at the docks."

"A few days ago he begged me to get him some work. I only agreed because I felt sorry for him."

Leon's face went dark all the way through, and he raised a hand toward the guards.

"Search him."

Two guards blocked my path, one on each side.

I stepped back, the wooden crutch catching on the edge of the red carpet, and my body tipped.

A guard reached out and grabbed my shoulder.

The seam of my old jacket pocket had long since split,

and a floor plan of the hotel and a wedding schedule slid out.

The car's arrival, the reception, the start of the ceremony, every time circled in pen.

Next to the bridal suite there was even a fingernail dent pressed into the paper.

Those days, through the hotel's floor-to-ceiling glass,

I had checked again and again where Isabel would step out of the car and which door she would come out of.

The manager looked at the plan. "Should we call the police?"

Leon turned to Isabel, his tone softening.

"Izzy, this one is yours to decide."

Isabel bent down and picked up the schedule, her knuckles going white bit by bit.

Five years ago, she had lain in a hospital bed waiting for me, and I never came.

Five years later, she finally had a new life,

and I had shown up ahead of it, mapping out every minute of her day.

Before she could speak, I braced myself on the crutch and spoke first.

"No need to call the police on your big day. I only wanted to take a few photos."

Leon didn't follow where I was leading.

"Why were you filming the bridal suite?"

I met Isabel's cold stare and smiled like none of it mattered.

"She's a famous designer now, and she's about to marry into the Fox family."

"I figured if I could get a few photos she wouldn't want made public, they'd be worth a good bit of money."

Isabel's face darkened. She looked at me for a long time, then something seemed to come back to her,

and she turned the schedule over. On the back was the address of her studio.

"Maurice, exactly how long have you been following me?"