Threat part 2
She kept running past the castle and decided to circle once more. She told herself she would take another look to see if he was either still watching or had noted her and moved on. She hated to be distrustful of a city she so desperately wanted to trust, wanted to be friends with. She wanted to be on more than speaking terms with New York. She wanted to run hand in hand with Manhattan, through the bustling traffic of 5th Avenue, Chinatown of the Lower East Side and, here and now, the greenery of Central Park. She wanted to partake of and be as woven into the fabric of this city as she had been back home, where nothing seemed to happen without Kate Aldaine being acutely aware of it and giving her express consent for it to do so.
As she came upon the eastern flank of the observation deck she stole another glance. She told herself he would still be there, leering, taking notes. Kate was surprised to find the watchman gone, the negative image of his black peacoat now snow white being processed against the stone by her doubting brain. She searched the vacant observation deck for signs of him, the long steps leading to the landing, the walkway to the grand turret, all cold and lifeless. She took a deep sigh and stopped. Rarely did she break a run, but she thought it prudent to wait a long second to make sure she was still unobserved. A custodian, she told herself, here for early morning rounds. Docile. Harmless.
Kate slowly started back onto the trail, past the Great Lawn up to the 85th Street Traverse Road. She would exit the park onto 5th Avenue and change her heading northerly to the Guggenheim. She had time to kill before meeting her therapist and the museum was a favorite pastime for her. She made it out of the park and ran past the caricature artists and hotdog vendors staking their claim for the day along the Museum Mile. At 86th street she found a Crepe Cart and bought a Nutella crepe and guava juice for breakfast. Kate marveled at how in a city where so many vices were available to her she ate better here than at home where she might be gnoshing on homemade buttermilk biscuits now.
She walked along 5th Avenue as she finished off the rest of her breakfast and people watched, something she loved doing since moving to Gotham. She found people in general to be unceasingly interesting and New York certainly had it’s share of characters. The sidewalks were becoming populated with shoppers, business people and tourists as the five boroughs awakened and began spilling out into the streets. Kate saw individuals at first — a woman walking six dogs, an old man and woman arm in arm, other early runners heading into the park. Soon the kaleidoscope of colors became smudged with great black swaths as she began seeing peacoats everywhere. He mind brought her back to the man watching her from the observation deck. She thought how easily he could blend into the crowd of New Yorkers. Black would always be the new black here.
Her mind then focused on the scarves wrapped around the top of the black peacoats. Vivid and muted solids, houndstooth and Argyle patterns all swirled together into a spinning mixture of color. Tartans showed up everywhere she looked and within seconds it appeared as if the entire street was a haze of peacoats and Tartan scarves. In that Great Swoon of charcoal blacks and hues Kate saw a figure standing on the opposite side of the street with fleeting glimpses at first, then slowly coming into focus like a lens being adjusted to just the right sharpness. Her observer stood perfectly, chillingly still, the Sinclair tartan unmistakable even in the churn of colors surrounding her.
Her watchman was back.