The Watcher and The Widow
The Watcher stood outside the intimate circle of the immediate family and close friends and listened raptly to the murmur of condolences. This was the best part. This was what he came to watch. It soothed and exhilarated him. It made it all worth it.
A downtrodden woman broke away from the group and shuffled toward him. “How did you know Steve?” she asked.
The Watcher tore his gaze from the casket at the sound of her voice. “I worked with him at Vernor and Schmidt,” he lied flatly.
“Oh, I see. Thank you for coming,” the widow sniveled. “He loved working there.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” said The Watcher. “Such an awful thing.” He gave her a sympathetic smile and turned back to the casket and the group of mourners. The smile fell away from his clean-shaven face as he returned his focus to the important job of watching.
The widow had been too tired and preoccupied to notice the glint of madness in The Watcher’s eyes as he turned. She pulled her parka up against the chilly mist and ventured back toward the small crowd gathered under the little tent to mourn her husband’s passing. The drizzle was picking up now. Soon the rain would start in earnest.
The Watcher continued to stand alone, staring at the coffin for another few minutes before turning and walking back to the…
