26th October 1924- New York

“One… two… Focus!”

Ravi smirked as he snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and hollow. The woman before him instantly froze mid-stride. Her face, not particularly pretty or special in any way, in his opinion, dropped; her scream trapped in . The sound seemed to get tangled tightly around her vocal chords, trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.

He blinked slowly and his heel, opening the brass latch on the window behind him. It was cold to the touch and, briefly, he was reminded of the window in his childhood home. The one that would always freeze closed in the Winter. “Come here.”

He beckoned her towards him and her pale, fragile body seemed to bend to his will, putting up no fight when her feet began exploring the thin, moth-bitten carpet beneath her.  Her eyes, wide open and terrified, gazed at his face, not seeming to register anything else around her. Ravi always found a pang of satisfaction in his chest when he saw that- that petrified look. He liked being in control. He loved the power.

He stepped aside before she reached him, allowing her to pass out of the window and onto the narrow ledge outside. Oh so narrow. “Stop,” he called, flicking a bit of lint from his jacket and checking the time on his watch “Left.” Of course, she turned. He let out a small huff and put the device away in his pocket before following her out- slower- and leaning against the concrete wall. His relaxed posture at such a height would have frightened any passer-by but he was a professional; he knew what he wanted to do.

It was only when he looked up, he realised she was no longer walking and was stood static on the ledge in front of him, having not been given any further orders. He rolled his eyes and groaned “Walk.” He rested his hand on his hip and flicked the tail of his coat back, slipping his thumb through his belt loop.

Her strides were painfully slow and stiff. She was trying to resist. Stupid girl. The white fabric of her gown flared out in long tendrils, wrapping around her legs every so often.  He crossed his ankles and couldn’t help but blush as the porcelain flesh of her slender legs was briefly revealed before it was hidden again underneath the stifling lace of her skirt.

He sniffed and pushed his spectacles further up his nose, muttering a small and impatient ‘come on’ as he watched her walk towards the end of the ledge.  It used to be amusing, watching people teetering on the edge of life and the hard ground fifty feet below. It used to be fun to hear those few seconds of silence and waiting for that first scream of shock from the crowds on the street.  Not anymore.

This was getting boring now.

He craved something new.

Maybe quitting was the best idea. He could call the stupid girl back and tuck her safely back into the bed he had roused her from. She would probably wake up thinking it had all been a dream, and he would get off Scot free. He could find a new source of entertainment. 

“Oh my God!”

His eyes snapped up as the distant scream reached his ears. The girl was gone. He made a soft sound at the back of his throat.

Next time.

****************

"Honey, you've barely eaten."

Taekwoon looked up from his plate briefly, continuing to use his utensils to simply push his food around the bowl. He wasn't hungry. The chair he was sitting on felt too hard on his backside and he was forced to sit uncomfortably straight as he had pulled his chair in too close to the table. He just wanted to be alone for a while- he hadn't missed the glances his parents had shared as he walked into the room only twenty minutes earlier when his mother had called him down for dinner. He hated being watched like this; he had lost his appetite.

His father, a broad man who towered over both him and his mother, pushed his thick-rimmed glasses further up his nose. He put his chopsticks down and linked his fingers under his chin and looked towards his son. "Your mom told me you had another episode today," he sighed as he swallowed the food in his mouth. Taekwoon's gaze flickered up to him and the elder looked to his wife, whose face had become a similar shade of red to the sweater she wore. "How are you feeling, son?"

"Fine."

Why did he feel the need to try and make conversation?

Taekwoon just wanted to crawl under the table and cup his hands over his ears, or run off to his room and shut the door. He knew his father was hurting because of him; because of the reputation they had due to his behaviour. He knew he was antisocial, he was quiet, and he only ever did the amount of work that was required- nothing more. But he was also his father's problematic son, his mother's poor 'baby'; his professor's odd pupil... He had always been somebody's something. But as much as he wanted to run and hide in his bedroom, he knew he would find no peace there. Ravi had agreed reluctantly to stay put in his bedroom while he was at dinner as to not cause him more trouble with his parents. He knew he could