files of the stalker: i accidently kick my prided hand winch...

I'm always staring at how the locks are on the wrong side of the door, its obvious that, unlike most locks that keep things out, this  is meant to keep things in. the dead bolt latch clacks loudly, I barely notice it as I swing the door open wide and make my way down the descending staircase. 

I tug at the string which sends the overhead lamp swinging as I enter my unusually large space. The alley I call it, long with surprisingly high ceilings for a basement.

I hurry, almost skipping to the end of the room giddy, joyous even; fabric tight in my hands. I spread red's panties out wide between my fingers as I admire them, cherish them. Getting into the house was easier than following red around.

I look around the wall, and its full of her shots. I have to take something down to make room for the new shots. I pace backward toward my arm chair, falling into it and I kick my legs up. The photo shoot, dancing, horseback riding, base jumping, sleeping. I walk up to examine the sleeping shots. I was proud that she was captured in this photo unnoticed, although from a great distance. Now that she has been so close, these pictures are simply not of the same caliber as the others.

Setting the sleeping photos carefully aside I reach for the newest set of photos in my back pocket: empty. I aggressively pat myself down and start looking across the alley to see where its dropped. I bolt across the room scanning, up the stairs and back outside, nothing. 

Back inside the alley I franticly scour the floor, moving aside neatly stacked boxes knowing full well that it could not have fallen behind any of them. Each box clearly labeled: Blindfolds; Body bags; Collars; Garrotes; Hoods; Latex; Crops; Ball gags, and others moved aside in the  search.

I rush back to the other side of the alley and dig at the arm chair; around and under in desperation. At one point I accidently kick my prided hand winch releasing the noose to the floor in a loud thud.

I stop, sitting on the floor now, realizing the photos, the notes are gone. The envelope is gone.