The Last Witness

By Cornelie

Bastien doesn't know what love is. Rejected by his mother, he flees from his family home. Disabled as a result of a work accident, he struggles to lead a happy life, especially because he has a vice. He is a voyeur. Using his binoculars, he observes a young woman who has just moved into the apartment across from his. This neighbor obsesses him. He molds his life around hers. One day, she is murdered before his eyes. Horrified and helpless, Bastien struggles to cope with this situation. Will he resolve to call the police to help solve this murder?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Jul 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781667460253

Book preview

The Last Witness

Cornelie

––––––––

Translated by Shaday Manasseh 

The Last Witness

Written By Cornelie

Copyright © 2023 Cornelie

All rights reserved

Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

www.babelcube.com

Translated by Shaday Manasseh

Babelcube Books and Babelcube are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

Table of Contents

My new neighbor

The Darkness of my Soul is Matched Only by the Color of the Night.

The Day Everything Changed.

Acting Out

And Suddenly a Clearing

Renewal

Chapter Five: An Almost Ordinary Life

My new neighbor

Her ritual is exciting. Every evening, after her shower, she applies a cream that's supposed to make her skin soft. I also bought it to experience that feminine scent. I inhale the fragrances of her body. I would recognize this fragrance among thousands: Silk Touch Hydrating Lotion Mango-Coconut. Although I have never spoken to her, it brings me closer to her, like a complicity I will never have. I'm interested in her, I closely follow all the small and big events in her life. I sigh when she sighs, I hum when she sings. I feel desperate when she's sad. My life is modeled after hers. I only exist through her.

With my powerful binoculars, Ranger model 12x42 with long-range capabilities, I can observe every mole on her naked skin. It fascinates me. I no longer need to watch television. She is my entertainment, my obsession, my addiction.

December 15, 2000

I can see that today there is more activity than usual in her apartment. We have in common the fact that we both live alone. She seems to enjoy her life, between errands, work, and a few visits at the end of the week. A well-established routine.

I can boast about knowing her weekly activities like the back of my hand. I have always hated being alone. It's boring not to have someone to talk to about your day. The same trivial questions come back to bother me every day: Would you like a cup of tea? Yes, gladly, it's chilly. The program on Arte seems interesting, at least I'll learn something. I'm going to have a quiet evening. (Too quiet, I might add, because it is indeed the case).

Certainly, it's an advantage, but I don't like making decisions, and loneliness weighs on me. I try to appreciate the present moment, in vain. I miss having someone by my side to share my daily life with.

I wonder what I would have become if my thirty-something neighbor hadn't moved into the apartment opposite mine, which was previously occupied by a couple with children. I couldn't observe them: blackout curtains obstructed the view, and the tenants rarely opened them.

When boxes piled up in front of the windows one morning in September, suddenly my sky cleared. I enjoy stolen moments from girls without their knowledge. My daily outings are largely tied to this activity. To see, without being seen.

I look at their bodies, their hands, their breasts. The dresses reveal their thighs...

It only takes a gust of wind to brighten my day. It's a moment of great excitement for me! They possess what I lack, and I relish in it.

Now I have another purpose in life: to contemplate a beautiful woman from my window, comfortably seated in my armchair. Usually, I go out to the forest to observe couples kissing, or to parks, to try and admire the lovely legs of young ladies on nice days.

That's precisely what I'm searching for: to expose myself less to the view of everyone, because a few years ago, I took reckless risks out of negligence or carelessness... I stupidly got caught in the act of voyeurism. Since then, I've been obligated to seek treatment.

I caught myself praying that this new tenant wouldn't install thick curtains. I dreamed of observing someone like her, young and pretty.

Since her arrival, my evenings in front of the television have become less frequent. The program in the apartment across the street is much more enticing. I witness a beautiful spectacle, sometimes until 10:30 p.m. when the light goes out.

I'm fortunate to live in a Haussmann-style building in the heart of Paris, in a pleasant neighborhood. The bay window in my living room overlooks her dining room window, as well as her bedroom window.

So, I equipped myself with the appropriate gear, the most advanced I could find: high-quality binoculars purchased online, which allow me to scrutinize even the scars on her skin and her wrinkles.

I don't regret my investment.

She doesn't pay any attention to what's happening outside. She doesn't stay by her windows lost in her daydreams, gazing down at the street. So far, my maneuver has gone unnoticed. I'm quite skilled in the art of concealment. I take pleasure in spying on this