Secrets of an outcast

Mystery

My mind drifted away from reality for a long time, I focused on what I was feeling. I argued with myself for a while on whether or not I should go after the guy who captured my sister's heart.

I went out the building into torrential downpour and swiftly walked towards my Aston Martin after finishing 2 hours of tedious paperwork. As I sat in the front seat, I saw Stacey exit my building; however she looked very troubled, as if she had just witnessed a thousand deaths. There was an old black Buick parked extremely badly on the curb just outside which I regarded intently, it had rust on the doors and looked like it could do with a good quality clean, I wondered who owned this car. Stacey hesitated on the top step as if she was debating whether to make a run for it.

A stocky man with inky black hair squeezed through the driver door and grabbed Stacey by the arm, her face screwed up with pain.

He dragged her to the passenger seat, tugged the door open and shoved her in with excessive force, his head scanned the street and then his cold, dark eyes locked with mine. His face formed a hatful scowl as he realized I was watching him.
The man assessed me from afar, it was very unnerving. But he swiftly turned his head followed into the car after Stacey then sped away, At least double the legal speed limit.

That was odd. More than odd.

Who was that guy?

Why would Stacey get in a car with him? He looked twice her age and three times her weight. I thought to myself.

I shook my head as if that would make the memory disappear. I started the engine and pulled out into the afternoon traffic of London. I knew it would be asking to much to have as much luck as I did this morning. I sighed deeply, listening to the thrum of the engine and all too aware of the eyes that assessed me and the car.
But in all honesty I didn't care, they could stare as much as they liked, why should I be bothered by the opinions of others? Why should there thoughts, whatever they may be, affect the way I live my life.

At home I felt a desperate need to find out who picked up Stacey. I had no idea why, I was just insanely inquisitive.

I sat crossed legged on my grey leather sofa. In my opinion it was the most comfortable chair anyone could own, it was specifically designed for me by a top end designer, Chesterfield for £15,000. Which in my eyes was not a lot, but supposedly to other people it was.

I switched on my laptop and logged into my work address I had a new message from Stacey, although it was sent when she was at work. It read:

*Dear Justin,

The IT department got my Email sorted, Thank you for the assistance finding it. And the coffee.*

I decided to write a short reply back to her, even though I knew she would not be able to read it until tomorrow. I began typing.

*Dear Stacey,

That's great to hear! No need to thank me. And as for the coffee, that was Cameron who made it, another one of my many employees...but I don't think he will be for much longer*

After sending that, I hastily switched my laptop back off, knowing that the internet would not be a way to find out who the mysterious man was that collected Stacey, and I was starting to sound a lot like a stalker.

I wondered where my life was headed from now. Change was coming from every direction.

I gawked at the ceiling as if the answer was hidden underneath the sheet of white matt paint.