Cold Turkey

His boss, handing him an unmarked envelope, said, "Here's some money. Use it when I issue a Cold Turkey. Abort assignment. Disappear. Don't even tell me where you're going." This wasn't an instruction he'd heard before. Yet, he responded in his usual manner - with an expressionless nod.
***

He spent his days watching her. He'd wake up fifteen minutes before her, at exactly six-twenty, and position himself at his bedroom window. She would wake up and appear at her bedroom window. He'd look from behind his curtain, peeking from the side. Her house had no curtains. She'd then disappear into the bathroom. He had planted a camera for that. He'd watch her brush and bathe. He'd then walk to his kitchen. She would appear by the kitchen counter with a mug of coffee. She'd read a newspaper for a while in the drawing room, where he had another little camera. Then, she would take the car to work.

Following her was difficult at first. But soon, he mastered it. He never took his car. He depended on autos and buses. Sometimes, he ran through narrow shortcuts. Jump over a sewer, skip along a slum. Every ten minutes, he'd find her car negotiating a traffic light or a roundabout. Then, she would reach her office - an insurance company. She was fairly high up in the company. Travelled around the city often.

There was this man who came back to her place quite often.

He didn't understand why she was being followed. But it wasn't his job to know. He just followed her and reported every movement to his boss.
***

Love, he always thought, was an unpredictable emotion. He preferred lust. It was consistent, it was always there. Especially in these times when he lacked all human contact. He lived in a city, amidst people, but knew no one. His job wouldn't take lightly to his talking to anyone. The only emotion that reminded him of his humanness was lust. He wanted every woman he saw - on the road, in the supermarket, at the bus-stand. The lady who sold apples at the corner. The lady who sat at the reception of her office. His landlady who lived downstairs.

Then, there was the woman he was following. What he had for her was beyond lust. Was it love? He wasn't sure. Watching her was more than a mission. But obsession was too strong a word. He wanted her. There was no question about that. He wanted to twirl her curly locks of hair in his fingers. He wanted to hold her bare body in his arms, hold it tight and never let go. He heard her voice on the phone he tapped. Each evening, she spoke to her mother. It was everyday conversation about her work, her life. He recorded these conversations and re-listened to them when she was asleep.

Is this love? He asks himself. But larger questions bother him. About why she was being followed. What harm would come to her? What harm would she cause?

The mission takes over his life. He is as diligent as ever. But the diligence is fuelled by his need to keep looking at her. By his need to remain sane, remain alive.
***

The off-white sheet of four-inch-by-four-inch paper has "COLD TURKEY" written on it with a black marker pen. He looks out of his window and into hers. She appears, as usual, by the kitchen counter with a mug of coffee in her hand. Her curly mop of hair falls carelessly on her shapely, bare shoulders. It is time for drastic action.
***

He parks her car by the lake a thousand kilometres from where he started. The forest is dense. Humans are few. He opens the boot, puts her body on his lap, holds her and strokes her hair. He is just where he wants to be.
***