Bug

Soon as he saw the removal van pull up he knew this was it. He'd known it was coming, planning since the 'for sale' sign went up down to the smallest detail, but was still shocked by the excitement of seeing his prey for the first time.

He had to tear himself away from the window so they wouldn't think he was nosey, too interested in assessing their furniture as it was unloaded. Such interests were well below him and his meticulous mind. His plans would have to wait.

It felt like an eternity, torture administered by time. The first contact was brief, shaped so intentionally by his show of aloofness. His chance would come. Patience was the key. He'd soon be through their door, unlocking their lives.

Brief hellos and greetings in passing only built the thrill. The first weekend, that too brief respite from running about trying to look busy, offered nothing. A long week later and he found himself invited into their house amid the remaining packing crates and lingering traces of upheaval. They were telling him a little about their lives, the edited version. He knew he'd soon find out so much more. Discreet glances around the room wondering where he could place it, finally decided by the positions they took while chatting to him. It would capture everything he needed. Once placed it was hard to look interested in this vile direct contact and he soon produced the excuse that allowed him to leave, returning next door eager to hear what his devices picked up.

This was no tacky plan to intrude and view the bedroom. That was cheap, free on the Internet to whoever lowered themselves to seek it. He would immerse himself in the more respectable bigger prize. Their life and all the nooks and crannies within it.

Unbearable lingering moments of squelching frequencies filled his headphones at first, worries reaching a crescendo until he managed to tune to familiar voices. Their lives transmitted clearly from next door. It was like he was there in the room with them.

He stopped leaving the house unless he'd heard that they were. When this happened, he knew or could guess how long they'd be away, able to be back into position to listen to their return, filling up on all the details on where they'd been. He felt like a part of their life. He belonged.

Each voice he listened in to became a friend. In his head he added to the arguments, joy and chit chat of their everyday life. His voice was heard, his opinions welcome. He felt like he was contributing as a part of the family. When they started to prepare a meal, so did he. When they sat down to watch the TV he listened in for clues and changed channels so he was viewing the same programme, joining in the discussion. He was proud of his family and wanted to show the world the part he played in it.

The website he designed was pretty basic at first, just some text with names and their location, a few facts about each person. He updated it regularly with a poorly read blog, not understanding the lack of interest in this most precious thing. To make it more attractive he started to add pictures he would take as they left the house of both the family, with a long lens, and where they lived, from in the street while they were out. It was easy to work out all the details. Which is what someone must have done.

The arrest had been messy. The journey to the police station shamed into silence. The way he was processed efficiently bureaucratic. The cell bare and hostile after the forced swab. But it was here the final part of his plan would be realised. Here would become his new obsession. A stronger transmitter, more than capable of relaying imprisoned conversations to him, discretely placed in a gap worn in the wall by the continual visitation of frustrated aggression. Here he would find his new family.