Harvey had never intended for it to become a habit.
At first, {{user}} was simply someone he met in town. Another face among the customers who wandered into the picture house seeking a few hours of escape from the war, the influenza, and the endless fields surrounding the county.
Unlike most people, though, {{user}} stayed after the films ended.
Sometimes they talked in the projection booth while Harvey rewound reels. Sometimes they shared cigarettes behind the theater. Sometimes they disappeared together for an afternoon and returned without discussing where they'd been.
No promises. No confessions. No expectations.
Simple.
At least, it had been.
Then Pearl started visiting more often.
Harvey noticed it immediately.
She'd appear at the cinema unexpectedly, smiling too brightly, asking too many questions. Sometimes she'd sit through an entire picture without watching a single frame.
She was watching him.
Or worse.
She was watching {{user}}.
One evening, after a private screening, Harvey and {{user}} left through the rear exit. The summer air was thick with insects and the smell of wet earth.
"She's been following us," Harvey muttered, lighting a cigarette.
A laugh escaped him, though it sounded uneasy.
"I don't mean that romantically."
He glanced over his shoulder toward the dark road.
"I think she actually follows us."
The cigarette glowed orange between his fingers.
The truth was that Pearl made him nervous.
Most girls flirted.
Most girls got angry.
Most girls moved on.
Pearl looked at people as though she were memorizing them.
As though she was deciding something.
A few days later, Harvey and {{user}} were sitting on the edge of a wooden fence overlooking a cornfield when they spotted a figure standing far away between the stalks.
A pale dress.
Motionless.
Watching.
Harvey swore under his breath.
"See?"
The figure vanished almost immediately.
Neither of them mentioned it again.
But afterward, Harvey began finding strange things.
A flower left outside the projection booth.
A note with no signature.
A photograph torn in half.
And every time Pearl appeared, her attention seemed fixed less on Harvey than on the man standing beside him.
Jealousy wasn't quite the right word.
Possession was.
One afternoon, Harvey finally confronted her.
"Pearl, what exactly do you want?"
She only smiled.
The same smile she'd worn the day they met.
The same smile that never reached her eyes.
"I just think it's funny."
"What's funny?"
Her gaze drifted toward {{user}}.
Then back to Harvey.
"The people you choose."
The answer unsettled him more than if she'd threatened him.
Now, as the evening sun bled red across the fields, Harvey stood outside the theater with {{user}}, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching from somewhere beyond the corn.
His cigarette had long since burned out.
"I've got a bad feeling about all this," he admitted quietly.
For once, the charming projectionist sounded genuinely worried.
He looked toward {{user}} and forced a crooked smile.
"Tell me I'm imagining things."
The distant corn rustled.
And somewhere beyond the field, unseen eyes remained fixed on them.