James was a creep.
It was harsh, but it was true. He was the kind of fanboy who didn't just collect memorabilia and posters and obsessively watch films and interviews, he crossed the line into outright stalking. Not making contact, necessarily, just liking to know where the object of his obsession lived, what they were doing, what coffee shops they went to... A creep.
Which is how he'd ended up on the outskirts of town, rustling through the undergrowth. Finally, he'd cracked, he was going to sneak into the grounds of her home... not to do anything, just to look. Looking down, his boot brushed something shiny. A necklace? Maybe... maybe hers? Picking it up, he slid it around his neck, the cool chain against his skin. A souvenir, after all.
He trudged on, deeper into the brush. He could see it ahead... See her house. But whoever was the target of such a fixation?