Page 18 of The Shadowed Oracle
The situation was quickly turning into a farce. A harsh streak of self-effacement struck her then, her cheeks heating with noxious embarrassment when Dean’s next message pinged. “Agent Good Times literally just yawned.”
Ingrid held in a laugh as she typed. “How much longer do you think he’ll let this go on?”
“Hard to say. But you’re doing great.”
What little hope she’d had quickly began to vanish with every passing minute. A voice in the back of her head, one that Ingrid cursed for not rearing itself from the depths of her psyche earlier, began to taunt her.
What was I thinking?
Who do I think I am?
Why would he show himself now, for me?
The operation was a bust, and everyone involved knew it.
She should’ve been smarter. Been more thorough before resorting to something so stupid. Sitting cross-legged on that disagreeable stone park bench, her mind started to wander,contradicting herself at every turn. She thought about that gnawing feeling she had of the unseen, of what lay beneath all of this. She should’ve focused on that, she told herself. Tapped into whatever it was that allowed her to see those symbols back at her bar. She should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy. She should’ve…
No. What am I saying? What could I possibly do? No… no.
She remained in this suspended discomfiture for hours.
At around ten-thirty, the detective in charge finally called it off. Dean sent the news to Ingrid, and they packed it up as discreetly as possible. One after the other, the plain-clothed officers waddled away nonchalantly, still playing their respective characters.
Ingrid was given the signal and wasted no time getting back to her car. She sat there a minute, waiting for Dean and the patrolman, Marty, to give the second OK.
Consensus was, if the stalker hadn’t shown up at the park, he might follow Ingrid home. Thinking he’d outsmarted them all, he might get cocky, tail his prey and attack as she returned to her apartment.
But he wouldn’t do something so careless, Ingrid knew that. Two minutes in that general area would’ve scared him off and he’d have run as far away as possible. Even the family that Ingrid had been watching could sense something was wrong. They were all packed up and leaving shortly after setting out their food.
Dean called her a few minutes later. “Ready when you are,” he said. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
She drove off, just over the speed limit, checking her rearview to make sure he wasn’t following her too closely.
“One positive takeaway, though,” Ingrid said.
“What’s that?”
“You honed your stakeout skills.”
“You’re right,” Dean said flatly. “I’m practically a stakeout master now. Feel any safer?”
Ingrid didn’t hesitate, responding with a short, toneless, “No.”
She made the next turn with one hand, the other still holding the phone up to her ear. She was nearing the big white sign of The Boneyard now, glaring high above. The crowd was heavy inside, loud and sprawling and full of familiar faces. She craned her neck forward to get a better look, and was slightly surprised to find there wasn’t anything awry or peculiar going on in her absence.
Her fellow bartenders were pouring drinks and doing their rounds. Hostesses seated patrons. Waitresses put on fake smiles and carried four plates at once with feline-like grace. And Franky, he looked the same as he always did. Hair tightly combed to the side, like it always was. Suit a little big but ironed and presentable, as it always was. And he had that undeniable glimmer of joy in his eyes, as he always did.
He didn’t need any lofty plans of getting away from that place, any goals of escaping to a quiet corner of the world. He didn’t want for anything. In a few hours, he’d go home to his lovely wife Jillian, and they’d stay up late to sip tea on their patio or read until they couldn’t keep their eyelids pried open any longer. They’d fall asleep in each other’s arms, then they’d wake up smiling at the idea of doing it all over again.
And this was when Ingrid began to feel it.
She wasn’t just surprised to see the restaurant going on without her. She wasn’t just feeling strange about how long it had been since she’d missed work. No, it was more than that. A stomping, unmistakable realization that she didn’t want to be here anymore. Not in San Bruno, not in California, maybe not the country.
Regardless of what was happening in the world, regardless of what was happening to Ingrid, her only friend Franky would go on without her. And for some reason, this epiphany was soothing. To see it in person, right in front of her, it was like she was freed from something.
“You miss busting your ass at work already?” Dean’s voice cut through her thick fog of overthinking.
“I don’t know ifmissis the right word,” she said, holding the phone limply in front of her face. “I’m just eager to get back to normal. Whatever that is.”
