Page 10 of When Sinners Fall
Thankfully, my meetings are all a dream compared to Bridezilla. They're prepared, detailed, and give me loads of information that will help me put something spectacular together. But, one of my new brides wants a wedding in less than five months, which is a tall order, but I strive for a challenge.
Penny keeps the coffee coming all morning, and she refrains from looking quizzically at me when I switch to Coke in the red can, which is an improvement.
The sun has already set when I’m ready to leave the office, and I’m the last one out. Walking through the twenty-four-seven manned lobby, the night guard tips his hat as I push open the glass doors and get hit with hot air that’s not dropped in temperature despite the sun vanishing from the sky.
I set off with my head filled with thoughts, and before I know it, I’ve taken the long way home again. My eyes wander but find nobody familiar hiding in the gloominess of the streets. I mean, even if it was him I saw, the odds of finding him again hanging out on the same street are slim. If I’m going to dream up a fantasy, at least I could make it more fantastical.
Dante’s family reputation was one that people whispered about as I left San Antonio. And, by the time we left high school, we weren’t as close. Maybe they still live here, though, and perhaps the reputation has stuck. So, I put together a plan to do a little digging when I get home.
The roads are busy, and there’s a vibrancy in the air around the city. It’s been impossible not to miss it since being back, but it feels different tonight. A chill settles over my shoulders despite the heat, and it sets my nerves on edge.
I pick up my pace and glance over my shoulder for a second. There’s nobody. Or rather, there’s nobody behind me. There are people - talking on phones, looking at phones and minding their own business, but nothing to make this feeling descend. My eyes flip back to the sidewalk, and I pull the strap of my bag a little closer across my body.
It’s about a twenty-five-minute walk from here to home, and I try to distract my imagination with what I’m going to do when I get back home. Or what my day includes tomorrow. But those thoughts are superficial and evaporate in a second because my pulse is still quickening. It’s sending flutters around my body, and my breathing catches in my throat, as I register the possibility that someone is following me. There’s a hum, an energy vibrating around me, and I can’t ignore that sensation because it feels like there’s someone watching.
And worse, I don’t want to ignore it.
It’s awakening every part of my body. Of course, that could be the adrenalin talking, but I think it’s more than that. The buildings and the traffic fade away, and in my mind, I’m not walking through San Antonio anymore, but through a dark forest, getting deeper and further away from the path I should be following.
I play a game, daring myself not to turn around. Daring myself to keep walking, and it works. The snapping jaws of the grizzly wolf could be right on my heels, but I keep moving, never turning, despite the urge to look back, and despite the urge to stop and face whoever it may be. Fear, even if irrational, keeps me in check.
By the time I see my building, my breathing is laboured, and I’m all but running. I dip my hand into my bag and pull out my keys so I can unlock the door as soon as my feet hit the second step.
Three, two, one…
My hand reaches for the handle, and I slide the key inside the lock. Turn, twist, push, and I slam the door behind me.
I sag behind the door, my lungs screaming for air as I take deep, cleansing breaths. A few seconds of heavy breathing, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My front window looks out on the quiet street, and I venture past the window. It’s dark, and I leave the lights off so I can see out.
Everything looks still. Quiet.
Of course, what was I expecting – a big, dark figure in a hood? A drooling wolf ready to tear out my throat? I shake my head and turn away from the window, but the eerie feeling of someone watching me doesn’t leave.
After a long shower, washing that weird feeling off me, I dress in my comfy yoga pants and pull together a quick dinner. I put the pasta bowl on the table and open my laptop, keeping with my plan to look into the Cortez family.
It doesn’t take long. A few clicks and stories later and I get a good overview of how much the family has grown. A few other searches and I see they have eclectic interests. Nothing in the reports I read points to anything specifically illegal, but the business listings, the associated clubs and affiliations give me a pretty colourful picture. Looks like the Cortez family runs in all circles in San Antonio. Not just bars and clubs. And I remember the rumours.
It leaves me feeling sad. After everything Dante endured as a kid, he still ended up wrapped up in the life he seemed to stand up against at school.
~
For the next few days, a pattern emerges.
I get up, get ready for work, take my coffee, and hide my eyes behind my sunglasses as I head to the office. My days are focused and busy creating the perfect visions of weddings that would grace any designer magazine or celebrity blog. And I work until I’m the last person in the office.
The weather stays hot and dry, and I take a few different journeys home, but each time the same sensation washes over me and forces my heartbeat into overdrive. It’s thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. Every walk home, I afford myself one look back at different stages of the journey, and no matter when I stop and turn, there’s nobody there. I can’t see anything out of place or anybody I recognise from night to night or from my past. And it’s driving me crazy.
My breathing is strained, and I feel the stress as I shut myself in behind my door each night.
The fantasy element of this is wearing thin. No longer does the thrill have the same effect because the feeling of somebody having eyes on me doesn’t vanish when I get to safety. It haunts me like a ghost slipping through the door behind me. And that is clearly all in my imagination.
After a week of the same thing, I'm starting to think I’m making it all up. Or rather, I let my imagination and lack of sleep dictate my synapses. My mind won’t switch off at night, and so I grow more tired as the days draw on.
The welcome break of the weekend gives me some hope of resetting whatever's going on, and I take the opportunity to lie in on Saturday morning and bask in bed with the air-conditioning chilling my skin. It’s going to be a scorching day, and I have errands to run, but I can’t seem to drag myself up.
The quiet of living alone usually provides me with all the solace I need, but after this week, it doesn’t offer any comfort, and part of me wants to see if the feeling that follows me home every night stays when I go out to see places I don't usually visit.
Only one way to find out.
