Page 14 of When Sinners Fall
I swallow down the rest of the whisky. “Thanks for the update, Kerry. Miss you guys.”
“We miss you, too.”
I swill my glass out in the sink and sigh. It feels good to talk to Kerry and get my little rant out. Last night was abysmal. Mom was all over me again. I don’t know what she’s trying to do but keeping me there late last night just so she could berate me about things - again - is not welcome. I’ve been home a few weeks and already reconsidering what that means in terms of pressure from her.
Before heading to bed, I can’t stop the pull towards the window – just one more time. It's become a bit of an obsession, looking out at whoever might be looking in. The street’s quiet. A few people and cars out, which is normal, but just as I turn, a flash of orange catches my eye.
I switch the standard lamp off to see better and wait to see if it happens again.
There’s a shaded area diagonally across the street on the corner with Alton Street. The spark or flash came from there, but no matter how hard I strain my eyes, I can’t make anything out.
“Get over it, Wren.” I shake my head, double-check the front door, and head to bed.
~
One of the other planners, Fiona, has a wedding on Friday and the reception is at the Towers hotel. We’re all being called upon to help out as the client is a big deal, so everyone’s busy pulling together the last-minute details in the office. Tomorrow will be a big deal for Fiona.
For the first time since I joined, I’m not the last person out of the office. It’s still dusk as I walk home, but as I head along my more familiar route, it hits me. Rather, it creeps up my spine and sends my nerves into overdrive.
It’s back.
That feeling.
And instead of feeling fear, I’m both comforted and excited.
Comfort, because at least I’m not imagining things and thisissome sort of sensory perception. Excitement because, well, that's me and my fantasy going into overdrive.
I stop and turn, almost desperate to see somebody I recognise; somebody I’ve noticed before, but there’s no one that catches my eye and nothing out of place. Still, my pulse quickens as I head back on my journey home, but I’m stuck in my mind playing games and telling stories, with me as the starring character in a new fantasy world. It might not be a big bad wolf chasing me, but it’s somebody – maybe with dark eyes – that's tracking me, watching me, wanting to play out their own kind of fantasy with me.
I’m breathing hard as my feet hit the steps and I unlock the door to run in. As I rest my back against it, my eyes close, but a smile plays at my lips. It is a fine line between excitement and danger, and I was just starting to have fun with it. Shame it's over for now.
~
I make sure I leave the office at the same time the following night. I tell myself it’s because tomorrow will be a busy day and I want to get an early night, but the truth is I don’t want to upset my routine or anything about my walk home. The goosebumps that creep up my neck intoxicate me, despite the fact that I have no idea why or who is behind the sensation. And on some base level, I like the idea and where my imagination takes me. It’s become a relief from the poofy-princess world I live in all day, and like many of the made-up stories that start as an idea in my head, I want to play with this one.
Fiona’s wedding will mean my routine will change, and if I still want to walk home, it will take a good forty-five minutes in the middle of the night. It's a stupid thought even to risk it. My rational brain tells me this. My grown-up woman mind warns me that it's a stupid idea and that putting myself in any kind of risk is needless and reckless. But I have questions to answer.
Will this feeling follow if I change my routine? Or will it just carry on when I walk home from work after the sun goes down? Plus, even if I go through with the idea to walk home alone, and that sensation blankets me, what will that mean? I’ll have a stalker – someone who follows me and not just coincidentally, as I go home. That makes it premeditated, and it should send my fear-o-meter into the red zone. Hell, I should be counting myself as bat-shit crazy for even thinking about this.
But I have to know.
Before I cross the road to get to my house, I check the area shaded by the big tree on the corner. I can see my front door and window with no problem. It’s an odd area. Not a park. Not an old storefront plot. It's nothing but a bench and a trash can under the shade of an old tree. A handful of cigarette butts litter the floor, but that doesn’t mean anything. Maybe the orange light I saw was the cherry butt of a smoke, but it disappeared in a flash.
Instead of going to my house, I wait. I sit on the bench and take in the early evening and evaluate the last few days. Nothing has happened to me all week. Nobody has approached me, grabbed me or put me in any kind of danger. I’ve never even seen somebody.
Tomorrow, I’ll decide. If I can’t shake this feeling tomorrow, I’m going to tell someone. It’ll mean admitting I might be going crazy, but I think it’s time someone knew someone’s watching me. I’ve made up my mind.
~
The wedding is chaotic.
It’s the only way I can describe it, and poor Fiona does everything she can to keep everything on track. Running out of champagne for the reception drink, and far too few servers at the hotel, just add to the fact that the best man is wasted even before his toast, and the bride looks like she’s on the brink of tears every few minutes.
Poor Fi is the one nearly in tears by the end of the night.
The florist stuffed up on the handheld poses, and Fi handed the rejects out to us as a thank you for helping. It was a good marker for me to judge the work on display from a Louisa Sage wedding and helps show me what’s expected of me in the future.
Everyone lending a hand today has been on their feet for the last twelve hours, and walking home is the last thing on my mind, but as the minutes creep forward, so does the rapid beat of my heart.
