Page 18 of When Sinners Fall
I snort, pull back the covers to get on with the day.
The coffee is strong and plentiful even before I step foot outside of the house, andas I twist the key in the lock, the crisp crack of a glass shard shattering under my heel jolts me. I should clear the rest of that up and discard the last of the evidence. The glass, the flowers… I close my eyes as a chill races down my spine. When I open them, I look out and over the road to the small, shaded area. Was he watching for me that night? And has he been there since? And was it the junkie watching me before now or my guardian devil? My thoughts are all jumbled and confused – scattered from the actual real danger versus the perceived danger I’ve been semi-joking about.
For the rest of the day, I focus as best as I can, considering the lack of sleep and the errands I have to run. Food shopping, phone calls, check-in with the parents, restock my coffee… but through all of it, I’m miles away and more alert to my surroundings than I’ve ever been. It’s exhausting. Not to mention the baseline hum of fear that the junkie might come back.
Hetold me not to worry, but what does that mean? Should I take the word of a man in a hooded sweatshirt that just happened to be in the right place at the right time? Or do I assume he was the good one versus the bad one?
~
There’s a staff meeting first thing on Monday, and I drag my tired self to the office. Fiona starts by running through an evaluation of the wedding on Friday, but I’m distracted by everything. My head is fuzzy from the caffeine and lack of sleep, plus I’ve had two missed calls from Bridezilla to deal with.
I nod in the right places and try for a pleasant smile, all the while wishing I could close my eyes and not be haunted. At least not in the way that I felt on Friday night. All my darkest fears came to life. Except, they weren’t really fears, not until I looked at him.
I consider leaving work early – taking some research home so I'll be safe before the sun sinks, but there’s that curious thought that I keep coming back to. Was he watching for me? Which one was which? So, I kill time in the coffee shop across the road from work. I distract my mind from the next step of my journey by looking for characters, and then, in the gloomy dusk, I walk home.
The racing of my heart is all my senses can pick up to start with, but sure as the heat in this city refuses to subside, the awareness descends, offering a haunting chill. My feet stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and I’m almost shaking with anticipation. My stomach’s swarming, and the energy in my blood sends my breathing on edge.
This – this is the feeling that I want.
This is why I tempted fate.
And keep on tempting.
I finish my journey home, and although I’m dying to turn around and hope that there’s a man in a hood I can spot in the crowd, I don’t. My eyes stay focused, my heels continue to make little clips on the cement, and I reach my door without incident.
This isn’t the man who attacked me.
This is the man that saved me.
And now, it’s more than me just thinking I might have a stalker.
I know I do.
It’s an adrenaline rush. My hand reaches for the door, and there’s a surge of excitement that he might be there, right behind me, and he'll make himself known.
Perhaps.
A question about why and what he’ll do to me lingers, but it fades because he doesn’t approach and doesn’t make himself known. He's not behind me as I turn my key and go inside either, and I know the disappointment each time I do this and look for him will only grow.
~
Three nights later, I’m about to scream from my doorstep.
This mystery man consumes my thoughts, but my excitement and adrenaline morph into frustration and become unwelcome. If he intends to drive me to distraction, he’s succeeding. But that’s not what I want. My overactive imagination isn’t satisfied with a shadow simply watching over me. I want an interaction, and with nothing to fill that void, my mind runs riot.
I pace back and forth in front of my window, as obsessed with him as he surely is with me. This hasn’t been a one-off instance. This has been going on for days now, possibly weeks, but with no escalation on his part. I’ve felt his presence.
I know he’s out there.
As I walk in front of the window, the same orange flash I’ve seen before piques my attention. I freeze and look out into the shadows. I’d bet money on him watching me now. Actually, Iwanthim to be watching.
“I see you,” I utter the words against the windowpane.
The lights are low in the living room, but they’ll allow him to look in. He’ll be able to see me. I bring the glass of whisky to my lips and roll the rim along them, teasing them with the prospect of the amber liquid.
He won’t hurt me.
So, what does he want?
