Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: Write for the SUSPENSE and/or THRILLER Genre (10/23/14)
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TITLE: Stalking the Past | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marlene Bonney
10/28/14 -
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The autumn leaves crunched beneath my feet like frosted cornflakes, sprinkled with icy pellets from the spitting snow.
I felt his presence everywhere, his breath chilling the hairs on the back of my neck as I walked the familiar pathways of my daily routines. And if I ventured into new avenues, he still followed me.
I knew it would end badly for one or both of us. This impending doom shadowed my every movement as surely as HE did, and I knew it would not be long now.
Naturally, I documented everything. The speechless cell calls filled only with his ominous breathing on disposable phones; the occasional glimpses of his stalking, furtive movements around me; the single-phrased cryptic e-mails:
“I am watching you,”
“You are mine,”
“Be careful today,”
“I saw you last night,”
“Til death do us part,”
“I am just a whisper away.”
Supposedly, the police were guarding me in a fashion, but there was only so much they could do. And I understood that. I had watched enough movies and read thriller novels—in the past, not now—and I knew their hands were tied until an actual criminal act had occurred. They had suggested flushing him out with a wire tap under my clothing at an arranged rendezvous; but, so far, he hadn’t agreed to meeting, my replies to his e-mails returned as undeliverable.
I slowed down my regular brisk pace and stopped in my tracks, listening. Footsteps had sounded behind me—and then—silence echoed eerily in the still air. I swung around in confrontational mode, only to see an elderly gentleman walking his dog. The pooch had stopped to do his business. No one else was in sight, and I was almost disappointed.
“Good morning! Pretty day, isn’t it?” he quipped as he and his friendly pup sauntered past me.
I wondered how he would react if I caught up with them and asked to walk with them, and then dismissed the idea. I did not want to endanger anyone else . . .
That was yesterday, just one example of almost carbon-copy days of the past six months. Today I am prepared to end this charade that has become my reality. I refuse to let this faceless enemy control my life any longer.
He made a fatal mistake last night by using a regular landline telephone. The prepared tap on my end had finally paid off and a police-appointed detective was following the trail. I insist on following him in my own car to the address, anxious to discover why I had been chosen by this predator. It HAS to be someone I have unintentionally offended, maybe be an incident of road rage? There was nothing notable suggesting a hint of scandal, impropriety, or abrasive relationships during this time frame of harassment. I certainly am not famous, beautiful, or wealthy. I have lived modestly. I have no ties with criminals or the Mafia or association with drugs or their dealers. All of these scenarios run through my mind, as if they had not already been ruled out. Before now, some had even doubted his existence, claiming I was making it all up for attention!
“ATTENTION? If I wanted attention, I’d get a dog or a boyfriend or start going back to my social life, which is now nonexistent, thank you very much!”
The constant adrenalin rushes has caused anxiety from everything and I was forced to take anti-depressants to survive during this crisis, sure, but none of it is imagined, for goodness sakes, and now it will be proven!
We pull up to a weary house, forlorn against the backdrop of an overcast sky hiding behind a deserted, dark alley that belongs to an overworked middle-aged woman in a tattered apron fluttering across her hips from the door draft as we enter. We learn she lives alone, her husband dying a year ago and their adopted son only in-and-out.
“Adopted Johnny in ’04. He’s not been around lately, though. Hunting for his birth parents, he is, as if Harvey and we hadn’t devoted ourselves to him the past 15 years . . .”
His bedroom computer hard-drive reveals ample evidence that I am his birth mother. Long-buried memories of a frightened 14-yr.old’s pregnancy overwhelm me . . .
After extensive counseling, Johnny has apologized for his misdirected anger and we have a budding relationship.
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Each year, 6.6 million people are stalked in the United States. While both men and women can be victims of stalking, women are nearly three times more likely to be stalked than men. Nearly 3 in 4 victims know their offender in some capacity.
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