by Dave Dykema
Stalker
a novel by
Dave Dykema
Copyright © 2009 Dave Dykema
[email protected]
Book I
Stalker
At the Movies
*1*
Although Dan Freeman had watched the scenario a hundred times, this was the first time he truly felt afraid. Apparently others did too. He could hear their nervous giggles as couples slouched down in their seats, gripping each other, anticipating the worst. He felt a momentary pang of loneliness. The only thing he could grip was a wax cup of Diet Coke.
The flickering image on the screen changed, cutting to a wide shot of the street, shot through the trees at an elevated level. As the girl walked, the camera craned down, eventually reaching the level of her feet. The quiet click of her heels in the stillness added to the tension.
Audio from one of the other theatres bled through. A car chase, perhaps. This duet of sound became a trio as a low, menacing cello joined in. As it got louder the speakers began to rumble, the low frequencies quaking Dan’s insides. Eventually it drowned out the car chase from next door.
The girl seemed to sense that something was wrong, for she glanced once over her shoulder and picked up her pace. A gas station glowed warm and inviting against the dark, enshrouded street. She pulled her coat tightly about her, trying to stop the wind from rustling down her blouse. Goose bumps covered her skin.
The camera began a steady zoom to her back. Her heels clicked along steadily. The cello grew louder. Leaves scratched along the cement, dragged by cold winds. The camera got closer, her back filling the screen. It overtook her.
Suddenly she whirled around, eyes darting in panic. The music stopped. Dan fidgeted in his seat, pulling his sneakers out of the sticky goo coating the floor and crossing his legs tightly.
The girl began to laugh, sensing the foolishness of her fear. “These cigarettes are gonna be the death of me yet,” she joked.
“Das right, bitch,” came a voice behind Dan. Someone laughed with the comedian. It infuriated Dan. How can they laugh? Don’t they realize how intense this is?
The girl continued on. Scant seconds later the camera picked up its pursuit, artfully weaving between trees and parked cars, rising over bushes and under branches. Steadicam, Dan thought.
The audience gasped, screamed, and then dissolved into silly guffaws as a cat leapt into the frame. The grinding music score segued into a pleasant piano piece when the young woman bent down to scratch the feline’s ears.
“What a beautiful pussy,” the actress said, stroking the appreciative cat. Dan waited for the crack from the overzealous comedian. A better straight-line didn’t exist. Surely he couldn’t pass it up.
And he didn’t. His remark was met with varying degrees of nervous laughter and scorn from the audience. Dan’s mood soured. To truly appreciate this movie he knew he’d have to come back. Trying his best to ignore Mister Humor, he turned his attention back to the screen.
The young woman gave the cat one last pet. The animal mewed for more attention.
“I’m sorry, my friend, but if I don’t get some cigarettes soon, I’m gonna die.”
She waved goodbye to the cat and stood up. Her face was inches from her assailant’s. The masked man grabbed her long blonde hair and violently jerked her head back, accompanied by terrified antics from the audience. Like slicing the first piece of Christmas ham, the dark figure gracefully slid the knife across her throat, producing a crimson stream. A red froth of bubbles foamed at the gash in her neck as the girl gasped for air. Fighting for balance, she clutched at his ski mask, clawing a finger into one of the eyeholes. She only managed to pull it off slightly before he tore her hand from his face. Fading, she crumpled to the ground, curling around her killer’s feet, spurting blood in pulsating beats into the street’s gutter. The cat came up and sniffed at it.
The screen washed white as night dissolved into day, stinging Dan’s eyes. He raised a hand up, rubbed his eyes, and was surprised to find a tear.
What the hell is this? Dan thought. Sure, the transition stabbed at his eyes, but it wasn’t that bad. How long had that been there?
His mind raced back to a scene in the movie a few minutes ago, before the girl went off into the night, alone. She had made R-rated love with her boyfriend before a stupid argument erupted from nowhere. Furious, she pulled on her clothes and went out to get smokes.
Dan realized that must have been it. It reminded him of his fight with Janet before he went to the movie. His eyes had welled over and he hadn’t even noticed. Now it was foremost in his mind.
He had called to invite her over for dinner. Things had been going downhill of late, and he wanted to fix a special meal for her and repair the damage. As the phone rang he wondered if she would answer. Lately, he thought she was avoiding him.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Janet! What’s up? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week!”
“Me? I’ve been okay.”
“Well you’re about to feel great,” Dan said, a smile growing on his lips. “I’ve got steaks marinating and wine chilling in the fridge. What d’ya say?”
Silence for a moment, then: “I don’t think so.” Her voice sounded distant over the phone line, yet it was a local call.
“Why not?” he asked, disappointed. “I want to see you.”
“The earth revolves around you and your little plans, is that it? Like I don’t have a life.”
“Is something wrong? Did you get bad news today?”
Janet exploded. “No. It just pisses me off the way you assume I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and come running to you and your waiting arms like in some stupid movie!”
“What’s wrong with you? All I did was ask you over for dinner!”
“Look, I just don’t feel like it.”
Dan tried to calm down. “I’m sorry. I was wrong to make plans for you without asking.” He looked over at the steaks, saw them slowly marinating. He turned away. “The phone’s no way to talk seriously. Stay there. I’ll be over in a few minutes and we’ll work this out.”
Before she could reply he hung up. Grabbing his keys, he went for the door. Then he remembered the steaks. Uttering a soft curse, he tossed them into the refrigerator before he left.
He decided to remain calm when he got there, letting her get all her frustrations out. He would silently listen and take it all, like a boxer’s punching bag. He would put on the gloves and defend himself if need be afterward. That would depend on what she had to say, and of that he hadn’t the slightest clue.
He rapped his knuckles softly on her door. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. He pressed his ear against it. Where was she? He had told her to stay. He glared at the wood grain of the door with resolve. This needed straightening out, dammit. Over time his rapping knuckles became pounding fists.
One door down creaked open, and an old woman peered out through the gap. Dan noticed her out of the corner of his eye and flushed red, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. She began to withdraw back into her room. Dan called after her.
“Mrs. Hardy! Wait a second!” He was at her door in five brisk steps. “You remember me, don’t you? Dan Freeman? I’ve been dating Janet Evans about a year now?”
Mrs. Hardy looked him over. She was a widow with stark white hair that fell limply onto her frail shoulders. Dan guessed she wore a wig when she went out. Still, her eyes sparkled with a love of life. She nodded recognition as her frown melted into a smile.
“Heavens! I thought you were going to break the door in,” she laughed.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s just that I’m trying to talk with Janet and I guess I got a little frustrated.” So much for my punching bag theory… he thought.
“You’ve had a fight, haven’t you?”
“It’s that obvious?”
“One doesn’t normally go around pounding on doors so loudly.”
Dan offered a thin smile of apology. He felt ashamed in front of this woman he barely knew.
“Did you see Janet leave? She was supposed to meet me here.”
Mrs. Hardy saw the hopeful look in Dan’s eyes, but shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Daniel. My senses aren’t what they used to be. I haven’t seen or heard Janet for weeks now.”
“Perhaps you can still help me. Do you have a pen and some paper?”
“Yes, I’ve got some stationary. One moment.” She shuffled off and Dan was able to look into her room. Floral wallpaper graced the walls. On a lovely oak hutch in a corner he could see a collection of over fifty Hummel figures. Each child radiated an inner warmth much like the one he perceived in Mrs. Hardy. She smiled like the Hummels when she returned with the stationary and a pen with the name of a local pharmacy on it.
“It’s pink. Do you mind?”
“No. Pink will do fine.”
He composed a short note, delicately trying to balance a fine line between love, understanding, and anger. It seemed that no matter how he phrased it the underlying gist was still the same: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?
He slipped it under Janet’s door, thanked Mrs. Hardy, and went out to his car. He threw it into gear and drove off, hoping for a good cruising speed to clear his head. City driving made that impossible. Times like these made Dan wish he were back home in Indiana. In the country he felt freer. He could drive for hours with no destination in mind and just enjoy the sights and smells.
But he knew he had to stay in the city. There simply weren’t any jobs for television photojournalists in his small town. If he wanted to work in TV, he had to go where there were television stations. It was simple, inescapable logic.
Besides, he loved his job. Sure, it had its bad moments, as all jobs do. But he liked the chance to be creative, and he liked the people. He loved doing things with them, like the time when he and Jerry…
…met Janet. Damn. Everything led back to her. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Janet. He decided to seek out The Norseman’s Bar. Somehow he found himself at the Triplex Theatre instead. The quaint movie house had three features playing, but one title in particular caught his attention as he drove by.
Stalker.
Wasn’t that the new movie by the director of Phobia? He thought so. Phobia was quite well received by the critics, especially for a horror movie. He saw it several times before buying the DVD. He knew Stalker was coming out, but couldn’t believe it had already opened. He was a big fan of the horror genre.
This will take my mind off things, he thought. At least for an hour and a half, he amended.
Clicking on his turn signal, Dan pulled into the Triplex’s parking lot.
*2*
The audience screaming and gasping in unison jolted him back to the present. He looked up in time only to catch a glimpse of blood splattering a windowpane. Then the scene ended. People were still chatting about it a minute later.
Damn, he thought, sitting alone in the darkness. Now I’ve just missed one of the best scares of the film.
He took a sip of his Diet Coke only to find it empty. Disgruntled, he slouched down in his cushioned chair and began to lose himself in the false reality of the screen again.
*3*
Ted Peters stood behind the concession counter and watched the double doors to screen 3 open. Dan walked out with a few others. That was Peters’s signal to send one of his boys in to clean up after the increasingly messy patrons. He knew from Dan’s many visits that Dan liked to stay and watch the credits, looking for familiar names, listening to the music. To Dan, the film wasn’t over until the MPAA rating appeared. Peters didn’t care one way or the other, as long as it was a good story.
Dan looked up, saw Mr. Peters, and walked over, having a passing acquaintance with the older man. If he were lucky, sometimes he could finagle a movie poster out of him after a film’s run ended.
“What did you think of the movie?” Peters asked Dan, squinting his eyes to read the title card above the door.
“It was awesome.”
“Ugh. Stalker,” he said, finally focusing on Dan’s selection. “Can’t say I go for those types of films.”
Dan smirked, putting his hands in his pockets and shrugging his shoulders. “For a horror film, this was excellent. Full of suspense. It really shows what the genre is capable of.”
“If you say so. Me, I enjoy a good comedy. In comedies they don’t show knives cutting pretty girls’ throats while the crowd goes nuts, cheering the sicko on.”
“You’re taking the scene out of context,” Dan said.
Peters gave him a skeptical look.
“Things like that happen everyday,” Dan continued, defending the picture. “The filmmakers capitalized on a basic, raw human fear, without apologizing. It was a horror movie. I want to be scared. I don’t want my horror watered-down with comic relief. Real horror masters like Clive Barker understand that. They peel away our skin and show us our real selves, even if it isn’t pretty and we don’t want to look. Sometimes we need to see it anyway.”
“But don’t you think that constant violence influences people? Makes them care less about others? They were laughing in there…”
Dan grinned sheepishly. “I’m not about to get in another argument with you about the media and its influences on society. You know I work at WKBC. But ask yourself this: if you feel that way, why do you book movies like Stalker?”
“I don’t write ’em, I just show ’em,” Peters grumbled, “and if they make me a buck, all the better.”
Dan embarrassed the man exposing his hypocrisy. He took it as his cue to leave. He said goodbye and left the lobby, stepping outside into the warm night air.
Standing under the marquee, now dark, Dan wondered what his next move was. He didn’t want to go home, and he didn’t want to try Janet again—not yet, anyway. That’s when he saw her: a woman with two boys, each clutching her hands tightly, sandwiching her like bookends. One of the boys was crying.
He had a vague memory of the woman being in the theatre with him, a few rows forward. He noticed her because she wore her hair like Janet, and he had to do a double take to make sure it wasn’t Janet. He must not have seen the boys because they were too far down in their seats.
How could that woman take those children to see Stalker? he thought. They couldn’t be any more than six or seven.
Following behind, he looked her over, wondering what kind of irresponsible woman would do such a thing. She wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a pullover sweater. No clue there as to her background. In the dark, Dan couldn’t see much. He moved in, his step quickening. Within ten paces he had halved the distance between them. He was barely aware of the rush of adrenaline through his veins or the heat rising in his cheeks. He wanted to reach out and shake the woman, condemning her for allowing young, easily influenced eyes to watch an intense R-rated horror flick. To his amazement, he saw that he was reaching for her. He quickly recoiled his arm and froze.
He realized he was within two yards of her when he stopped his pursuit. Without moving, puzzling over his actions, he watched her and her boys walk the rest of the way to their car, get in, and drive off.
Then it hit him. She never heard. She never suspected. No wonder those guys in the movies get away with it.
It’s so easy.
And fun.
Suddenly he was aware of the tingling dancing through his body. He was aware of the pulse-pounding heartbeat. He was aware of the sweaty palms. His every nerve felt so alive, awake, ready to take in new sensations. He hadn’t felt like this since the tenth grade when Paula Winston asked him if he wanted to see something special and then proceeded to unhook her bikini top, letting it fall into her lap.
God, it was fun, wasn’t it?
Yes it was
And easy
And she never heard a thing…
The Dream
*1*
Dan popped a beer when he got into his apartment. All thoughts of going on to The Norseman’s had fled his mind when he stood watching the woman he almost grabbed walk to her car. His body felt so alien that he needed familiar surroundings: home.
Dan’s familiar surroundings might give other people the creeps. An array of movie posters lined his walls: zombies from Dawn of the Dead, Michael Myers from Halloween, Pinhead from Hellraiser, Jason from the various Friday the 13th movies… In one corner of the room stood a life-size cardboard standup of Freddy Krueger that Dan got from Mr. Peters at the Triplex.
He sat looking at his posters, reflecting on Stalker, and drinking beer. They went down one after another. He didn’t even taste them; just guzzling them for their effects. The room started to spin when he leaned back and closed his eyes. He drank too much, too fast. He snapped his eyes open again to stop the spinning. They settled on his answering machine and the red message light. He felt a little guilty getting drunk while Janet was probably home, waiting for him to return her call. Slightly wavering fingers found the playback button.
beep: “Hey Dan. This is Jerry. Sorry I missed ya. I’ll try back later, okay?”
Jerry, not Janet.
“That bitch,” he said, staring at the empty beer cans through bloodshot eyes, the alcohol talking. “She owes me a call.” Well, he thought, if she’s not going to do it, I will.
He picked up the receiver and dialed her number, his mood in a complete turnaround from earlier in the evening when he had romance on his mind.
After six rings the anger slowly dispersed. He squinted at the clock on the wall. It read 11:37. The digital numbers looked fuzzy to Dan. This is unlike Janet, he thought as he hung up. She was usually home by now.
His hand had barely let go of the receiver when the phone rang. In the quiet darkness it made him jump. That’s her right now, he smiled. In his mind he could see her in her apartment, listening to the ringing drone on and on, wringing her hands while debating whether to answer, knowing it was probably Dan. Her guilt made her return his call. Now his hand hovered over the phone, his mind debating the same issues. I can play this game too, he thought, his hand slipping into his lap. After the fourth ring his machine turned on.
