Stalker

by Dave Dykema

  He walked along rows of big houses. They all kind of looked the same: two-story with a garage off to one side. Shrubs of varying heights surrounded them, planted in pools of woodchips—it was the perfect neighborhood to play games like Hide & Seek, Kick the Can, and Bloody Murder.

  Dan was a fan of Bloody Murder. As he strode, absorbing the atmosphere of the area, he fondly remembered playing the game with neighborhood kids. It worked like a cross between Hide & Seek and Kick the Can, except the player who hid was also the Bloody Murderer. As other children circled the house looking for him, he crouched in his hiding place, waiting to burst out and attack. The other players got three laps around the house to find the Bloody Murderer before he found them.

  The second lap generally brought on the tension. That was when an unexpected (yet expected) attack by the Bloody Murderer might occur. The group of searchers would cluster together like nuts in a candy bar, peering into the darkness of the bushes, occasionally goosing each other for fun and a cheap scare. If the branches were really thick nothing could be seen. The thought of staring the Murderer in the face and naively walking along was enough to bring a chill to the bravest spine (especially when you’re eight and it’s dark). The players’ ears operated at a heightened level, straining to be the first to hear someone yell “Bloody Murder!” when the “killer” was found so they could run to the “goal” and not get “tagged” or “killed” and become “It.”

  Dan was very good at the game. He loved hiding in the shadows, watching as his friends crossed in front of him, clueless to his whereabouts. He sometimes followed them to change his hiding place—which always put them off guard. Before the game was over he would often “murder” the whole lot because his attacks were so unpredictable. He smiled warmly.

  Dan wondered if he could repeat his awesome performance of the game now. The lady at the theatre sure hadn’t heard him. He wondered if others would be as unaware.

  He took a few steps, trying to make them light. He put his heel down first, rolled the arch of his foot down, and continued rolling until he was on his toes. He didn’t hear much noise as he walked. The sound was a quiet shuffling, like leaves blowing across the street.

  The palette of the sky changed from reds to blues and finally purples once the last sliver of the sun pushed beyond the horizon. Dan enjoyed the darkness, just as he had as a kid. It was his ally. He felt stronger, more sure of himself. The night hid his insecurities. He embraced it.

  Thinking of the character from Stalker, he looked for someone to follow. He’d stalk him/her for a few blocks, closing the gap as he went, and then let up once he got near. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Besides, he thought he wouldn’t have to worry about that. He figured he wouldn’t even get within half a block.

  The street seemed incredibly quiet for so early in the evening. Only a moment ago he passed all sorts of people as folks were putting their garbage cans to the curb, watering flowers, wheeling lawnmowers into garages. Now, no one could be seen, just the faint blue flickering from television screens in homes.

  It dawned on him that he had been walking quite a distance. He decided to start heading back home before he got too far. As he turned around he found what he was looking for. A woman in her mid-fifties was walking briskly down the sidewalk, holding a small bag in her arms. Her skirt swished around her legs like the agitator inside a washing machine.

  Suddenly Dan felt very nervous. His heart beat faster, harder, almost audible. His lips went dry. He tried to lick them to make them moist again, but he had no spit. Opportunity was knocking: the woman was alone, and no one else was around. But her outline was shrinking smaller and smaller the longer he stood there. It was now or never.

  Finally, as though the decision had been made for him, and not by him, he took his first step. The second was much easier than the first, the third that much easier than the second. The more he walked the less inhibited he felt. His confidence returned in degrees. He began to feel a quirky sense of enjoyment.

  This is easy, he thought, a piece of cake. Why would she suspect that I’m following her? She’s walking on a public sidewalk; I have as much right to be there as she does.

  He had to be careful, sneaking glances over his shoulder every ten steps or so, to make sure no one saw him lurking around. He applied all his concentration to be as stealthy as possible.

  (heel to toe, heel to toe…keep a light, rolling motion…)

  He kept expecting her to produce a set of keys out of her pocket, head up one of the walks to a house, and let herself inside. Surely she lived around here somewhere. He thought the game would end just as he was beginning to have fun.

  But that didn’t happen, at least not yet. He continued to close the gap. When he started, he was over a good block away. Now, he was twenty-five yards from her. He began to feel more excited than ever. How close can I get to her? Ten yards? Ten feet? Close enough to touch? Wanting to get as close as possible, and sensing that his time was growing short, he began to increase his pace. As his speed increased, he started to get sloppy.

  He sucked in his breath as he kicked a bottle cap skittering into the street. He ducked behind a tree, biting his lip so no sound would escape him.

  Startled, she whirled around. She saw no one, which disturbed her. She thought she sensed a presence behind her for the last half block. She was about to turn back and continue walking when she saw the spinning cap, casting off reflected light from a streetlamp on each revolution. She watched for a cat that perhaps was following her to run out and swat it like a hockey puck. At home, her cat Gershwin did that all the time. When no animal chased after it, she felt nervous again, not feeling safe until she got inside her house and bolted the door behind her. Gershwin came mewing up. She was glad to see him.

  Dan watched the door to her house, waiting for her to come out. When at last he was sure she was inside for good, he emerged from behind the tree. He felt his forehead with a shaking hand. It was shiny wet with sweat. His shirt stuck to his back, damp. His body was flashing him warning signals, signals he hadn’t noticed while he was stalking. He was surprised to find how nervous he was. He felt so confident while pursuing the woman.

  A screen door a few houses down banged open as a man came out carrying two garbage bags over his shoulder. Dan’s heart leapt in his throat, choking off a gasp. Not wanting to be seen loitering about, he quickly shrugged down and walked off toward the neon lights of home.

  As he went he replayed the recent events over and over again in his mind. He felt sure he could have gotten closer if he had just been a little more careful.

  (heel to toe, heel to toe…keep a light, rolling motion…)

  That was the secret. He had to learn to be more careful, more patient. Silence was a virtue.

  That Night (III)

  *1*

  The Norseman’s Bar thinned out until only a handful of patrons remained, nursing their last call drinks, putting off going home to empty apartments.

  Jennifer Cook moved from her table to a wobbly barstool. She slouched forward until her chin dangled a few inches from her chest, curving her back as though she had scoliosis. She gave up being attractive long ago. Her friends from the bachelorette party had since moved on to more risqué adventures. She didn’t go with them, saying she had to get up early and go to work. Instead she found herself still here, feeling envy, then jealousy, and now a sour defeat. Among her friends, she alone was without a man.

  She flagged down Sam, which was no challenge. Only four other people sat at the bar, one of which was looking her way.

  “I’ll have a rum and Coke,” she said, trying to maintain her balance on the stool. She reached into her purse, rummaging through her things, searching for money.

  “I’ll pay for that. My treat.”

  Startled, she looked up to see where the voice came from. She recognized the man who checked her out a moment ago. He had moved down to the stool next to her. She hadn’t heard him—she must have been distracted going throug
h her purse.

  “That’s nice of you,” she replied, “but I’ll get it.”

  “But I want to,” he said, inching his stool closer. He looked Jennifer up and down, eyes crawling over her body, enjoying her trim waist, flat stomach, and small pointed breasts. The body of a high school girl, he thought. But her face showed her years. Her eyes, highlighted with just a touch of liner, told of experience, not of a perky seventeen-year-old dreaming about the star quarterback. She had on an ice blue dress slit high up on the thigh. His mind’s eye followed the slit to its logical conclusion while he longed to see it with his real eyes. “Besides, it’s not often that a woman with your class comes in here.”

  Feeling his eyes undress her, she said, “If I let you pay for it, you might expect some other sort of payment later.” She smiled as Sam delivered her drink. It amused her to see the man so angry. He deserved it for coming on like such a jerk.

  “Look bitch,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “I don’t have to take this, from you or anybody.” He moved closer, until she could smell his breath, thick with liquor. “Quit the tease. We both know what you want.”

  “Get away from me!” she said, trying to back away.

  He reached out and clasped his hand firmly around her wrist, his fingernails biting into her skin. “You like it rough, don’t you?” He breathed his foul odor on her again.

  Seeing this, Sam intervened. “Leave the lady alone. You’ve had enough tonight.”

  The man didn’t like two women taking him down, but he felt the attention of the bar shift to him. Defeated, he let go. Shaken, Jennifer rubbed her arm.

  “Screw the both of you!” he spat, and then made for the door.

  “He probably thinks we’re lipstick lesbians,” Sam joked.

  “In his wet dreams,” Jennifer laughed back.

  “I’m really sorry about that. The drink’s on the house, with my apologies.”

  Jennifer picked up the drink, twirling the glass back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. “Thanks, but after that, I’m not in the mood.”

  She put the drink back down and left the bar a few minutes later. Sitting in her car, she ran one finger along the titles of her CDs, searching for one to fit her mood. At last she decided on Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours and slid it in. “Go Your Own Way” throbbed from her speakers. She tapped the steering wheel in rhythm, singing along, off-key.

  It was easy driving through empty streets, which made her happy because she wouldn’t have to bob and weave through congested traffic. She was paranoid that she drank a little too much herself tonight. She didn’t want to get stopped by the police and have to face a Breathalyzer test.

  She wished her roommate Lisa had come along, but Lisa barely knew the bride-to-be. Lisa usually only had one drink, if that. She almost always drove them home. She continued along, wishing she were in Lisa’s car too. Lately hers had been acting up.

  She checked her mirror again for any sign of police. Two bright circles of light were now behind her. They inched closer, filling her mirror with reflected light, causing her to squint painfully. Some jerk had his high beams on. She adjusted the mirror so that light didn’t shine directly onto her face. She always had a low tolerance for brightness.

  Storefronts paraded past her quickly. Her speedometer registered 45. Noticing this, she eased her foot off the gas, allowing gravity to slow the car. She was still in the 35 m.p.h. zone, and if this was a cop shadowing her she didn’t want to give him ammunition.

  A block later a traffic light stopped her. Bright light washed over her rearview mirror. The car behind her stopped abruptly a few feet behind her and revved its engine. It sounded like someone clearing his throat, lined with phlegm. Obviously it wasn’t a cop. It revved again, louder this time. Jennifer squinted into her mirror but saw nothing but lights. She twisted around, fighting her seatbelt, and tried to get a glimpse of the driver. She could make out the murky shape of a man, but nothing more.

  Probably the jerk from the bar, she thought. He continued to rev his engine, drowning out Fleetwood Mac. Jennifer became irritated. As the light changed from red to green, she remained at the intersection, blocking the way, slowly unrolling her window. She put her arm out and raised it high into a fist. The middle finger uncurled until it stood straight and rigid. She looked into the mirror for a reaction, but could see nothing. She had a smug satisfaction performing the act, but it would have been sweeter if she could see him pounding his fist in anger against the steering wheel—at least then she would have known that he had seen it. She brought her arm back into the car, shifted the clutch into first gear, and resumed her trip, the wind blowing stronger on her face as she sped up. The car coughed and sputtered, protesting a bit at first, but was running smoothly now.

  The other car clung more intensely than ever. She estimated a gap of only five yards between them. She started to have second thoughts about giving him the bird. Apparently he didn’t take constructive criticism very well.

  She spied her entrance ramp and habitually flicked on her turn signal. Immediately after, she saw that he copied her move and turned his on. God, that was stupid! she thought. I’ve just told this guy where I’m going! Why don’t I just stop and give him directions?

  She thought about going straight, through the intersection, ignoring her signal. She could then go to the next block and circle back. But that seemed like a whole lot of trouble for what was likely a simple coincidence. Lots of people used the highway. Besides, it was late, and she was tired. She turned the wheel and eased her Escort onto the freeway. Behind her, the other car followed suit.

  After what seemed like forever she reached her exit sign, still with her tail. She felt better, but not safe. If he followed her again she didn’t know what to do. It seemed unwise to go to her apartment. She glanced at her gas gauge. It was showing just above empty. She couldn’t drive forever on fumes. She bit her lip, considering her options. The exit sign loomed larger. She’d have to do something soon, and the next exit was ten miles farther. She doubted she had enough gas to get off there and double back.

  Gut instinct guided her. Without a signal she swerved off at the last moment, squealing her tires. The other car sped by, continuing down the highway. Jennifer breathed a sigh of relief, the reassuring feeling of freedom overcoming her.

  Gas stations and convenience stores melted away as she entered the residential area. She took a left, leaving the main drive, and headed into the thick of houses. The apartment she shared with Lisa was the second floor of a two-story home. It was quiet, peaceful, and exactly what she was looking for tonight after realizing she wasn’t going to find a decent man.

  Jennifer came to the first of many four-way stops. She slowed to a crawl, approached the intersection, saw that no one was coming, and resumed her speed, gliding through it. It was after two in the morning, and odds were that no one saw her traffic violation. But why risk it? She could see her house in the distance. Her seemingly long journey home was almost complete. After all she’d been through, now was not the time to be pulled over by police. At the next stop sign she came to a complete, textbook stop, looking both ways.

  And stalled.

  She couldn’t believe it. She turned the key, stepping on the gas pedal repeatedly, hoping and praying for any sign of life. All she accomplished was creating a well-flooded engine. She wanted to throttle something. She settled for pounding a fist against the dashboard. Not wanting to have the battery run dead too, she ejected Fleetwood Mac and turned off the lights.

  Sighing, she got out of the car. Her heels made audible clicks as they touched down on the pavement, one after the other. The resounding clunk of her car door slamming echoed between the rows of closely lined houses. A single light flicked on in one of the windows, fingers parted the shade, two eyes peered out. Not threatened by what they saw, the shade fell back into place, the glow of the light extinguished.

  Jennifer walked down the sidewalk, leaving her car behind. Dark shadows spilled out between h
ouses, splashing across the walk. Jennifer moved in and out of them, like an actress in a film noir.

  Once she got home she had to wake Lisa. Lisa would be pissed, but what could she do? Together the two of them would figure something out. Perhaps they could push it home, one of them steering, the other doing the pushing. It was, after all, only an Escort.

  The darkness shifted and separated, a section tearing itself away from the rest. The black figure stood silently, following Jennifer with his eyes. A grin formed on paper-thin lips.

  She debated who should push and who should steer. She reached the conclusion that maybe she ought to push. If someone’s back was going out, she deserved it. It was already a lot to ask Lisa to come out and help.

  He listened to the steady click of her heels against the concrete, memorizing her rhythm and pace. Once done, he set out, treading his feet down at precisely the same moment Jennifer did. Silent as a kitten, he moved.

  She wished she had left The Norseman’s with the rest of the girls. It seemed that every time she lingered to try and meet a man she ran into trouble with one jerk or another.

  Dark fingers rubbed against each other in anticipation, the dry skin quietly scratching, like two sticks rubbed together by a Boy Scout trying to start a fire. Air moved in and out of his nostrils at a snail’s pace, drawing long, silent breaths.

  Jennifer wondered if she really wanted to meet a man in a bar, especially after tonight’s creep. These thoughts disturbed her as she walked.

  The moonlight highlighted her hair with an ethereal glow. He wanted to run his hands through those angelic locks, smell the sweet fragrance, pull it out by its roots…

  She decided to buy Lisa some cheesecake for helping out. It would be fun to man bash and pig out at the same time.

  The figure brushed his hand against a bulge in his pocket. He let it rest there, feeling the strength and truth ensuing from the object. It had to be done. He had seen the Light, heard Its decrees. And the Light was good.